37. Chapter 37

Chapter 37

Ethan

I pull up to Sunrise Terrace apartment complex, finding an empty spot under one of the few functioning lamps in the entire street. A small creature, probably a rat, darts from beneath the overflowing dumpster and disappears into the dying shrubbery on the other side of the road.

What a lovely place.

Kayla opens the car door, then casts me another cautious glance. She's been looking at me like this for the entire ride, as if she is worried I'll suddenly change my mind, turn the car around, and lock her in my basement. Which would be a sensible thing to do.

I never planned to let her interact with other people this soon after taking her. I thought I'd have more time to let her adjust, to accept me, to build mutual trust. But after the heart-wrenching conversation we had in my safe room and the mind blowing sex just a few hours ago, I trust her.

She might still break my heart if she decides to leave me, but she won't go to the police. Not about the stalking and kidnapping, nor about the murders. Not after telling me she'd give me her own list of people to kill.

I thought I couldn't love her more, but her easy acceptance of all parts of me blew me away. I'm hers now, a thrall ready to do her bidding. If she wants the people on her list dead, I'll kill them. I'll fucking kill anyone she points her finger at. Anyone at all, rules be damned. And I might start tonight by killing Mr. and Mrs. Simpson, because seriously, who the fuck steals a baby like this?!

"Go," I tell Kayla before she can ask for permission to leave the car. "Calm the girl down and bring her to the car. I'll wait here. We'll visit her parents and set this straight."

Her wary expression turns into a warm smile. "Thank you. You're so perfect. I…" She bites down on her lip, then shakes her head. "Later. I'll be right back."

"Take your time," I call as she shuts the door and sprints into the building. "I have some work to do."

I pull out my laptop from the bag I hastily threw on the back seat and boot it up. I was hoping I'd get a few minutes to find some dirt on the Simpsons before we get there and Kayla just gave me a perfect opportunity.

My fingers fly over the keyboard as I access various databases, pulling up all the dirt I can find on the family.

At first, there's nothing significant. Some parking and speeding tickets, missed dog fee payment notifications, a stream of complaints on the neighbor's kids for being "too loud." It would seem that Georgia's parents are just normal upper-class assholes.

I dig deeper. They're rich, pretentious, and without a shred of compassion if the treatment of their daughter says anything about them. There must be a skeleton in their closet. Or buried in their garden.

Then I find it. The tax report Daddy Dearest filed last year. And the year before. And all the years before that.

His stated income is nowhere near enough to afford the expensive car he drives. The expensive house he lives in. The expensive wife he supports. No way. Besides, the website of his company boasts about employing nearly two hundred people. His tax report states he employs twelve. How the fuck has nobody reported him to the IRS yet is beyond me, but it works in my favor.

The rear car door opens, interrupting my search. Kayla helps a pale, slender girl enter the vehicle and clicks her seatbelt closed. My rage flares as I notice Georgia's desolate expression, red-rimmed eyes, and red, splotchy face. She looks like she's been crying for hours.

"Alright," Kayla says as she settles in her own seat. "The address is—" When she notices the address to Georgia's parents already in my GPS, she rolls her eyes. "Well, the address is that . We'll go straight there and get Arya."

Even though she's talking to Georgia and not to me, I nod and start the engine.

In the back seat, Georgia sniffles but doesn't say anything.

"It's going to be alright, Georgia," Kayla says. "What did we just talk about? That Arya is…?"

"My-my daughter."

Kayla twists in her seat to smile at the girl. "Exactly. And?"

"And…and they can't take her away from me?"

"Bingo! You are Arya's legal guardian, Georgia. Your parents can spew all the bullshit they want, but unless a judge says otherwise, Arya is yours. What they did was not just morally wrong, but also illegal as hell."

Georgia hums in acquiescence, more tears spilling from her eyes. Wordlessly, I open the glove compartment and point Kayla to the box of paper tissues there. It earns me another beaming smile. "Just when I think you can't get any more perfect…" she whispers to me as she hands the box to Georgia.

I just shake my head. I'm far from perfect and we both know it. But if she's willing to accept me with all my imperfections, I'm not going to complain.

We drive in silence, interrupted only by Georgia's occasional sniffle. Her parents don't live far from Sunrise Terrace, but their fancy neighborhood might as well be in another world entirely.

Their driveway isn't gated, so I just roll up straight to their ugly as hell house. Half of it is Victorian, the other half ultra modern. The result looks like a kid smashed two toys together, destroying them both.

