Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 121310 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 607(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121310 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 607(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Even Mads has had a different respect for me ever since I took on that particular task. The memory of the quick, terrifying labor in that bunker still makes me shudder—the pain and the panic that I wasn’t strong enough to push out the baby on my own. But I’d stayed present for every second of it. No switching. No running away into the safety of my mind.
I think Mads was even a little intimidated, actually. Especially after those first few weeks with baby Connor, when I barely slept, when my nipples were cracked and bleeding from nursing, when I walked the floors at three a.m. with a screaming infant who wouldn’t be soothed. Mads was present, but off in the corner of my mind, watching anxiously as I took the helm.
“You’re actually doing it,” she’d whispered one night, wonder coloring her mental voice as I changed Connor’s diaper for the third time in an hour. “You’re being a mom.”
At last, I think I’ve finally proven to her that I’m no longer that terrified little girl who needed her to survive.
I’ve finally grown up. I’m a mother now, after all.
God, I miss Connor. This last month away from him has felt like I’m missing a limb. I keep touching my stomach, but he’s not there anymore. And he’s not in my arms. But I know somewhere in my head that he’s with his father and he’s safe. They’re both safe at Domhnall’s secure compound outside Dallas, surrounded by Isaak’s best men.
But knowing isn’t the same as holding him or breathing in his sweet baby scent or feeling his tiny fingers wrap around mine.
Which is why I’m determined to bring this to an end.
Today.
I stand at the edge of Klyde Warren Park in downtown Dallas, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the food trucks and families enjoying the unseasonably mild weather.
It’s the perfect location—public enough that no one would dare attempt anything too dramatic but with enough open space that we can see threats coming from any direction.
Domhnall is already here.
I can see him sitting on a bench near the children’s area, and my heart clenches at the sight of him pushing the stroller back and forth with one hand.
To anyone watching, he looks like a father giving his baby some fresh air.
Only I know the stroller is empty, our precious Connor safe at home with armed guards.
“This plan is insane,” Mads hisses in my mind. “There are too many variables.”
But I’ve run down every lead and checked every corner of the dark web I can find. There’s no record of Kozlov ever having a son, and all of his lieutenants have been wiped off the board. I haven’t sensed any activity anywhere. And frankly, I’m tired of running.
I might not deserve this life with Domhnall and our sweet, innocent son, but I’m still going to fucking take it.
Domhn and I have arranged this reunion as carefully as anyone could. Isaak’s men are stationed throughout the park—some dressed as joggers, others as food truck workers, a couple pretending to be a young couple on a picnic.
The perimeter is secure. Every entrance and exit is monitored. Snipers are positioned on the surrounding buildings, though far enough away that return fire would be impossible. And the baby stroller Domhnall pushes? It’s weighted to feel realistic, but it also contains a state-of-the-art tracking system and emergency beacon. If someone tries to grab it, thinking Connor is inside, they’ll trigger a dozen different alarms.
I take a deep breath and step into the park. The air smells of dried winter grasses and food truck tacos, such a normal scent that it makes my chest ache.
This is what I want—normal. Boring but beautiful normal.
Domhnall’s head turns as if he can sense me, even from fifty yards away. When our eyes meet, the world seems to stop.
Nine months. It’s been nine months since I’ve seen him, since I’ve touched him. And we parted on such angry, hateful words.
He doesn’t get up. We’ve planned this too carefully. He stays seated, continuing to push the stroller, playing his role as the oblivious father. But I can see the tension in his shoulders and the way his free hand clenches and unclenches on his thigh.
I force myself to walk slowly, scanning the park as I move. There are families with actual children here. Young professionals on their lunch breaks. A group of elderly women doing tai chi. Everything looks normal.
“Too normal,” Madison warns. “Where is he? If Kozlov had a son who’s coming for revenge, this is his chance.”
No. He wouldn’t dare risk anything so public. Would he? I start to feel nervous. Public violence isn’t uncommon these days. What if I’ve miscalculated everything?
Twenty yards from Domhnall now. I can see the new lines around his eyes, the way his jaw is clenched so tight that a muscle jumps in his cheek.