Scarlet looks at me over her martini glass. “Yes.”
All of the cars pull up at once. The Range Rovers, the Bentley, and finally, the one I knew Nate was in. I chew on my bottom lip as the backdoor swings open. Madison grabs my hand beside me and squeezes. “It’s going to be okay.”
My breathing stops, my legs wobble like jelly and when I see Nate finally step out of the car, I let out a small exhale as he turns, and Micaela is cradled in his arms. I jolt toward them, reaching out to her, but Nate turns her away from me.
“Inside. Now.”
“What?” I snap, my eyes leaving my daughter and going back to Nate. “You can’t do this.” I barely noticed the blood stains on Nate’s hands or everyone else that was there because they’re blurred into the back of my brain.
Finally, I turn and leave, going back inside and into the sitting room. The gas fire flicks angry flames against the wall which is a direct display of my own rage.
Nate walks in alone with Micaela in his arms. He slowly brings her toward me, and I fly off the sofa, taking her in my arms.
“It feels longer than one day that she has been gone.”
Nate doesn’t say anything, he simply lowers himself onto the sofa. “Sit down, Tillie. I need to talk with you about something.”
I inhale Micaela’s scent, closing my eyes. “If it has to do with whatever you had to do to get her back, I don’t care.”
“Really?” he asks, leaning back in the sofa. Micaela starts stirring so I bounce her around. Nate’s eyes land on her. “She’s been looked after by that nurse.”
I nod, running my finger down her cheek. “I know. It’s why—” I stop. Biting down on my tongue. It’s too late, though, because he caught it.
“Oh?” He pikes up, leaning forward to rest his arms on his thighs. “You knew?”
Shit. Shit. Shit. shit. “I knew that Peyton would us—”
“—cut the fucking lies, Tillie. You can’t fucking be honest even when it comes to our daughter.”
My eyes snap to his. “So you’ve never lied?”
He pins me with a glare, staring straight through me. “Never about her.” Then he stands to all his six-foot-whatever inches, his shoulders squaring in defiance. It’s at this very moment that I realize just how pissed he is.
“So this is what is going to happen, babe.” Only Nate could call me babe through lips that are seething with rancor. “I didn’t kill your stupid fucking sister, because it turns out that I didn’t need to.”
I step backward. “What do you mean?” My grip around Micaela tightens.
“I mean,” he says, countering my step. “She’s not a Stuprum, Tillie, she’s not Katsia’s daughter.”
I freeze. “What? That’s not right. She’s always been there. She’s my sister.”
Nate tilts his head. “You have the same dad but different mom. She’s been kicked onto the street by The Operation. They want nothing to do with her and in fact, she will probably be dead by the end of the week.”
“I don’t understand.”
Nate shakes his head slowly, his eyes darkening on me. “You’re going to give my mom Micaela until we sort this out.”
“Fuck you,” I spit, squeezing her into my arms again.
“Pass, thanks, and Tillie, shut the fuck up and let me finish.” His hands reach out to her. “This is the only way we’re going to keep her safe for now. Stop being so fucking selfish.”
I falter, his words penetrating my brain like a broken record. Is he right? Am I being selfish for keeping her in my arms even if it means sacrificing all that she could be.
No. She’s my daughter. Mine. The best thing a daughter can have is her mother, not money or opportunity.
Nate must’ve been able to read my expression, because his eyes darken on me. His shoulders pull back and his legs spread, his stance switching. It’s as though I’m watching a dark cloud sneak into a warm summer’s day, sucking in all of the sunshine and replacing it with gloom.
“You don’t have a choice, Tillie, she’s my daughter just as much as she’s yours, and now shit has changed.”
“What? What has changed?”
“Give her to me.” I’m too busy trying to figure out what he had just said that I aimlessly hand her to him.
“What do you mean, Nate?”
The doors open behind him and all of The Kings stand in a line.
I gulp, my eyes going back to Nate. “What are you going to do with me?”
He steps forward, kissing Micaela’s head. “Get upstairs and go to my room.”
I rush past him, annoyed with not just him but myself for allowing myself to get into this position to begin with. The control I craved for my daughter starts to slip between the cracks because he’s right. She’s just as much his as she is mine. I have no right to be the only person calling the shots when it comes to her livelihood. I have to learn how to share her time between us.
I shove his door open and freeze, the sight in front of me falters not just my footsteps but all thoughts of cussing Nate out too. There, in the midst of Nate’s bachelor-slash-skanky ass room of red paint, black silk sheets—hopefully freaking washed—is a matte black crib. It has black blankets and bright pink sheets and the curve of it is more of an oval than a rectangle.
A pang of guilt crashes into me. I haven’t given Nate a chance to be a father, sure, but I’ve barely myself been a mother. I’m constantly failing at it. I could bring it down to my age, or circumstance, but not every situation is ideal. I just have to find a way to cope with what fits my current predicament.
“Shhhh.” Nate rocks Micaela, shooting me daggers as