The light is on, and the moment I open the car door, I can hear a baby wailing and one of those tiny lap dogs barking.

"Arya!" Georgia cries out, stumbling over her own feet as she rushes toward the front door.

Kayla grabs her arm and holds her upright. "Easy, Georgia. I know this is very difficult, but you have to stay calm now, okay? Your parents would never hurt Arya, would they? She's fine. We just need to talk to them to make sure this never happens again, and then you can go home with your baby. Crying or screaming won't help speed things up. Quite the opposite. So take a deep breath and trust me."

Georgia gives Kayla a jerky nod, sucking in a few sharp, shallow breaths as they approach the door.

I follow them in silence, determined to let Kayla sort this out. This is her job, her calling. I'll help her if she asks for it, but until then, I'll just stand in the back and glare at the bastards. Maybe slap them around a bit if they get too toxic.

The door swings open before Kayla even touches the doorbell, revealing a haughty blonde in a pencil skirt and a suit jacket, holding a yapping dog. I immediately want to strangle it. The dog, not the woman, though she isn't far behind.

Her face is so botoxed she's unable to form an expression, but I get the feeling she's trying to sneer. She waves her hand, her three-inch long bright red fingernails making me wonder how in the seven hells she wipes her ass. "Georgia," she says icily, "I told you not to come here anymore."

"I want Arya, Mom," Georgia replies, her voice surprisingly even. "You…you can't just take her away from me. I'm her…legal guardian?" She casts a questioning glance at Kayla, who nods. "Yes, her legal guardian," Georgia repeats with more confidence. "She's mine and you can't take her."

"Georgia, darling," the bitch in the doorway says, her tone saccharin-sweet. "We've talked about this. Just because you ruined your life, it doesn't mean the poor child's life should be ruined too. We've clearly failed in raising you, but we'll do better this time around. She'll have proper clothes, a proper room. Once the name change request goes through, we'll sign her up for the best daycare in town."

I ball my fists, seconds away from punching something. Or someone.

Georgia frowns. "Name change? You can't change her name!"

"Oh, please. We can't possibly have a child named after some stupid TV show in our family. What would people say?"

Alright. That's it. I'm killing this woman, and I don't fucking care who sees me.

Before I can do something stupid, Kayla steps in. "Mrs. Simpson, I'm Kayla Reynolds from the Bluebell Springs CPS department. Could we please come inside and continue this conversation in a civilized manner?"

"No, you may not come inside. You have no business here. This is a family matter and we're done talking."

Kayla gives her an icy cold look. "You can either talk to me or to the police, Mrs. Simpson. Your choice."

"The police?!" Georgia's mother shrieks. "BARTHOLOMEW! COME HERE RIGHT NOW!"

A surly man shuffles to the door, scowling. I smirk when I notice the fresh spit up on his pristine white dress shirt. "What?!" he barks at Georgia's mother, then turns to me and Kayla, completely ignoring his daughter. "Who are you and why are you on my property? Leave, or I'll call the police!"

"Please, do," Kayla retorts, folding her arms in front of her chest. "You'll save me a phone call."

"Dad, don't," Georgia whispers, not looking at either of her parents. "I asked Kayla to keep the police out of this but—"

Georgia's mother scoffs. "She said she would call the police on us. Could you believe that? As if there was anything they could possibly—"

Kayla interrupts her. "How about kidnapping?"

The silence that follows her question is deafening. The baby finally stopped crying. The two fuckers in front of us are stunned speechless. Even the damned dog stopped yapping.

Bartholomew Simpson is the first one to speak. "K-kidnapping?" He clears his throat, his trembling voice gaining intensity again. "What are you talking about? It's our granddaughter. Stop spewing this nonsense and get the hell out of here."

"Granddaughter or not, you took Arya without the consent of her legal guardian. That is kidnapping. You literally abducted the child, and the only reason there isn't a police cruiser here with us right now is because Georgia didn't want you to get in trouble. If it were up to me, you'd both be on your way to the precinct. In handcuffs."

A shiver of excitement runs up my spine. I'm thrilled to the bone with how tough my bunny is. I mean, I knew she could take care of herself, but experiencing the don't-fucking-mess-with-me Kayla firsthand is exhilarating. Also arousing, and I have to furtively adjust myself before someone notices my semi-hard cock.

"T-that's…" Simpson stammers, exchanging glances with his wife. "You…they…you can't arrest us. The kid is our granddaughter."

"That doesn't matter," Kayla replies. I admire how calm she still is. I would have been smirking victoriously the whole time. "You are, of course, welcome to build a healthy relationship with your granddaughter, Mr. Simpson, but only after getting Georgia's consent. Now, will you hand the baby over, or will we have to involve the police?"

