Page 91 of Resurrection

I scoff. “There’s no reasoning with him. He took your DNA and made a secret baby who he presented to you like a… prize or gift.”

“What else can we do? Killing him is too risky. I doubt he’s given me any legal rights to Lucas. And even if I should or can have those rights, we’re in Russia trying to deal with Russian laws as outsiders.”

My mind drifts to Hagen, but I don’t want to call that fucker again in Boston for another international favor. Still, if he can pull strings in Russia and at least make sure Carys’s name is on the birth certificate, we might have a hope in hell of securing some sort of custody agreement. At the moment, we’re flying blind. Hagen might refer me back to Demid, and I can’t go to him with this problem. If the guy is like me, he’d murder Eric’s child in retaliation for Valeriya’s death. He wouldn’t think twice about the baby being biologically Carys’s kid too. He didn’t seem that ruthless, but the last time I underestimated someone, I was shot up in a warehouse and almost bled out on the floor. That’s not happening again.

“I’m tired,” Carys says, against my chest.

I lift her up in my arms and carry her to the bed, then slide her under the covers. She reaches for me, and I shake my head.

“You’re not coming back to bed?” she says.

“I’m going to grab a drink,” I say. “Get some sleep. I’ll come up in a while.” I pick up my clothing strewn around the room and get dressed.

“Finn?” Her voice is heavy with sleep. “Leave the gun here.”

The weapon is still in pieces on the dresser. “Get some sleep.” I close the door tight behind me.

Downstairs, I search the kitchen for everything to make a pot of coffee. Carys will need caffeine when she gets up, and Jay drinks a cup too. Those other fuckers in this house better not touch the pot.

I dig into my pocket and remove my phone. Scrolling through my contacts, I stare at Hagen’s name. He is my worst option and also my most logical one. Nothing good will come from owing him. If Lorcan were here, he’d have a strategy, something I never considered, and times like these I miss the fucker, even if he chose Kim over me.

The coffee finishes, and I drop my phone onto the counter. I take a mug from the cupboard, pour the hot liquid into it, and then bring the caffeinated goodness to my lips. Carys likes to sweeten her coffee, but I enjoy it bare, undisguised.

“I smell coffee,” Charles says as he enters the kitchen. “Oh, it’s you.”

I raise my drink to him. “It’s me.”

“When are you leaving?” He grabs a mug from the cupboard and takes the pot I made.

The temptation to snatch it away or punch him is pretty fucking strong.

“That would be never.”

He finds the milk in the fridge and drowns his coffee. After heaping sugar into his cup, his spoon clangs on the porcelain as he stirs the liquid. “You’ll stand in the way of her happiness?”

“Isthatwhat I’m doing? Strange. That’s not what she thinks.”

“You’ve been an unwelcome and unexpected distraction for my daughter.”

“Again.” I press the cup to my lips. “Not what she thinks.”

“My daughter has never been very good at sorting out her personal life.”

“Oh?” I put down my coffee and cross my arms. “Please enlighten me. I’m fascinated to hear your take on her personal life since you seem so hell-bent on controlling it. Your life is such a shining example.” I pin him with my gaze. “Remind me again. Whereisyour wife?”

He flushes, and liquid splashes over the edge. I hope it fucking burns him.

“Eric’s a good man. He’s the father of her child.”

How did he become so deluded? Eric’s behavior must be like staring in a mirror. They’re both womanizing liars who believe control equals love. My father had a similar belief system. Being with Carys this last little while has changed my mind on how love and caring works. For years I treated Lorcan the way Charles and Eric are treating her. He only needed to understand what I wanted to tell him. Didn’t exactly work out how I expected.

“I wonder if she’d let me kill you.” I cock my head. The question doesn’t need to be asked because I have the answer. I hope Charles doesn’t.

The coffee slops over the edge again as he turns toward me, and he switches hands, shaking off the excess liquid. “What?”

“You heard me. You’ve been a shitty father. I’m not sure you’d be missed. What do you think?”

He gapes and sputters.

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