Page 27 of Deadly Lust

Mia

“PUT DOWN THE FUCKING GUN, Mia.”

I clutched the gun and kept it pointed at him. Seeing Grant inside this empty house enraged me. Well, really, it was more the empty house that enraged me, and I was taking it out on him. Still, I wanted to know what the hell he was doing here.

“What are you doing here? How did you know my son was here? Where is he?” I could barely breathe. The place was empty. Just boxes and dust remained.

“The neighbor says they packed up in the middle of the night. I’ve scoured every inch of this fucking place for clues but found nothing. Put down the fucking gun!”

I slowly lowered the gun, desperate to shoot something, shoot myself, end this pain and suffering.

Gone. My son was gone. A tight fist squeezed around my heart.

Grant descended the stairs and disarmed me faster than I could blink. “What the fuck? You better start talking now. You told me our son died! Yet, here you are, fucking looking for him. So, which is it, Mia? I swear to God that if you lie to me, I will kill you myself.”

My lip trembled. “Our son? What makes you sure he’s yours? You know I was raped.”

“He’s mine, Mia. And I didn’t actually know Julián was mine until this afternoon. About a week ago, Autumn showed me a picture of him, and I knew I had to see him with my own eyes, so I drove up here and met him. I took his empty juice box and ran his DNA. He’s my son. Our son.”

I gasped and my knees threatened to give out.

There it was. Everything I had been desperate to hear. Julián was his son…our son. Not that I would have loved him less, had Julián been the son of my rapist. But still, knowing that Julián was the result of our love was the only light in this incredibly fucked-up situation.

But my joy was soon replaced by anger. Grant had known there was a possibility our son was alive and hadn’t told me. What I had done was different—I’d thought he was Joaquín’s boy, but not mine. Never mine.

“You did all that and you never told me? This morning I didn’t even know he was alive, and you…you’ve known—” Suddenly, it was too hard to breathe and spots danced across my vision. My hand blindly reached out, bracing against the wall so I didn’t fall over.

Grant, to my surprise, wrapped his strong arm around my waist and helped lower me to the ground.

“Slow. Slow breaths.” He rubbed my back as I leaned forward, trying to force my heart to slow and my lungs to expand. Finally, after what felt like a lifetime, I sat up and let my head fall back against the wall.

“No, I didn’t fucking tell you,” Grant said, clearly still pissed despite his small show of support. “You don’t tell me anything. I can’t trust you, Mia. Did you give up our son? Answer me, goddammit!”

I whipped my head in his direction and narrowed my eyes. “No! Of course I didn’t. I thought my son was dead! I thought Julián was Joaquín’s child, but never, never did I think he was mine. I believed with my whole heart that he was dead! I did a DNA test on him to see if he was my nephew. Do you really think I would do that, Grant? I have spent the last two years mourning my son! You have no idea what that was like!”

I wanted to tell him how horrible it was and how, more often than not, I would cry myself to sleep. How I couldn’t even look at the scar on my stomach and not break down. I attempted to finish my thoughts, but tears overtook my voice.

“How can I believe you, Mia? You’re full of secrets. You’ve hidden every aspect of your life from me. Everything. Your rape, why you broke up with me, that you were pregnant. That I could be his father.”

I closed my eyes, hiding my shame. He was right. I’d fucked up everything. If only he could understand me, he’d realize I never meant to hurt him. I had been trying to protect him. He didn’t need to go through the pain and fear and heartache that I had. I was trying to save him.

“I have nothing to say for myself. This is all my fault. Had I told you I was pregnant, I would’ve never had the baby in San Francisco. I don’t know what to say. But I’m not lying, I swear to God I thought he was dead.” I took a deep breath and opened my eyes.

Indecision crept across his face. I knew deep down he probably wanted to believe me, but I’d done something that was probably unforgivable.

He looked away from me and cracked his knuckles. “Why would someone take our son? Tiffany was young. She could’ve probably had her own kids someday. Plus, she gave him away to her mom. Clearly she had no interest in being a mother. Think, Mia. Is there anything else you haven’t told me? Anything?”

I hesitated to tell him my latest secret, but I was too emotionally spent to keep anything else inside. “Joaquín isn’t my biological brother.”

His nostrils flared, and his voice was so quiet I almost didn’t hear him. “What?”

“Yeah. I tested Julián against Joaquín first. No match. I figured it was because the sample of Joaquín’s hair was old, so I sent in a sample of my own hair, hoping to prove that Julián was my nephew. Turned out there was no genetic similarities between them. None.”

“Was the sample from Joaquín compromised?”

“No, he tested two separate samples. Besides, it doesn’t matter, does it? So what if he isn’t my biological brother? Maybe he was adopted. Or I was. He’s still my brother. Every memory I have of my childhood was with him.”

Grant’s mouth slackened. “Don’t you see, Mia? Everything matters. We learn in the Teams that there is no such thing as coincidence. Let’s focus on the facts. We know our son was kidnapped after you gave birth. Somehow, Tiffany got our son and gave him away to her mother to raise. Joaquín knew about you being raped, and he’s now sitting in jail, accused of murdering Tiffany. He knows more than he’s telling us. He’s connected too closely to all of this—”