“Um, there's an explanation, Jackson. I promise you, it isn't what you –“
“Quiet,” I growled, pushing my hand over her mouth. “Didn't tell you to start squawking to me about a buncha fuckin' questions I haven't even asked. That comes later. Right now, you walk the fuck out behind me, strap in the kid, and don't move 'til you see me pulling out on my bike.”
The kid looked up just then. I looked away just as fuckin' fast, hoping she'd think it was because I didn't want to startle him.
Had to follow my own advice. Had to get them out of here. Had to take them to my apartment, put the kid down for a nap, before I laid into her.
But Jesus Christ. One second was all I needed to see it, to see the eyes that blew my world apart.
Fucking fuck.
I stopped every nerve in my body from having a conniption fit 'til I was on my bike. I walked her out like a robot, covered her while she put the kid in his seat, then climbed into the driver's side herself.
Then I hauled ass to my bike, got on, and roared out, checking the mirror carefully to make sure her rusted little car hung close.
Small miracle I didn't lose my shit on the way back. The sharp, numb focus that always came over me when I'd dealt with life and death before triumphed again. But it got the biggest fuckin' test in my life since the day after Piece died, when Prez had to hold me back, before I went lone wolf against his killers and got myself wrecked.
That kid. That beautiful, mysterious, spear-through-my-fuckin'-chest toddler...I'd grill her about it later, no bullshit.
But I didn't have to. Deep down, I already knew the answer.
The second I saw that bright hazel glow in his eyes, I knew he was mine.
He was my brother.
He was my grandpa.
He was me.
He was a Taylor by blood.
The only man in this world who could've made him was looking back at me in my bike's mirrors, his fucked up eyes flashing with a thousand kinds of rage and a haze of tears.
I had a son. And the bitch I'd once loved had fuckin' lied to me about it for God only knew how long.
7
Wag the Dog (Summer)
Oh, God.
Holy hell.
Oh, crap.
I tried not to hyperventilate on the long, painful journey down the highway, straight to the exit on the other side of town.
The last thing I needed was to freak out and wreck the car.
The second last thing was scaring the hell out of poor Alex worse than I already had. He'd started crying as soon as he realized something was wrong, about a split second before I saw Joker's bike tear through the bushes.
By the time I picked him up, the lone, deafening gunshot had rang out. Hatch was screaming on the phone, snarling and cursing like a mad dog. I picked it up off the floor and hurled it at the wall as hard as I could, silencing it forever.
I walked across the debris, feeling the satisfying crunch underfoot. The demon who'd threatened my son would be twice as hellbent on killing us tomorrow, but today, he'd lost.
There was about thirty seconds of satisfaction before Jackson's heavy boot kicked down the door. He came in, staring at us, his eyes glued to the baby in my arms.
I wasn't sure how I kept it together. Everything I'd tried to hide away was out in the open, lost in an instant, forever torn away from me by that wild, scary energy in his eyes.
They'd been so dead, so haunted, for so fucking long. But when he saw Alex, before he told me to shut up and leave with him, I saw something I never thought I'd see swirling in those intense hazel eyes ever again.
Life.
He knew the kid was ours. He knew I'd hid him. And I'd probably be dismembered for doing it by the end of the night.
*
Joker didn't say a word when I followed him into a cracked parking lot. It belonged to a tall, worn looking building.
He got off his bike and motioned, leaving me to park the car in an empty space nearby, then collect Alex. I followed him to the door he unlocked, and we stepped into a tiny lobby lined with big mailboxes.
At least it was cleaner in here than it looked on the outside. Better than the place I'd been living, under the Deadhands' gun.
He shot me an angry look over his shoulder, checking to make sure I was following as he headed for a big, winding staircase.
Little Alex yawned in my arms. I walked slowly, careful not to wake him, hoping he'd finally get some sleep after all the excitement.
He wasn't scared anymore. That counted for something. But now it was like I'd taken his innocent terror, feeling my blood turn to ice with every step I took toward Joker's apartment.
Mine wasn't nearly as innocent. Maybe I deserved whatever was coming, the barrage of abuse, but I'd only tried to protect my son from a man so dangerous, so broken, a normal family life wasn't in his makeup.
Upstairs, he stopped next to a big wooden door, jammed the key into the lock, and threw it open. He held it open, waving us in, while he pulled out his phone.