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No one wanted their child raised by a murderer, and that’s what I am. A murderer.
Kylie deserved better. Her kid deserved better. I closed my eyes, ignored the motherfucking twitch, twitch, twitch, and snuck out, leaving my heart behind.
The hall was creepy quiet. I tipped my head to listen. Nothing. I glanced around, convinced Calloway lay in wait, ready to pounce and finish what he started. Bring it on. Whatever Sasquatch dished out, I most certainly deserved. I thought of it as penance for ruining Kylie’s life. Hell, I welcomed the pain. Anything was better than the wrenching agony in my chest that left a hole in my cold, black heart.
I worked my jaw back and forth and winced. Calloway had landed a direct hit and it hurt like a bitch. I palpated the swollen area. A blinding streak of pain exploded behind my eye. Jesus. I couldn’t deny the man knew how to fight. It hurt like a bitch. It was enough to stop me from turning around, going to Kylie, waking her up, and vowing never to let her out of my sight.
Every light was off except a low wattage bulb above the stove. Did Sasquatch go to bed? He went to sleep with me, in his home, unsupervised, and in bed with his sister? I shook my head and hissed at the way my face throbbed. Slipping out the front door was so easy, I was disappointed Calloway wasn’t hiding, waiting for another shot. I wouldn't have even fought back. The guy might be a massive touchhole, but he deserved his pound of flesh. Fuck, if anyone shat all over Rémy the way I did Kylie, I'd probably end up in jail for murder. Real jail, not juvie.
Down in the parking garage, I fired up the Raptor and made my way to street level. The four hundred and fifty horsepower engine snarled. Feeling rather masochistic I pulled into traffic without looking. Horns blared and breaks squealed in my wake. I didn’t look back. My driving bordered on aggressive on a good day. After the night I had, my vision blurred with what I refused to admit were tears. I shouldn’t have been behind the wheel considering my mood verged on suicidal.
I had never felt so vulnerable. I didn’t break. Not when my father’s fists rained down on me, or when his ancient, steel-toed boots collided with my ribs, or when Rémy called in the middle of an episode and I was the only one who could talk him down.
I was the strong one. I was the one who took care of the people… or person in my life. I protected Rémy. Shielded him from the very worst, frequently lying to spare him the gruesome truth. How did I end up weak and defeated, wishing Rémy would call so I had someone to lean on, yet at the same time glad he didn’t, the need to protect him so deeply ingrained I didn’t want to dump my problems on him.
I drove in a fugue-state back to my place, unable to remember how I ended up parked in my assigned spot in the garage. I rode the elevator to my floor. Once the front door was locked behind me, I headed directly for the kitchen. I took in the wreckage of broken glass in and around the sink and caught the strong scent of whiskey in the air. A reminder I lost my temper. Snapped because I refused to believe I was in any way like my father, despite the mountain of evidence to the contrary.
I huffed out a somber laugh. What a fucking joke. I was more like him than I ever wanted to admit. A frequently drunk, exceptionally angry, and violent asshole who used and discarded anyone who dared to get too close, not giving a shit how much I hurt them as long as I got what I needed. And let’s not forget, when fucking or fighting wasn’t an option to calm the thrashing storm inside my head, I burned through whiskey like water.
Not like him, my ass. I was him. I was just too hung up on my own bullshit to realize it.
I tried to remain calm so I wouldn’t fall back into Dad’s habits and do a repeat of the night before. But fuck, I would kill for a drink. Twitch, twitch, twitch… I breathed in slowly through my nose and out through my mouth, counting up from one as I cleared my mind. I stood in my kitchen, breathing and counting until my fighting stance relaxed and my eye’s Riverdance performance came to an end.
Determination, raw and pure—reminiscent of how I threw myself into hockey as a kid, used it as a way to get out of that shitty house I grew up in—surged. If I didn’t want to become my Dad, a miserable, drunk, piece of shit, something had to change. I had to change. I crouched in front of the sink, opened the cabinet, fished out gloves and a sponge, and got to work.
Sebastien St. Clair, a.k.a. The Sinner, wasn’t good enough for Kylie Calloway. It was time to clean up my act. Prove I was worthy of her love. Until then, I would stay away, but I wouldn’t forget. I would wait until the moment was right.
Then? Game on. I take what was rightfully mine. My woman, my child, my family.
I checked the time and groaned. An unpleasant reminder morning skate began in a few hours. Ugh. The last thing I needed was a hot-headed Sasquatch up in my face. But if I had to make nice with that fuckstick Calloway took to deserve Kylie’s love, I’d do it.
That didn’t mean I had to like it.
14
Kylie
“I fucking knew
it! I told you that bastard was a piece of shit.”
I sat on the sofa, wrapped my arms around my knees, and curled up in a ball, while Rocco had his fifth nuclear meltdown of the morning, and the sun wasn’t even up yet. I felt crappy enough without his help. I didn’t need Rocco to pour salt on the raw, gaping wounds.
When I woke, refreshed and happy, Seb was gone. Despite Rocco harping on and on about how Sebastien was a womanizing asshole who was in no way good enough for me, as well a user, plus every other expletive you could think of and a few more tacked on that I’d never heard before, I was devastated, but unsurprised. Rocco thought I was a victim, innocent in what happened, but when I hooked up with Seb, I did in fact know exactly what I was getting into. The thrill of Seb’s love ‘em and leave ‘em reputation was precisely why I pursued him, hence my sad acceptance that Seb took off in the middle of the night.
“I’m going to make that jackhole sorry he ever took his first breath,” Rocco snarled as he swung around and thrust a finger in my face. “He’ll regret fucking you over, Ky. I promise.” Rocco dropped his hand and continued to stalk around the condo like a caged jungle cat. “The next time I see that shithead he's going to need an ambulance.”
The tattered remains of my heart began to crack under the strain, but breaking down in front of Rocco, again, wouldn't help. It would only make Rocco even more furious, if that was possible. So I steadied my trembling lip and held in a sob.
“Let it go, Rocco. It’s none of your business.” I sounded like a broken record, lecturing the same thing over and over, but Rocco was the most stubborn person I'd ever met. He wouldn’t be deterred. Rocco was going to clamp his frothing jaws around Seb’s ‘betrayal’ and wouldn't let go until Seb suffered enough to quench Rocco's thirst for revenge. I was pretty sure there wasn’t enough suffering in the world to make Rocco happy.
“What happens between the two of you might not be my business,” Rocco growled. His eyes flashed with rage. “But you have to see it from my perspective. My teammate, a guy who’s supposed to have my back unconditionally, seduced my little sister, stuck his dick where it didn’t belong, knocked her up, and left her like she was a two-dollar whore.”
My eyes filled with tears at the insult and I struggled to speak without losing my tenuous composure. “Thanks for making me feel worse than I already do by slut-shaming me.” I shook with abject misery. But I wasn’t done yet. I shot Rocco a glare and pointed at the opposite end of the sofa. “Sit down and shut the hell up.”
The look on Rocco's face would have been comical had I not been on the verge of kicking the crap out of him. He continued to gape, shocked. I tried to pull my brows into Rocco’s ‘v’ and just about shouted, “Sit down, now!”
Rocco blinked and his shocked expression fell. I watched as his jaw clenched, cheek muscles ticking. Not an unfamiliar sight. At his sides, his fingers clenched and unclenched and I knew my brother was trying to decide if he was going to 'give in' to his baby sister’s demand or stand his ground and fight. Eventually, he stomped over and dropped onto the sofa with a huff, loud enough to make sure I knew that even though he complied, he wasn't happy about it. I wanted to roll my eyes. As if I couldn't guess.
