Page 83 of My Pucking Crush

Luca- One Month Later

“ Y ou raped another kid?” I pistol whip Uncle Harris on the cracked linoleum floor of his disgusting doublewide trailer.

A shaking twelve-year-old boy cowers in the corner, but Max covers him with a blanket near the main door.

“Take the boy out of here,” I mutter to him.

The kid’s been through enough trauma. He doesn’t need to witness more violence.

“Make his last breath choke on blood,” Max says, and carries the kid outside.

I manage to tie his uncle’s hands behind his back with coarse rope, then break his legs with a sledgehammer. Harris moans at such a high pitch, the pain must be cresting into numbness. Soon, everything will turn black, and the torture won’t matter.

I could have just come here while he was sleeping and put a bullet in his head, but that was too good for him. I wanted him to suffer. I wanted him to know who is ending his pathetic life and why.

With a final crack of my gun on his already broken nose, I slip on the silencer and empty my clip until there’s nearly nothing left of his head. Some hitmen castrate rapists to let authorities know the reason for their demise. I don’t want any of this to ever come back to Max.

Now Harris is a bloody pulp with half a head, and there’s not a talented mortician in the world who can put this scumbag back together for an open casket. Who would show up anyway?

Maybe Max’s dad. I don’t give a fuck. Max hasn’t spoken to his parents, who hung up on him when he told them we were getting married.

My husband stopped sending them checks, too.

Warm hands on my shoulder spin me around. Max looks wrecked, his eyes taking me in.

“Oh, baby.” I don’t hug him, though. I’m covered in this asshole’s toxic blood.

“I’m fine. The kid. He ran off. And went into one of those trailers.” Max pulls down a cheap metal blind and points to a row of sad, mobile homes in a ragged, uneven row.

I sigh in relief, worried that we had to drop off the kid at a police station.

Harris was a maintenance manager here and had unfettered access to all the homes. He used his authority to stalk his prey. He must have been luring kids here with candy and video games. One was playing on the television while he raped the kid in his dirty kitchen.

“Is he dead?” Max glances over my shoulder.

I have the stomach for this brutality. Max doesn’t. I don’t want that vision in his head. “Yes, my love.” I cup his cheek, his eyes straying to the blood on my hands.

“I fucking love you.” He kisses me wildly, biting at my lower lip, the final edges of his rage taken out on me.

“I love you more. Come on.” I pull Max out of the trailer I’m tempted to torch, but don’t want any other homes to burn. Or anyone else hurt.

These people have been through enough with this monster.

We get to the rental that I parked in a shadow. I remove the bloodied clothes and put them in a plastic bag. In fresh jeans and a T-shirt, I drive out of the trailer park. Max told me he’d been there as a kid, so finding his DNA there won’t be suspicious. Me? I’m a ghost now. My prints and DNA won’t show up anywhere. Ever again.

When we hit the highway, Max opens the car window and breathes the muggy Georgia air deeply into his lungs. “Thank you,” he says softly.

“Ha! Nothing gave me more pleasure.” I grip his hand and kiss it.

“Nothing?” he asks.

“I only wish we fucked in front of him.”

“Asshole would get off from it.”

“True.”

My phone rings, and I stare at it. I’m off the grid as far as my work for Sebastien Daria. He happily gave me the time off to end this disgusting man’s life.

Seeing the number flash across my screen, I pull over. “Sam? What’s up?”

“Where are you?” my sister asks, her shuddering voice icy.

“What’s wrong?” I growl, thinking she’s in trouble.

“I asked where you are?”

“Marietta, Georgia.”

“Get your ass to Chicago.”

My hands shake. “Is that where you are? Does the bratva have you?”

“No, brother.” She sounds like she’s crying. “I’m perfectly safe. But please. Just get here. I’ll text you the address. Bring your husband. You’re going to need him.”

WE LAND IN CHICAGO four hours later, after finding a private plane. I stop at an armory run by a man I still trust and load up on guns, ammo, hand grenades, and anything else they’ll sell me.

“Please go to a hotel,” I say to Max, checking everything .

“No. I stay with you. Besides, your sister said to bring me.” He takes the Glock on the counter and puts it in his jacket.

“Stubborn son of a bitch,” I say, but I love how strong he is.

We get to the address Samara texted. It’s a nice house a few miles from where I used to live with Lia. There’s something familiar about it, but these colonials are all over the place. My brain is nearly offline worried about my sister and wondering what the fuck she’s gotten herself into that she needed me so desperately.

And why the fuck did she demanded I bring Max? He’s not soft, but he’s not combat trained either.

The block is quiet, and my keen experience assures me the parked cars up and down the street are empty. Samara knows what she’s doing.

On the wooden steps, I motion Max to stay behind me. I gave him a crash course on how to protect himself, taught him basic hand signals, and anything else I could think of to keep him safe, short of sending him back to New York without me.

I knock on the door, and nearly collapse seeing Samara while Max hovers behind me. My sister looks...perfect. Not a hair out of place. Beautiful as ever. Designer clothes, even. A new look for her, but nothing that indicates she’s in danger.

“Oh, Daniil.” Samara jumps into my arms. “I couldn’t tell you on the phone.”

