Da dum. Da dum. Da dum. Da dum.

My heartbeat pounds in my head as I pace the bed they’ve had to sedate Rowan in. I think she finally broke. This pushed her over the edge.

I place a kiss to her forehead and meet my brothers in the corridor.

“Police are checking the security footage now,” Hayden informs me. His hair is all over the place from him running his hands through it.

“Lucy’s in a bad way.” Cam hugs his arms around himself. He’s rocking in a chair, looking fragile as shit.

“It’s all going to be okay,” I reassure them.

“How the fuck do you know that?” Brock demands.

I can’t tell them that, so I just shake my head.

“Because it has to be,” I offer instead, before closing the space between Hayden and me. “I need you to be in there with her, and don’t leave her until I’m back.”

“Where are you going?” he asks.

“Hay.” I place my hand on his chest and look him directly in the eye. “Please just stay with her and don’t leave that room—not even to piss.”

His eyes bore into mine, studying, searching for answers to a million questions firing off in his mind.

“Trust me,” I urge him.

“I’m coming with you.” Cam stands up.

“No.” I shake my head and go over to him. “I need you here in case they find Erica. She’s going to need to be with family, and Rowan could be out for hours.”

He nods his head in understanding.

“Trevor’s in pieces over Lucy,” Brock chokes out. Ethan, his best friend, grips his shoulder to offer his support, and says, “We’ll stay for Rowan, for Lucy, for all of them.”

I nod in agreement.

“I’ll be back soon.”

I leave them to take care of my girl and check my cell phone again to re-read the message Jaxson sent me.

Home sweet home.

* * *

There’s an undercover cop car parked a couple feet from his old house. Pulling my car into our drive, I check the yard, my guard up. This could be a trap. Perhaps he’s changed his mind on the not killing me. Shit, he can try.

I let myself into our house, go straight to Eric’s office and crack his safe.

Taking out the Glock and checking it’s loaded, I stuff it into the back of my jeans and slip out the back door.

The moon lights the dark sky, giving me a clear view of the door I once built into the fence to go between our house and Rowan’s. It’s open.

He knows I’m coming, so trying to be sneaky is useless. I make my way over there. The grass is overgrown and the place looks rundown after standing empty for months.

We should do it up and put it on the market, or bulldoze it so Rowan doesn’t have to see it anymore.

Drapes blow through the open doors in the back of the house, and I listen for a baby’s cries, but it’s eerie fucking silent.

I don’t know how I know, but I just fucking know he hasn’t hurt her.

She looks too much like her mother. And baby killing isn’t his style.

The place smells like it always has as I enter. I thought it might be musty, but it smells clean, and like sandalwood.

Looking around the downstairs, I don’t see any movement.

Just as my foot hits the bottom stair, a sliver of light comes from the basement door.

An icy chill races up my spine, but adrenaline pumps hard through my bloodstream to counteract it. Police went through this place with a fine - toothcomb after they uncovered my mother’s body, but nothing was found as far as I know.

Still, basements are creepy when you know a murderer is down there. I always thought I had those traits inside me—the urge—but things have changed for me since Eric’s been gone—since learning what really happened to our mother—since getting Rowan back. There’s this anger inside me, but it’s more a defense, to protect the people I care about. That’s makes me normal, right? It has to.

Pushing open the door, I take the stairs down, and my heartrate speeds up when Jaxson comes into sight, Erica cradled in his arms.

“This is where your mother tried to whore herself out,” he announces before my feet even hit the bottom step.

“I’m not here to talk about what a slut my mother was. I already know.” I smirk, examining over the baby without giving away that I’m doing just that.

He grins back at me with teeth on show. “Is she the reason you are what you are?” he asks, moving around the table positioned in the center of the space.

“Can it be that simple?” I counter.

The baby makes a soft murmur, and Jaxson rocks her in his arms, with care and experience.

“I remember Rowan like this. Innocent. Unspoiled by the world,” he reminisces.

My cell rings, snapping him from the moment. He looks to my jean pocket and raises a brow. “You want to get that?”

His face is so stoic, it almost makes me laugh.

“It’s probably just Brock updating me on Lucy.”

Brown irises expand, almost disappearing, giving way to the blacks of his pupils.

He must remember Lucy. “Where is she?”

“Who?”

“Lucy.” There’s an urgency to his tone that makes my stomach knot.

“Was it you who did that to her?” I ask in disbelief.

“Where is she?” he demands again, and his tone is deadly. Usually, I’d taunt him, but his demeanor gives no room for messing around and Erica is still in his grip.

“Hospital. She’s dying, and they don’t know what she’s taken, or been given.”

I take a step toward him, and he doesn’t move. He’s very comfortable and confident being here, even as a wanted fugitive.

“Police are outside,” I inform him, and he rolls his eyes.

“They’re pathetic. I came in through your house. I always hated that gateway you created, but seems to have proven useful in this case.”

