Page 150 of My Pucking Crush

“Stubborn son of a bitch,” I say, but I love how strong he is.

We get to the address Samara texted. It’s a nice house a few miles from where I used to live with Lia. There’s something familiar about it, but these colonials are all over the place. My brain is nearly offline worried about my sister and wondering what the fuck she’s gotten herself into that she needed me so desperately.

And why the fuck did she demanded I bring Max? He’s not soft, but he’s not combat trained either.

The block is quiet, and my keen experience assures me the parked cars up and down the street are empty. Samara knows what she’s doing.

On the wooden steps, I motion Max to stay behind me. I gave him a crash course on how to protect himself, taught him basic hand signals, and anything else I could think of to keep him safe, short of sending him back to New York without me.

I knock on the door, and nearly collapse seeing Samara while Max hovers behind me. My sister looks...perfect. Not a hair out of place. Beautiful as ever. Designer clothes, even. A new look for her, but nothing that indicates she’s in danger.

“Oh, Daniil.” Samara jumps into my arms. “I couldn’t tell you on the phone.”

My heart slams against my ribs. “Tell mewhat?”

“Who’s that?” a tender male voice says, standing under an arch.

Thatvoice...

It’s like I’ve fallen down a well. Am I reliving what the fuck I just saw in Marietta? I stagger back and Max catches me.

“What the hell?” he mutters.

“Oh my God,” I choke. “Is that...?”

“Come on, angel.” Samara coaxes him to stand in front of her. “Elijah, this is my brother, the man I told you about. He’s your papa.”

My stomach threatens to revolt, but the second I see him, I know without a doubt, this is my son. He’s taller with darker hair, curlier just like mine now, but it’shim. I know every curve of that face. A face I made.

I hold out my arms, waiting for Eli to come to me, but he eases back behind Sam. He doesn’t remember me, and I’m gutted.

Max’s hand cups my shoulder. “Give him a moment. Speak to him like you did the last time you saw him. Remind him of something in the past that you two shared.”

I think about that and hum a nursery rhyme I always sang to him at bedtime. Eli’s eyes grow wide and he gently sings the song with me.

My voice shakes as the memories flood me. Slowly Elijah steps away from Samara.

“Papa.” My son runs down the hallway and into my arms. “You came back.”

I bend down and smooth the lock of hair back from his forehead as I always did. I kiss his warm, sweet-smelling skin. He’s healthy and clean. And perfect. His arms wrap around me, and I know he remembers me. Me, his father.

I collapse to hold him, my knees hitting the carpet, squeezing him so hard I’m worried I’ll crush him. Tears clog my throat, and I pray this isn’t some fucked-up dream. Or a nightmare I’ll eventually wake up from.

Someone must have switched the burned body I identified. Let me bury someone else. Made me live with a torn-out heart these last five years. Until this amazingman behind me put me back together.

Now...

Now I have it all.

Holding Eli, I stand up as I let him cry and shake in my arms.

Glaring at Samara, I say, “Talkto me. Who lives here?”

Samara steers me into the living room and the blows keep coming. Sitting on a chair, her hands wringing a handkerchief, is Zoraida. My son’s nanny.

“How did you find them?” I say to Sam through clenched teeth.

“I was doing a job here,” my sister begins. “I heard someone mentionZoraida and the little boy. It stopped my heart. I had to check it out. It took weeks, but I found them this morning.” Samara smiles sadly, watching my son in my arms. “Belova hid him out of revenge because of Lia. That’s the real reason he wanted you dead. Ivan knew if you found out what he did, you’d kill him.”

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