Page 7 of No Saint

The kid remains asleep while I navigate the car through the dark and now quiet streets of my city, steadily taking it up the hill towards the mansion on the cliffside, Asher following closely behind. The rain has finally eased some, the wind settling though a glance to the left shows the seas still as turbulent as they were before, crashing against the shore and the side of a cliff as if angry with the world.

I bring the car to a stop.

My mother was still here, still obsessing over the folder I’d left her with previously and now I was going to give her something else to ease the pain I knew was eating her alive.

A part of Lucas that still lived.

His son.

5

It didn’t take long for a room to be set up for the child. I had furniture delivered by the following morning, a crib and mattress, bedding to keep him warm and enough clothes to last him through to his fifth birthday. My mother took control of the necessities, diapers, wipes, medical supplies and having experienced dealing with babies all her life, she took over the care of the child the moment I handed him to her.

He took to her much quicker than he did me, cooing and giggling up at her as she played with him on the living room floor the following morning, watching the clouds start to part to reveal blue skies. I’d instructed our resident doctor to give a sedative to Amelia to keep her out for at least twenty-four hours. I had a damn headache and I wasn’t ready to unleash a banshee in my house because I knew it was coming.

I should have killed her.

It was the easier option.

I’d even gone into the room I’d imprisoned her in, rested that gun against her head while she remained out cold, the duct tape I’d restrained her with replaced with the rope, tying both her arms and legs to the bed.

I held it there for minutes.Minutes.

Far longer than it has ever taken me before to pull the trigger. She didn’t stir. She didn’t move but her lips parted, and she sighed, and I took my finger off the weapon, I put it away and I watched her. I watched her as she slept for two hours, seeing the steady and easy rise and fall of her chest, watching her dark lashes flutter as she dreamed.

Though I doubt they were pleasant.

I sat in that darkened room until my mother came and found me, forcing me to leave the sleeping woman to join her in the kitchen before I took myself to bed rather than sitting in that room again which I wanted to do.

I was drawn to her.

I wanted to witness that fire.

That temper.

I wanted her awake and fighting, I wanted to see it.

I was used to demure women, women who got down on their knees when told and said all the right things. I had a feeling Amelia Doyle was as far from demure and innocent as they could get, and I wanted to taste it. Witness it.

Sleep came and went and when I woke in the morning, the mother was still out cold thanks to the sedative in her system.

That’s when I found my mother playing with the child in the living room, an arrangement of plush toys and musical ones scattered around my floor and a half-eaten bowl of porridge discarded on the coffee table.

My mother beams at me when I enter, her hand outstretched while Lincoln plays with her fingers, touching the sparkling diamonds that adorn her hand and the bracelet that hangs from her wrist.

I leave her to it, taking myself out of there and into the kitchen for coffee. It was earlier, the sun cresting the horizon and setting fire to the now much calmer ocean. Boats sail across the water, either heading into the docks or leaving them but the city was waking below, getting ready for another day.

After a few minutes of staring out the window, my resident chef interrupts, “Would you like breakfast, sir?”

I shake my head but then turn to him, “Can you make a full continental?” I ask.

“I can.”

“Make one. And a bowl of fresh fruit. With orange juice.”

“Yes, sir.”

I leave him to making the breakfast while I get in a quick work out and shower before dressing in my suit for the day, straightening every crisp edge and tucking my weapons into the designated places. I never left the house without them.

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