Page 102 of His Wild Attraction

“Are you finished?” I asked, my control hanging on by a thread.

“Yes. I’m finished. That's my offer, now you think about it, Ramirez.”

“First, if you ever talk about my wife again, I will rearrange your face. Second, I don’t need to think about it,” I said, inhaling deeply.

“Are you sure? You know, that kid is weak like his mother. When I get custody of him, and I will, I’m going to send him to boarding school. The meanest one I can find where the headmasters aren’t afraid to use a little corporal punishment on sniveling brats like him.”

“You fucking prick! When I said I didn’t need to think about it, I meant there was no contest between Sammy and some fucking company,” I snapped, disgusted with this asshole.

I was one second away from beating the shit out of this motherfucker when the door flew open, and my wife barged in looking enraged and gorgeous.

My protective instincts were going crazy. I didn’t want Gary to fucking look at her. I didn’t want him breathing her air.

“Stop!” she shouted, her face red with rage.

“Ellie, what is it?”

“His wife. She told m-me?—”

“Shut up, you stupid fat bitch!” Gary yelled at her.

And that was it. I snapped.

“I fucking warned you.”

I jumped over the table separating us, and I unleashed hell on that motherfucker.

Thank fuck I did my homework on that law firm, right before I retained one of the partners as council, paying him a hefty six figures to do little more than keep my confidence.

I knew the room was soundproofed.

No one could hear Gary’s whimpers and cries. That meant they also couldn’t hear the pounding of my fists as they met his face or the sounds of skin and bones breaking.

Once he stopped moving, I stood up, spitting on the motherfucker.

He was still alive.

Barely.

I wasn’t going to kill him with Ellie watching. But it was a close thing.

“Andres,” she said my name like it gave her some relief to do so.

I stepped away from Gary, wiping my bloodied hands on the handkerchief I pulled from my pocket.

“You okay?” I asked.

“He’s not Sammy’s father,” she said.

I frowned, not understanding her.

“What?”

“His new wife told me. See, Gary and I went to a fertility clinic, b-because he couldn’t always perform. He said it was my fault. But she said he had a vasectomy years ago.”

“What?” I repeated, my eyes wide.

“Gary paid off the doctor to impregnate me with donor sperm. He has no legal grounds to sue for visitation or custody. He’s not Sammy’s father,” she repeated.

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