Page 81 of Filthy Savage

Her ire melts away, and in its place, there’s fear. It’s almost enough to undo me. To tell her I’ve changed my mind. Because she has no idea that no one would touch her without my permission. I just needed her to believe she had no choice in the matter. Once she’s mine, I’ll make her see that I’m still the man she remembers.

“Please, I?—”

“Mama!” The sound of a child’s cry cuts her words, startling the fuck out of me, like I’ve gone insane.

Because there’s no way she has a kid.

Right?

“Mama!” the little girl calls again.

Amara’s face grows ashen, eyes expanding by the second. “Please…”

I don’t even know what she’s begging for. All I can hear is the child’s voice. A child she had with someone else.

My palm squeezes tighter around her throat. “Are you married? Whose child is that?”

Her body trembles, choking on the words that don’t come. My nostrils flare while her irises fill with panic. Loosening my grip, I attempt to control this damn jealousy, these murderous intentions.

Because whoever he is, the man’s already dead.

“Mama!”

“Please let me go see her. We can talk after, alright? I promise.”

“I’m coming with you. Don’t fucking try anything, you understand?”

She nods as I tug her hand in mine. Leading us down the corridor, she enters a small room containing a toddler bed with rails on the left side.

And in it is the most beautiful little girl I’ve ever seen.

She looks just like her mother. Dark curls, and with the nightlight, I can almost tell that her eyes are the same color as Amara’s.

Amara. I can’t get used to that.

Running a hand through my hair, I stand back as the child curiously glances at me, holding a straw cup.

“I want water, Mama.”

“O-o-okay, sweetie. Let me go fill this up for you.” She glances back at me, trying to control her fear.

“We’ll be okay,” I tell her, winking at the little girl. “You can go.”

“Who’s this, Mama?”

The girl’s eyes jump between us, and Amara forces a panicked smile.

“I’m Fionn. Mommy’s friend. And what’s your name, sweetheart?”

“My name is Fia.”

“How old are you, Fia?”

“I’m four.” She holds out four fingers in the air and grins, and something hits me hard, something I can’t explain.

And I know right now, I’m gonna be her father.

Fia… The similarity between our names doesn’t escape me.

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