His Secret Baby (A Bad Boy Romance)

by Waltz, Vanessa

  THANE BLACKTHORN. BORN 1987 DIED

  What the hell? They left the year of death blank. Confusion battles the grief in my chest as I touch the rock-solid stone. Maybe they’ll fill it in later. It’s not like I was in love with him, but I never wanted it to end like this. Jesus, he deserved a full, happy life, didn’t he? And he died when he was 30.

  “I’m crazy about you, you know that right?”

  I can still feel the heat of his fingers under my chin, the way his eyes burned when he said it. It’s hard to imagine the man who made me his wife, who was determined to keep me, buried under the freshly dug earth.

  A sob catches in my throat, the grief hitting me harder than I thought it would. Daniel wakes up with a startled murmur and grabs at my mouth, and I cradle his head and thank God for him. I don’t want to think of his father, dead and cold beneath our feet.

  There’s nothing left for me here.

  “I’m sorry,” I say out loud, knowing it’s stupid.

  Footsteps crunch on the gravel behind me, and a voice booms, almost as if it comes from the grave under my feet.

  “You didn’t dress up for my funeral? Shame, Christine.”

  Oh God. It can’t be him.

  But it is him.

  I turn around with the baby in my arms, and his deadly smirk vanishes. Thane is dressed in a black suit, looking the same as he did two years ago, except for his eyes. They’re cold. That is, until he sees the baby strapped to my chest.

  “Thane!”

  He takes a step forward, every limb moving with purpose as he reaches for his son. His mouth hangs open as he brushes Daniel’s cheeks with a gentle finger, and then Daniel grabs Thane’s long finger, his bright eyes focusing on Thane’s face.

  “Dada!”

  5

  Thane

  I wasn’t sure if she’d come to my fake funeral, but she did.

  Christine was easy to spot from far away, even with her blonde hair tucked in her grey hoodie. I followed behind her on the graveled path, my footsteps silent on the grass as rain pelted her umbrella. Then I saw her face twist with pain when she walked to my tombstone and fingered my name. She still wanted me. Whatever the fuck it was that made her run away, it wasn’t me.

  Two years.

  Two years of celibacy, of declining invitations from syndicate sluts who knew my wife was on the lam, of milking my cock dry in the shower two, three times a day because I was starved of pussy. I take my vows seriously, but I wasn’t prepared for how I’d want to rip down her jeans and fuck her right over my empty grave.

  She turns around and gapes at me, tears still clinging to her face. The hood falls from her face. Goddamn it, she’s still beautiful. Silky, almost white-blonde hair spills over her shoulders. Her round, deep blue eyes look almost sunken in her skull, and I notice her eyebrows are darkened with makeup and there’s a thin sheen of moisture over her full lips, and I forget how pissed off I am at her. The hell that she put me through for two years disappears, and I just want to crush my lips against hers. Then a fat fist waves in front of my vision, and I finally notice the baby strapped to her chest. Her thin arms curl around the baby protectively as waves of shock blast through me, destroying everything else.

  She had a baby.

  Joy wrestles with something like despair as I take a step forward and touch the baby’s round cheeks. My hands shake.

  “Dada!”

  I stare at her as a baby not older than a couple years grabs my index finger and aims it toward his mouth. Toddler drool runs down my finger as he sticks it in and chews.

  She had a fucking baby. A baby I’ve never seen before because I didn’t know he existed looked at my face and called me, Dada. For a moment my mind scrambles, trying to think of why that word would come out of his mouth. It wouldn’t unless his mother—my wife—told him who I was.

  I look at his chubby cheeks, the bright blue eyes that are just like hers. The dark hair—mine. His lips—mine. Ears, nose, everything on that little face looks like a replicate of mine. I do the math quickly in my head. She was pregnant while we were dating, which means she kept it a secret. And while I was searching for the woman I made a sacred vow to for two years, she was keeping my son away from me.

  Her eyes are already full of unshed tears. “Thane—”

  “How fucking dare you?”