“What do you know about Lucy?” I prod, and he sighs.

“Lucy, Lucy, Lucy. I see the police have been down here.” He changes the subject.

“They found bodies in your backyard.” I shrug like it’s fair for them to have searched the place.

He scoffs, making Erika jolt in his grasp.

“They didn’t find shit. I gave you the bodies.”

“Thanks,” I deadpan, and he grins over at me.

“I always liked you, Nixon.”

“Is that a compliment?” I move forward a couple more inches, my hand reaching around and taking the gun from the back of my jeans.

His eyes drop to my weapon, but he ignores it, like I’m holding air.

Lifting his free hand, he raps his knuckles on the wall.

Tap, tap.

Tap, tap.

A crease forms on his forehead, and then the brick pops out from the wall.

Well, shit.

He pulls out a handful of pictures and tosses them on to the table.

“Lucy is part of my collection,” he announces.

What the fuck?

Da dum, Da dum, Da dum.

My jaw unhinges as I step forward and brush my hand through the photographs, spreading them out over the space.

Blonde, brunette, tan, creamy flesh, hundreds of photos of different women.

My hand stops on one of Lucy, and I look up at him.

“Are these women dead?”

“I’ve been in your house, seen where Rowan sleeps, the nursery you have set up for the baby.”

“She belongs with us, and I think you know that,” I state, waggling the photo in my hand.

“This…this will kill Rowan.” I shake my head, looking back down at the dozens of women. “When she sees these…” I frown, thinking about the way she blames herself for Eric and how it tortures her to think of Jaxson as a monster. This will fucking kill her.

“Do you think I’m like you?” I ask suddenly. All my thoughts of us being alike slam into me. Will I become like him? Kill women for…what? Kicks? Sense of power?

“What is it you’re really asking?”

“Do you think I’m a psychopath?” I ask bluntly.

He laughs and moves his hand to the baby’s neck.

“If I were to kill someone you love, would you care?” His eyes bore into mine, flaying me right down to the core.

Would I care? Fuck yes.

“If you’re searching the sea of people you love in your mind right now, then you’re probably not a psychopath.” He narrows his stare on me.

“Give me the baby and I’ll let you leave here,” I offer, and his lips twist into a simper.

“Or you can put the gun down and I’ll let you leave here,” he counters.

“Not going to happen. Why the hell did you want me here?”

“I want to return a daughter to her father.”

Da dum. Da dum. Da dum.

“What the fuck does that mean?” I growl, picturing Eric’s dead eyes staring up from the hole in the backyard. As if reading my mind, Jaxson tuts.

“Not that cunt. You—her real father.”

Da dum. Da dum. Da dum.

“Girls need their fathers, and she’s going to need a daddy. You’ll take care of both of them. I know you will.”

I nod my head in confirmation. Yes, I will, until my dying breath.

“Why did you take her then?” I query.

“To spend some time with her. I couldn’t risk staying at the hospital. I’m a wanted man.” He smiles, like he’s happy about that fact.

He gestures with a head nod to the gun I’m holding and the table.

“Put the weapon on the table and push it over to me.”

Silence. Fuck, I don’t want to give him the gun.

“You can’t hold that and the baby, Nixon. Make a choice.” The smiles are gone, agitation replacing the happy, not-give-a-shit vibe from seconds before.

Placing the gun on the table, I push it to the other side.

He picks it up and walks over to me, handing over Erica. Relief at feeling her weight in my grip makes my eyes close briefly.

Taking her in my arms, her soft, small body cocoons against my chest.

A calm washes over me, and I feel like I can take a breath for the first time since finding Rowan in labor.

He waves the gun at me to get my attention, and instinctively, my hands tighten on the baby as I turn my back to him.

“Don’t let Rowan find these.” He talks about the pictures, but I already plan on burning them in the pit outback.

“Relax,” he tells me, cradling his frame over mine and slipping his hand into my pocket, taking out my cell phone.

“What are you doing? Calling a cab?” I jest.

“Saving my sweet Lucy,” he croons, placing the cell to his ear.

He walks over toward the stairs and begins reeling off medical jargon into the phone as he takes the steps two at a time.

I don’t move for a good ten seconds, just clinging to Erica for dear life.

“I’ve got you, baby girl. I’ll never let go. I promise.”

* * *

Hayden paces the corridor, burning a hole in the floor.

“I couldn’t just shoot him, Hay. He was holding the fucking baby.”

He swipes a hand through his hair and sits, then stands. “You shouldn’t have let him get away.”

Yeah, because he would have done shit differently. If Hayden had shown up there, he wouldn’t have left. He’d be in the wilderness that yard has become.

“Give him a break,” Cam shouts, shocking us all. “Our sister is in there being fed by her mom because of Nixon. Not me, not you or Brock—Nixon got her home.” He throws his arms around my shoulders and hugs me. “Thank you for getting her home.”

