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Grant squares his shoulders. “If that’s my kid, she’s going to have to deal with me.”

“About the baby. That’s it.”

“You don’t get to decide that.”

“I don’t need to decide. I know that’s how it’ll be.”

“If I’m the father⁠—”

“If. You might be the biological father.” I hold his stare. “But that doesn’t mean I’m going anywhere. That doesn’t make you their dad.”

He lets out a disbelieving laugh, but there’s nothing amused about it. “Pretty sure being the biological father literally makes me the dad.”

“It makes you the guy who contributed DNA. Being a dad is everything that comes after. Telling me you’re going to use the baby against Goldie—that you’ll use them to make her suffer—shows exactly what kind of sperm donor you are.”

Grant’s chest rises harder with every breath. The keys are buried so tightly in his fist now that the edges have to be digging into his palm.

I hope they draw blood.

“You don’t know shit about our relationship.”

“I know enough.” I let my gaze drag over him in the most judgmental way possible. I hope he can see the try me, fucker in my expression. “I know you cheated on her. I know you put your hands on her today. And I know after five years with you, it took her about five minutes to figure out she deserved better.”

“Fuck you.”

I smile. “Nah, unlike you, I don’t stick my dick just anywhere.”

His face goes red. “You think you’re so much fucking better than me?”

“Goldie does.”

That’s what does it, what finally pushes him over the edge.

Grant drops his keys and lunges, throwing a wild right hook straight at my face.

I see the punch coming before it gets anywhere near me. Grant telegraphs the whole thing with his shoulder, and all the practice I have reacting when shit goes sideways takes over. I slip out of the path of his fist, catch his wrist as it sails past my face, and use his momentum to turn him.

He gets out half a curse before I drive him chest-first across the trunk of his BMW.

The metal makes a hollow thud under his weight. He tries to shove himself back up off the scorching surface, but I lean into him and pin him there.

I twist his right arm behind him. Grant swears and tries to wrench free, but I lean my weight across his back and keep his wrist cranked high enough that every time he fights me, he only makes it hurt worse.

I look down at his right hand. The one he used to swing at me. The one he was holding his keys in. Probably the same one he used to grab Goldie.

Ever since I saw those fingerprints on her arm, I’ve wanted to break every finger that left them.

So that’s what I’m going to do.

I check the building for cameras, but don’t see any, and I focus back in on Grant.

I ease his arm out from behind his back, but before he can take advantage of the extra room, I stretch it across the trunk beside him. I pin his wrist to the hot metal with my left hand and keep my weight pressed into his back so he can’t push himself up.

“I told Goldie I was just coming here to talk.”

Grant twists his head enough to look back at me. “This is your idea of fucking talking?”

I grunt as he bucks against me, trying to get free. “We exchanged words. Technically that’s talking. But the time for conversation is done. Now come the consequences of your actions.”