  I searched for her all this time as she jumped from shitty apartment to even shittier apartment, desperate to find her because we were supposed to be together. That’s why I went through all this fucking trouble—to get my wife back and start a family. As it turns out, we’ve already got one.

  “How could you keep him a secret?”

  She flinches against the accusation. “I wasn’t going to raise my son in that hellhole.”

  “So you decided to raise him in East Oakland? Hayward? Tell me, where the hell were you all these years when you were raising our kid?”

  She looks down, her hair falling around her face. “San Leandro.”

  San Leandro.

  “Jesus, Christine.”

  Angry blue eyes meet mine again. “What the hell was I supposed to do?”

  I grab her shoulders. “You were supposed to bring him to me!”

  “That would have been a disaster.”

  I know she’s talking about Viper’s ascent to power and the war he started in the syndicate. The bloodshed extended to families, wives. I watched as that sick bastard slit my father’s throat, and then I watched my two brothers fight and die in the chaos that ensued. The only reason why I’m alive is because I held back to protect my mother and sister. I’m the only man left in the family, except for the baby in Christine’s arms. He wouldn’t have been safe there, and I know it, and I hate the fact that she’s right.

  “I had a right to know that he fucking existed.”

  “I don’t regret what I did. For all I know, keeping him from you is why he’s alive now.”

  “Clearly you did, or you wouldn’t be here.”

  “I came here for closure.”

  Her voice trembles with the lie and a smile spreads across my face.

  Bullshit.

  “I can’t believe you faked your own death just to get me back. How sick are you?”

  “I didn’t fake my death, sweetheart. I paid off some journalists and bought a grave plot. Face it, you’re just pissed because you fell for it.”

  The sky pours with rain, stinging my scalp with cold. Christine tries to shield the baby’s face, but icy drops pelt his head, and he screws up his face. I pick up the umbrella from the ground and hold it over her as he wails. Then I grab her upper arm in a vise grip.

  “What are you doing?”

  “We’re getting out of this rain, and then I’m taking you back home.”

  Her eyes are wide with panic. “I’m not going anywhere near that place.”

  “You are, and this time I’m not giving you a fucking choice.”

  She shivers and sucks in her lip, her hand cradled protectively over the baby’s head. I don’t even know his name.

  “What’s his name?”

  “D—Daniel.”

  “Daniel,” I mull. “I like it. I wish I had a say in my own son’s name, but Daniel is a good name.”

  My baby’s head turns when I repeat his name, and the smile he gives me reaches across the gulf of pain locked up in my chest.

  * * *

  Her fear spreads in the car like droplets of perfume, and I let it fill my lungs. I watch her from the corner of my eyes, raking up and down her body as my son sleeps in the carseat (which I had to buy). She picks at her fingernails, tearing them to shreds as I navigate through the city’s traffic.

  “What were you doing for money?”

  She narrows her eyes at me. “The same shit I was doing before I got pregnant: busting my ass waiting tables.”

  I think of all those douchebags I watched hit on her when I’d pick her up from work, and acid burns my throat. I didn’t want those assholes anywhere near my wom
an, but a part of me enjoyed watching her play those pathetic saps for tips. I owned her tits and ass. If the worst they did was look, I didn’t really care. Suspicion digs at me as I pull into the syndicate’s parking garage. I was faithful to her, but was she faithful to me?

  I let it roll off my shoulders when I park the car and cut the engine. Christine unbuckles her seatbelt and gets out of the car, but I reach the carseat first and take my son in my arms for the first time. Christine’s anxious blue eyes follow me as I cradle Daniel against my chest. He’s heavier than I thought I would be. I can’t describe what it’s like to feel his warm, little body nestled in my arms and know that my only job in this world is to protect him.

  “Where are you taking him?”

  “To the infirmary.”

  She follows me into the elevator, tears slipping down her face as the doors shut, knowing she can’t wrestle the baby out of my arms.

  “For what? I just took him to the doctor.”

