Page 29 of Owen (Storm Enterprises)

Somehow, I swallow and whisper to myself, “He has your hair.”

My lips twitch at his little romper. “He’s perfect.” Love drips from me, a fierce need to claim them both officially as mine. “Just perfect,” I whisper.

This moment, with the woman I love in my arms and the first time I set eyes on my son, will be forever carved into my memories, into my heart.

Today is the start of the rest of our lives.

We just have to weather the storm to secure it.

FOURTEEN

OWEN

With Laya cradled against my chest, I sit on the mattress with my back against the headboard while she continues to fall to pieces in my arms. I take comfort in knowing I can bring her the reassurance she needs while also providing the security she should have had. Nothing will hurt my girl again. She and our son are my priority, and nobody will come between us, especially not a dead man.

When her sobs become shallow snores, I relax, using my hand to stroke over her silky hair to remind myself I finally have her with me.

The entire night I spent flicking my attention between her and Romero. Each soft noise he made had me on full alert, but ultimately, the little man slept through. I don’t know much about babies, but I’ve been trying to learn since hearing abouther pregnancy. I intend on being the best father I can be and give them everything they deserve and so much more.

A few times during the night, Laya cried, and I’d hold her close, whispering to her I have her. She’s mine, and I reveled in the fact that my words sent her back to sleep.

Laya rouses from her sleep, stretching in my arms, and finally, she lifts her head to stare into my eyes.

My heart skips a beat. Pure anger fills my bloodstream at the sight of her delicate face swollen and bruised. Every cell in my body becomes embroiled in flames of fury, as a sudden need to annihilate something has me vibrating uncontrollably.

“Owen?” Her sweet voice filters through the haze of red coating my senses.

And when I see the panic in her wide eyes, a need to soothe her overcomes me. “Who did that to you?” My thick thumb grazes over her swollen cheek, but she stares back at me with a furrowed brow. Does she not realize she’s bruised? I press gently and she winces, then her face pales and those red-rimmed eyes fill with tears. “Who?” I repeat.

She licks her cracked lips, and I realize she needs some proper care, and possibly medical attention. Then her eyes move toward Romero, and my stomach plummets with a desperate need for answers. If someone touched them…

Her gaze comes back to me, and the way she stares at me with uncertainty pisses me off. She can trust me. She should trust me, yet she’s unsure.

“Laya. Right now. I’m hanging on by a thin thread, and I know you’ve been through so much, but I want answers pretty fucking soon.” My teeth grind as she scans my face, as if searching for something. What? I’ve no fucking clue.

Then she shakes her head. “It doesn’t matter now.”

My eyes narrow. “Of course it fucking matters. Someone hurt you.”

She fiddles with the shirt she’s wearing, and my spine straightens, only now realizing it’s something of his.

“It doesn’t matter because he’s not here anymore.”

Her words send a torrent of pain lancing through my chest.

Holy fucking shit. The bastard hurt her.

He. Fucking. Hurt. Her.

My chest heaves uncontrollably as I unravel. The fact she’s been suffering at his hands, and I could have acted, could have helped her, is like someone is brutally ripping my heart out with their bare hands, destroying me.

I slide her onto the mattress, trying not to wake Romero as I move.

Then I march over and rest my forearms against the wall and breathe with my back to my family, squeezing my eyes closed to rein in the compelling need to decimate something.

If I could dig the fucker back up and slaughter him myself, I would.

“Fuck!” I roar as I slam my fist into the plaster.

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