Coughing to announce his presence, Trevor looks like he’s been hit by a ten-ton truck and was dragged for eight blocks. There’s some chick in the corridor with him, her eyes swollen from tears.

“How is she?” I ask.

“Responding well to the new antibiotics. I need some answers from you.” He nods his head as crinkles cut into his eyes. I need answers from him. It’s something I’ve never pursued, because, if I’m honest with myself, I’m terrified of the answer. If we share DNA, why hasn’t he wanted us tested—wanted me?

How could he watch his best friend raise a kid who’s his? It’s not like I was a happy fucking kid. I hated my volatile parents.

“Why did Jaxson Wheeler call me from your cell phone?”

Hayden shuffles past me and goes to stand next to the girl I don’t recognize but he clearly does.

“I have a question for you,” I counter, sick of dancing around the question everyone must be thinking.

His frown line pinches and his shoulders tense. “Okay?”

Fuck, I didn’t want to do this in front of my brothers, but fuck them. Fuck him.

“Are you my real dad?”

A chorus of, “What the fuck?” comes from my brothers, but not Trevor. He looks pained at the question.

He moves toward me, placing his hands on my shoulders.

“No, why would you ever think that?”

I scoff. We look the fucking same. He must see that. My brothers must see that. Eric had to have seen that.

“I look like you, and I always knew deep down Eric wasn’t my dad.”

Hayden pushes Trevor out the way and grasps my face in his palms. “Mom wouldn’t cheat. She was always accusing Dad of cheating. You look like Mom’s brother and Dad had us tested anyway.” Hayden rests his head on mine.

“Mom didn’t have a brother,” Brock interjects.

Hayden releases me with an exhale. “Yes, she does. He’s just a piece of shit she hadn’t spoken to since she was a kid, anyway that’s not the fucking point. Nix I have the proof you are Eric’s.”

“How the fuck do you know this shit?” Brock asks the question I want the answer to.

“I found paternity tests for all of us in Dad’s insurance policy.” He rolls his eyes.

Motherfucker.

“I can’t believe you thought I was your dad, Nix, I wish you came to me sooner with this so I could have put your mind at rest. I loved my wife, and your father. I never would have betrayed them that way. Or you.”

My legs give out, and I collapse into the seat behind me, dropping my head into my hands.

I honestly didn’t expect this outcome. All the years I thought Eric wasn’t my dad.

“You okay?” Cam asks, coming to sit next to me. Am I?

“I’m exhausted.”

* * *

7 months later…

When the fuck are they going to leave us alone?

“No, Officer, he hasn’t made contact,” Rowan informs them for the hundredth time. “He killed people I care about and stole my child. Do you think I’m protecting him?” she growls.

I’d burned the evidence of Jaxson Wheeler’s true identity.

Serial killer.

The thought of Rowan ever finding out the extent of the dark monster’s thirst inside her dad is unbearable. She’d break, and I’d never be able to put the pieces back together.

She worries constantly about her dad coming for Erica. Any sound, knock at the door, has her startling and racing to pick up the baby.

She was home a day before she moved the baby into her room, then both of them into mine.

We’ve become a unit. A baby machine. A family.

I know I’ll have to rid the world of Jaxson Wheeler, though. He won’t stay gone. Like me, he loves something too precious to stay away from.

But she’s not his. She’s mine. And I’ll do anything to keep her safe—and that means killing him.

* * *

Entering Dr. Winters’ office, she smiles at me and hands me an envelope.

“What’s this?”

“A birthday card.”

“Isn’t this crossing some kind of ethical line?” I take the card from her and place it on the table.

“It’s not every day you turn eighteen.”

“Does this mean I can stop coming here now?” I sit back and lift my ankle to rest on my knee.

“Unfortunately, for your eagerness to get rid of me, you agreed to thirty months.”

I know I don’t have to stick with the terms. I’m eighteen now. I could tell her to eat shit and walk out of here never to return, but that’s what she expects me to do, and if I’m honest, coming here helps me. It makes me feel normal. How fucked up is that?

“How are things at home?” she asks, picking lint from her pant leg. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen her legs covered.

“Great.”

“How are the dynamics now?”

She wants to know if I’ve pursued things with Rowan. I planned on bottling those emotions and urges and burying them deep so I could be what she needed right now, but it’s Rowan who’s become needy for more.

Little looks she gives me of longing. The need to be held and always looking for my approval.

We’re a team with Erica, like any other young couple with a baby you’d see, only we don’t fuck.

“I think my brother is gay.”

Winters can’t mask her shock at this announcement. She drops the pen she’s holding, then flusters to pick it back up.

“Camden?” she finally squeaks out.

“No, Brock.”

“Why would you think that. Has he confided in you?”

“No.”

I saw him and Ethan having a heated discussion, and it wasn’t just friends having a falling out. There was passion and pain in their tone, posture, eyes.

“Have you asked him?”

I shrug. “It’s none of my business.”

“So why bring it up?”

To get you off the subject of Rowan.