  “Two things. One, the syndicate will want proof the baby is mine—”

  “—Of course he’s your son!”

  “I know that, but they’ll want proof before I can bring him in here.”

  She crosses her arms firmly against her chest.

  “Two, I don’t trust you.”

  “Are you seriously implying that I’m a shitty mother?”

  “No, I’m just not leaving anything up to chance.”

  “I can’t believe I’m hearing that from the man who wants to bring our son into a crime syndicate.”

  I grind my teeth together as the elevator dings and the doors swing open. I’m not willing to argue with her in front of my son, but she will learn her goddamn place.

  As soon as the doors open and I step inside, I feel the hostility like a thick warm cloud. The bright marble floors echo loudly with my steps as I walk across the lobby. I ignore the men staring at the baby in my arms and walk toward security. Luke balks when he notices me, but waves me in like usual. I don’t even bother waiting for Christine. She’s not going anywhere with her son in my arms, and sure enough, she’s right behind me.

  “This is totally unnecessary.”

  The double doors of the infirmary swing inward as I smack the button on the side. Daniel clings to my neck, looking around at his new surroundings.

  Get used to it, kid.

  The medical floor swarms with activity. Nowadays there’s always a gunshot wound or a stabbing to keep the place busy. It’s still nothing compared to when Viper was in charge. There was never an empty bed.

  I grab the elbow of a passing doctor, who stops and looks at my hand as though it’s some kind of parasite.

  “I need you to check over my son.”

  “Do you have an appointment?”

  “No, it’s an emergency.”

  “What are the symptoms?”

  “It’s nothing like that. I just need a paternity test and a physical.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Blackthorn, but you’ll have to make an appointment and come back another day just like everybody else.”

  The way that smug asshole puts an emphasis on my name makes me want to punch that fucking smile right off his face. I’m a Blackthorn, the scourge of the syndicate, the once-privileged family. I shift Daniel from my arms and give him to Christine, who accepts him immediately. Then I get right in that fuckhead’s face.

  “You know what? You’re right. I am just like everyone else, which is a member of this syndicate who pays your fucking bills.”

  “Back off, or I’ll call—”

  “—The police?” My laugh echoes around us.

  His Adam’s apple bulges as he glances at my wife as though for help, but Christine narrows her eyes at him. It couldn’t be plainer that she doesn’t give a shit.

  “Examine my kid right now, or you’ll have two broken kneecaps for a problem.”

  “All right. Jesus.” Flustered, he turns around, snapping at a nurse. “Get us a room.”

  I follow the doctor, my mood blackening. If it had been anyone else’s child, anyone at all, he would have never dared to tell me to come back another day, but because I’m a Blackthorn, fuck my kid. My limbs stiffen with rage as I follow him into the examination room.

  He takes Daniel from Christine and listens to his heartbeat with the stethoscope wrapped around his neck, and then he takes more vitals. I sink down into one of the plastic chairs as Christine answers his questions.

  “Daniel is right on track height and weight wise for his age. Everything looks excellent. Whatever you’re doing, keep doing it.”

  Christine tosses her blonde hair behind her head impatiently, throwing me an I-told-you-so look that I ignore. The doctor retrieves a cotton swab from one of the drawers, and glances at me. “You said you wanted a paternity test?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “Well, a paternity test won’t give you an answer immediately. It takes at least twelve hours for the results to come back from the lab. You don’t like it? You can go somewhere else where they’ll tell you the exact same thing.”

  I glare at him. “Do the fucking test.”

  He pokes the cotton swab in Daniel’s mouth and scrapes inside his cheek, immediately dunking the swab in a test tube before taking another q-tip and doing the same with me.

  “All right. I’ll send someone with the results tomorrow.”

  “Don’t make me come back for you.”

  I give the doctor a parting glare before taking my son from Christine’s arms. Then we walk back into the chaos of the infirmary, and exit to the lobby. Christine’s wide eyes take in giant Black Dragon in the middle of the floor. I smile to myself as she follows me into the elevator, turning around to stare at me.

