Page 81 of Property of Spike

He strolls in like he owns the place, that smug fucking smirk on his face, Asher tucked in his arms like a goddamn prize. The sight of him holding my son makes my entire body go tight with rage.

“Ah, Spike,” Chuck drawls, rocking Asher slightly. “Didn’t expect you so soon. I figured you’d be too busy dealing with the mess I left at your compound.”

I take a slow, dangerous step forward. “Give me my son.”

Chuck tuts, shifting Asher just enough so I can see his tiny, confused face. “Myson,” he corrects, his smirk widening. “And according to the law, he’s right where he belongs.”

All I see isred.

“Who the fuck are you?” Chuck snarls, glaring at someone over my shoulder.

The man steps forward, calm and composed, radiating the kind of authority that makes people listen. His suit is crisp, his expression unreadable. But his words? They cut like a blade.

“Zane Foster,” he says smoothly. “Attorney representing Ethan and Riley Turner. I have here the official documentation stating that Riley Hayes Turner and Ethan ‘Spike’ Turner are thelegalguardians of Asher Turner.”

Chuck’s face twists in fury. “What?” he barks. “His name is AsherLandry. And I’m his damn father.”

Foster barely blinks. “Incorrect. Two months ago, Ms. Hayes was granted full custody of Asher Turner…formerlyAsher Landry. Three weeks later, Ethan Turner legally adopted himright after he and Riley married. Their names have been updated accordingly in all official records. I have the notarized documents right here, including the one in which you, Mr. Landry,voluntarilysigned away your parental rights.”

Chuck’s nostrils flare as he snatches the papers from the officer who just finished reviewing them. He flips through, his eyes darting over the legal jargon, before landing on the signature line. His face turns an ugly shade of red.

“This… this looks like my signature, but I never signed anything,” he growls.

Foster doesn’t even flinch. “These are original, court-filed documents, not copies. If you’d like to contest their validity, you are free to request an independent forensic analysis.” His tone remains even, professional. But there’s an edge to it. A warning.

Chuck glares at the officer. “You better have them checked.”

The officer nods, but before he can speak, Foster continues, his voice firm. “Additionally, I am prepared to testify under oath that I was present at the time of signing. If necessary, I can also provide video evidence verifying Mr. Landry’s consent.”

Chuck’s mouth opens, then snaps shut. His fury boils over, his entire body shaking as he lets out a strangled, rage-filled scream.

Asher startles in his arms, his tiny face scrunching up before he wails in fear.

And that?

That’s the final fucking straw.

“Give. Me. My. Fucking. Son.”

Chuck just stares at me, his smug expression faltering for a split second. But before he can respond, a voice cuts through the tension.

“Give the kid back to his father, now, Charles.”

A new figure steps into the room, a sharp-looking man with a commanding presence.

“It doesn’t make any sense,” Chuck mutters, still holding Asher, his voice tinged with desperation.

The man doesn’t even blink at Chuck’s outburst. “Mr. Foster faxed a copy of his documents ahead of time, and I’ve already verified their legitimacy.” He turns to me, offering a brief but sincere nod. “My name is Ronald Blevins. I’m the Attorney General of Palm Springs. If I had all the information earlier, I would not have subpoenaed for a warrant. My apologies, Mr. Turner. Please, take your son and go home.”

I’m still shaking with barely controlled rage, but my focus shifts. I move closer, finally reaching out for Asher. The second I hold him in my arms, all that anger boils over and fades into a raw, protective instinct.

But then one question arises, sharp and urgent. “What about my wife?”

Blevins doesn’t hesitate, but there’s a flicker of regret in his eyes. “Unfortunately, she will need to be processed. Regardless of the latest developments, your wife will remain with us until tomorrow morning, when I can get a judge to sign off on her release.”

I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut.

“No,” I growl, my voice thick with anger. “You’re telling me you’re keeping her in there tonight? Where that bastard has access to her?”

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