My heart slams against my ribs. “Tell me what ?”

“Who’s that?” a tender male voice says, standing under an arch.

That voice...

It’s like I’ve fallen down a well. Am I reliving what the fuck I just saw in Marietta? I stagger back and Max catches me .

“What the hell?” he mutters.

“Oh my God,” I choke. “Is that...?”

“Come on, angel.” Samara coaxes him to stand in front of her. “Elijah, this is my brother, the man I told you about. He’s your papa.”

My stomach threatens to revolt, but the second I see him, I know without a doubt, this is my son. He’s taller with darker hair, curlier just like mine now, but it’s him . I know every curve of that face. A face I made.

I hold out my arms, waiting for Eli to come to me, but he eases back behind Sam. He doesn’t remember me, and I’m gutted.

Max’s hand cups my shoulder. “Give him a moment. Speak to him like you did the last time you saw him. Remind him of something in the past that you two shared.”

I think about that and hum a nursery rhyme I always sang to him at bedtime. Eli’s eyes grow wide and he gently sings the song with me.

My voice shakes as the memories flood me. Slowly Elijah steps away from Samara.

“Papa.” My son runs down the hallway and into my arms. “You came back.”

I bend down and smooth the lock of hair back from his forehead as I always did. I kiss his warm, sweet-smelling skin. He’s healthy and clean. And perfect. His arms wrap around me, and I know he remembers me. Me, his father.

I collapse to hold him, my knees hitting the carpet, squeezing him so hard I’m worried I’ll crush him. Tears clog my throat, and I pray this isn’t some fucked-up dream. Or a nightmare I’ll eventually wake up from.

Someone must have switched the burned body I identified. Let me bury someone else. Made me live with a torn-out heart these last five years. Until this amazing man behind me put me back together.

Now...

Now I have it all.

Holding Eli, I stand up as I let him cry and shake in my arms.

Glaring at Samara, I say, “ Talk to me. Who lives here?”

Samara steers me into the living room and the blows keep coming. Sitting on a chair, her hands wringing a handkerchief, is Zoraida. My son’s nanny.

“How did you find them?” I say to Sam through clenched teeth.

“I was doing a job here,” my sister begins. “I heard someone mention Zoraida and the little boy . It stopped my heart. I had to check it out. It took weeks, but I found them this morning.” Samara smiles sadly, watching my son in my arms. “Belova hid him out of revenge because of Lia. That’s the real reason he wanted you dead. Ivan knew if you found out what he did, you’d kill him.”

“And that’s why you killed him.”

Samara smiles.

Whimpering breaks the silence. “I’m so sorry,” Zoraida cries, thinking I’ll kill her.

She only knew me as a killer. I should kill her.

“We need a doctor,” I say, trying to think rationally about what Eli needs, knowing someone can show up any minute to kill us. “I need to have him checked out.”

“Ashton will examine him,” Max says, getting on his phone. “He’s a pediatric surgeon.”

“He’s perfectly healthy. I promise, Mr. Korolev.” The nanny bows to me. “Ivan never hurt him. Or me. Your son wanted for nothing.”

But he’s technically Belova’s heir and the bratva will come for him.

“Why hasn’t someone else collected him if he’s the heir to the Belova dynasty?” I ask Samara.

“Ivan’s cousin took over,” Samara whispers. “Defied the council. Didn’t want Elijah as the heir. A war is about to break out here. Belova loyalists will be coming to install him. And the opposition is coming to kill him,” she whispers.

I shudder. Still holding him, his little legs wrapped around my waist, I realize Max is stroking his hair. “Hey, you’re safe now, little Eli. We’ve got you.”

It’s almost too much.

“Can I trust her?” I ask Samara, who’s had more time with this situation.

“I don’t know. I don’t think she’d do anything to harm Elijah, but she didn’t reach out to you. I think everything she’s done has been out of fear. I expect that won’t change. But if you’re gonna take her with us, we better leave now,” Samara says low.

Someone will kill Zoraida for handing him over to me. She can tell them I took him back to save her life. I won’t be hunted down, not when I have this precious angel to protect.

I’d rather bring her to New York, take my time considering what to do. Zoraida is from South America, and if I think she’s a liability, I’ll put her on a plane and dump her there.

“She comes with us.” I kiss my son’s forehead. “Let’s get you packed, my little prince.”

“Already done.” Samara points to a set of luggage near the door. “His ID is packed up, too. They didn’t change his name. And she’s been homeschooling him. Take Elijah. I’ll guard her while she packs, and meet you back in Manhattan.”

To the townhouse Max and I share.

“You coming to New York?” I’ve been begging Samara to work with me .

“I am now. I’m his aunt, I want him to know me.” Elijah’s mother is gone, Samara is all he has in that department. “Can I live with you and your hubby?” she asks, playfully.

“Absolutely,” Max answers from behind me.

“Eli?” I look down at him and go weak at his soft gray eyes like mine. “Can I take you home with me? Me and Max, your new step-dad?”

“Okay, Papa.” He smiles at us.

I turn to Max, fighting tears. I want so much to walk into the sunset with my son and my husband. “You good with this, Max? With raising my son with me?”

Max puts his arm around us. Both of us. “Where you Korolevs go, I go.”

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