  “I didn’t realize this place was so huge.”

  Well, she’s only going to have a floor to get used to because I’m not letting her out of my sight. The doors open on the second floor, which houses all of the lower-level syndicate members, even though we’re supposed to be equal. That was Silas’ promise when he made the destruction of the Council permanent. We’re all equal. So fucking equal that I can’t get my kid checked out without a doctor giving me a smartass comment. So equal that I pretend not to feel the resentful stares burning the back of my head as I walk around this place. I was yanked from my prestigious suite the moment my dad was murdered, and wives were killed as the Viper took control. All in the name of equality. Then Silas killed that psychopath, and what message did the syndicate parade to the rest of us as they marched forward? Equality.

  My brothers are dead. I’m all that’s left of the Blackthorn name. Daniel plays with my hair, seizing a fistful and yanking hard.

  Christine follows me, struggling to keep up with my footsteps. I walk down the hallway, which is thankfully empty, and swipe my card to open the door to my apartment.

  “Welcome home.”

  The door swings inward, and I step into my suite. The hardwood floors are beaten down with age and covered in dark scuffmarks. They creak as a tall woman with sleek black hair pinned into a bun walks into the living room. Violet wears a black dress patterned with white and pink flowers on satiny fabric. She beams the moment she sees me, her heart-shaped face glowing with delight.

  “Oh my God! Is that him?”

  “His name is Daniel.”

  Violet takes Daniel from my arms and cradles him against her chest. She coos at Daniel and pinches his fat cheeks.

  “I’ve got the nursery all set up,” she tells me. “What a beautiful boy!”

  “Thanks, Vi. I really appreciate it.”

  Christine’s smooth hand curls over my arm, gripping it hard. She stares at Violet with mild indignation. “I’m sorry, who are you?”

  “Christine, this is Violet. She’s married to George, one of my good friends. Violet, this is my wife who ran off.”

  Violet’s pink smile widens and she sticks out a long, hairless arm that Christine stares at for a few awkward seconds before taking it.

  “Nice to meet you
,” she says in a tone that suggests otherwise.

  I’m sensing this probably isn’t the best time to make introductions. Frankly, I want to be alone with my wife. The fact that I haven’t had a woman in two years pounds at the back of my head. I’m counting down the minutes until Daniel is put to bed and I have her body to answer for all the time she’s spent away from me.

  “Thanks a lot for setting everything up, Vi. I really owe you one.”

  “Just let me have time with him, and we’ll call it even.”

  “Sure,” I say, as Christine gives me a reproachful glare. Violet reluctantly hands back the baby, who makes fussing noises.

  “I’ll leave you two to catch up. See you later, Thane.”

  “Thanks again.”

  I watch the back of her until the door shuts, finally enclosing us in silence only broken by Daniel. Christine reaches for him. “Give him to me.”

  I grab her skinny wrist, heat beating against my chest. “I can handle it.” I can count on my hand the amount of times I’ve actually held a baby, but it’s nothing compared to my own. I walk into the makeshift nursery Violet prepared for us in my tiny, spare room. I slip into the rocking chair and hold Daniel’s little body against my chest back.

  Christine takes in the makeshift nursery with wide eyes. “Okay…What the hell is this?”

  I rub Daniel’s back. “This is me putting our family back together.”

  She slaps her forehead. “Do you think you can just steal me from San Leandro and not face any consequences? I have a life there!”

  I smirk at her. “You mean the life where you work two shitty jobs in the ghetto? That’s over, and you’ll thank me for it later.”

  “What about my things—the rent I’m supposed to pay?”

  “Tell me the address, and I’ll take care of it.” I watch her as she paces the nursery, shaking her head. “You’re not going back there. Get that out of your fucking head.”

  “Don’t swear around the baby.”

  I roll my eyes as I stand up from the chair, looking down at Daniel, who is fast asleep. Then I gently lower him into the crib, pulling one of the blankets over his tiny body.