Page 132 of Desperate Games

Rumor says he strangled to death after failing to correctly assemble some sick choking contraption he used to get himself off.

Now, I’m not one to yuck anyone’s yum. You wanna spice up your sex life with a little kink? Be my guest.

But this fucker? He wasn’t looking at consenting adults.

He was looking at kids. Babies.

And that shit? That’s not kink. That’s rot. Pure evil.

So yeah, let the story spin however they want it to. Let the FBI scratch their heads.

Me? I’m sure Satan himself is popping champagne right now, welcoming that piece of shit back to Hell where he belongs.

And if my hands ache when I flex them? If my knuckles are split and raw?

Well. Some Christmas gifts don’t fit under the tree.

Me? I’m sitting in our bedroom, helping Andy while she feeds our twins.

One of each—double the surprise. Double the perfection.

Andrew and Elena Falco.

“Here, let me put him down, and I’ll bring you Elena,” I murmur, kissing my wife’s sweet, sweat-damp head.

She leans into me, those hazel eyes shining like firelight.

Her hand lifts—wedding band catching the glow of the Christmas tree lights outside our window.

The new one I had made just for her.

Twenty-four karat gold, warm as her skin. Inside, our initials. Outside, engraved with the words forever and always.

“I love this, by the way,” she whispers, voice soft and a little awed.

“I love you,” I answer without hesitation.

She makes a contented hum, and we swap infants carefully, her body still tender but her touch fierce and protective.

Tiny feet patter. I turn, and my chest cracks open at the sight of Callie—hand tucked in my mom’s—peeking in with wide green eyes.

“Sorry for the interruption,” Mom says gently, “but someone wanted to see her siblings.”

“That’s okay,” Andy smiles, hair falling in waves around her flushed face.

“Daddy! Mommy Andy! Are my babies asleep?” Callie beams, voice ringing with excitement.

“No, sweetheart. Your babies are having their dinner now. Andrew just finished his,” Andy soothes.

“Can I hold him?” she asks, marching right over to me, serious as a judge.

I grin, lowering a drowsy Andrew into her little arms as Mom helps her settle in the chair by the wall. She cradles him like he’s made of glass, her small face solemn with responsibility.

“I’m your big sister,” she whispers to him. “Right, Daddy?”

“That’s right, Princess. You’re the best big sister ever.”

Her smile nearly splits her face.