Page 92 of Finding Denver

“Please,” Denver says, her voice breaking. “He’s mine. He’s my little boy. He’s my baby. He was mine. For a few hours, he was mine?—”

The mother shakes her head. “No, no, he’s my son. You don’t get to change your mind!”

“I didn’t know!” Denver sobs, and I wrap my arms around her. “Colt, tell her. Tell her I didn’t know. They told me he died. They?—”

“Denver,” I whisper against her ear. “We can’t do it this way. We need to do this right.”

She sags in my arms, her gaze fixed on her son, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“You don’t understand,” she says. “They lied to me. He’s … he’s my baby. He’s my little boy.” Theo starts to cry, and Denver sobs. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m sorry. I love you so much. I swear I never wanted this. I never—” Theo’s mother puts him in a car seat, tears on her own face as she gets into the car. “Please!” Denver screams, falling to her knees. I keep my arms around her, kneeling in the grass as the woman drives away and Denver sobs. “Tell her, Colt. Please tell her.”

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper, kissing her temple. I look over at the car where Lewis and Taf stand. Lewis shakes his head, tears on his face, looking as distraught and helpless as I feel. Taf has his hand over his mouth. “We need to go, Del.”

She shakes her head weakly. “I need to tell him I love him again. I need him to know.”

“We’ll find a way to do that, Denver. But we should go home. Let’s go home.”

She stares at the end of the road as the car disappears. I lift her into my arms and carry her back to the car, placingher in the back seat. She sobs into her hands. She wails, and I pull her onto my lap and rock her in my arms, the tightness in my chest close to overwhelming me.

“He was mine,” she sobs. “He was supposed to be mine.”

There’s not a fucking thing I can say. I can’t promise to get her baby boy back. I can’t turn back time. I can’t kill the man who did this to her unless she asks me to.

I’m helpless. Unable to do anything but hold her as she falls apart in my arms, shatters in my embrace, reduced to ashes from a flame that her husband lit.

Chapter 23

Colt

I’m woken by soft crying. I inhale quietly, blinking my eyes open, and my neck aches when I sit up. It’s dark outside, and the sandwich that Helena brought me just after lunch is still beside me.

We’re home after a quiet flight. Denver went straight to bed when we arrived, and we’ve taken turns sitting with her. She isn’t silent anymore. She cries more than she sleeps. This is the third time she’s woken like this, anguished sobs buried in a pillow. I dread to think what she’s dreaming about, and wish to God I could take it away.

Taf spent the day with Holly, holding her a little closer than usual. Lewis sat in silence for a long time. Finn didn’t ask me how it went. Neither did Helena. But Finn did sit with me, a whiskey in both our hands, and his company was enough to keep me grounded.

When Denver’s breathing evens out, I stand, blinking back tears of my own. I go to the window to open it, to breathe in cool air that will calm the anger that wants to burn wild again.

And that’s when I see him.

Across the street. Leaning against his parked car.

Ranger fucking Luxe.

The ability to calm myself vanishes. The rationale falls away.

And the want to hurt him overcomes every sense I have.

I don’t grab my gun as I leave Denver’s room and stride down the hall. I take the stairs quickly, and I’m opening the door before anyone can stop me. The evening air does nothing to cool my skin, my rage.

Ranger watches with indifference as I stride toward him.

The arrogance of him. The fucking audacity.

We’re close when he pulls his gun, arm outstretched, finger on the trigger, and the moment is reduced to seconds. And in those seconds, I realize that Ranger Luxe’s power comes from the belief that he is always a step ahead. Always a rung higher on the ladder of our lives. He lives in a world where he’s feared, where he’s the king.

But he’s in my fucking city now.

I lean, my left hand darting out to grip his wrist, shoving the gun toward the ground as he fires. The bullet hits the cement, and my other fist meets his jaw. Any other man would have gone down, but with his size, all that happens is that he falls back into his car.