Mrs. Simpson's cheek twitches. Once. "Fine," she snaps at Georgia. "Take the damn child. Have it grown up to be a worthless nobody like you. We had such great plans for you, Georgia! You're such a disappointment. You took a purity oath, for crying out loud! Did you screw around while wearing the ring?"

"That's enough," I growl, unable to hold back any longer. "Go get Arya. Now."

Some of my darkness must be slipping through the cracks in my facade, because Georgia's mother pales, her eyes widening in fear. "Mr. Bennett? W-what are you doing here?" she asks, as if she only now realized who I was.

"I'm a PI, Mrs. Simpson," I reply icily. "I specialize in kidnapped childrens' cases. I have a great record of solving them, too," I add, letting more of my inner rage show.

"But this isn't a kidnapping." She flutters her eyelashes, forcing her mouth into what was probably supposed to be a seductive smile, but ends up more like a pained grimace. "We were just taking care of our family. I'm sure an honorable man like you understands that." She shifts, straightening her back so that her breasts jut out.

Is she trying to flirt with me? Un-fucking-believable. "I understand you kicked your pregnant teenage daughter out. If that is your idea of taking care of your family, you shouldn't own a dog, let alone care for an infant. Get the baby. Now," I order, my voice so dark it brokers no argument. "You two go with her," I nod at Kayla and Georgia. "Daddy and I will have a little chat."

Bartholomew Simpson sputters an undignified response but deflates under my glare. "Just take the child and go," he mumbles. "I'm done with this. Told Lottie it wasn't worth the trouble."

"You're not done with your granddaughter," I correct him as I step into his personal space to intimidate him further. "In fact, you love her so much that tomorrow, you'll set up a trust fund in her name and start sending money there every month. A thousand dollars should be a good start."

"Are you insane?!"

I ignore his outraged blathering and continue speaking over him. "Of course, that is in addition to the money you'll be sending to Georgia monthly. Another thousand dollars, at least. For someone who commits tax frauds on a grand scale, two thousand dollars a month shouldn't be a big deal. Right?"

Simpson gawks at me, his face losing all of its color. "I don't… How did you… That's not—"

"Not true?" I cock my brow, flashing him a smirk. "I'm sure the IRS will be happy to go over all your tax reports in the past, I don't know, twenty years?"

Simpson's knees tremble. When it looks like he's about to collapse, I grab his arms and hold him against the wall. It's a good thing I have no blades on me because I want nothing more than to pin him to the wall with a knife through his shoulder.

"Remember, Barty," I say, not bothering to mask how unhinged I am anymore. "Two thousand dollars. At least. I'll be watching."

When I hear footsteps from the inside, I let go of Simpson and wipe my hands on my pants, feeling dirty just from touching him. His knees sag, but he manages to stay upright, leaning heavily against the doorframe.

Georgia appears, cradling a baby in her arms, smiling through her tears. Kayla follows with a baby car seat in one hand, a large diaper bag slung over her shoulder, and a box under her other arm. After glaring at Georgia's father one last time, I take the car seat and the box of what appears to be brand-new baby clothes from Kayla's hands and carry them over to the car.

I put everything on the back seat, then squint at the tiny image on the side of the car seat. How in the world does a person attach it to their car? Which way is it even supposed to go?

Georgia shakes her head. "Just drive, please. We can deal with the car seat later. I just… I don't want to be here anymore."

"Can't say I blame you," I mumble as I get into the driver's seat. "This place is toxic as fuck."

She giggles at my exaggerated words, and I grin back at her through the rearview mirror as I back out of the Simpson's driveway. "What?" I tease. "Is that not what kids these days are saying anymore?"

Kayla smacks my thigh. "Please, you're not that old to be using the ‘kids these days.' Or…are you?"

I'm once again reminded that while I know almost everything there is to know about her, she knows very little about me. I make a vow to myself to fix it as soon as possible. "I'm thirty-four," I admit. Six years older than her. I hope she doesn't think it's too much. "But I don't think it's ever too early to use that phrase. Back in my day—"

"Oh, my god." Kayla laughs heartily. "Just shut up and drive, Ethan."

I love her laugh. I could listen to it all day. That, and her moans, of course. Those I love even more. I should probably let her rest when we get back home, but in the morning… My cock twitches as I imagine all the things we're going to do in the morning. Hopefully, I'll get to hear more of both her laugh and her moans.