Page 75 of Retribution
“She was in the middle of her job, burning building in full swing, when she heard this baby begin screaming,” Grant says.
“Oh fuck,” I whisper, the anger bleeding out of me. If I’d known before this, my ass would have already been home.
“They’re both fine. Oliver insisted on calling a private doctor in to check them both, and paid him well to forget them,” Grant explains. “Isolde thinks she killed the father and maybe the momdropped the baby off for some reason. The person who hired her swore there wasn’t supposed to be children there.”
“Well he was wrong.” I’m definitely awake now and in shock as I continue scrolling through photos. “So she brought the baby home?”
“Yep. That’s our baby now,” Grant says.
“Our…” Blinking, I shake my head as I try to catch up. “What about her mom?”
“Isolde said she’ll be a better mother than a tramp who left her baby at a clubhouse when they were partying,” he says. “We can’t prove the person knew, but logic states that based on the amount of clothing and diapers in the bag, it was supposed to be at least a few days' stay.”
“Some people are no better than cats for mothers,” I mutter. “Is it legal to just appropriate a child?”
“Does that matter when your pack mate can create a history for said child?” Grant chuckles. It’s not a happy laugh though, he’s still tense and nervous. “I’m sorry I kept this shit from you. I think I’m still processing too. I asked them to send us photos.”
“Is it really ‘us’ when you’re hiding this from me?” I ask, rolling my eyes.
“Yeah, it is. I have been looking out for your best interests for a long goddamned time. I knew you’d want to return immediately if you knew,” he says.
“True,” I sigh. “Fuck, I really do want to be home.”
It’s four in the morning, the sky is dark, and I’m unsure if anyone will be awake by the time I arrive.
“I know,” he grunts, his foot getting heavier as the speedometer rises. “Working on it.”
Instead of sleeping, I gaze at the snowy darkness as the miles pass.
Grant knows me very well, but I’m still pissed off. If this baby…
“What is her name?” I ask suddenly.
“Leila,” he says, not skipping a beat. “Isolde named her because anyone who may have known her name at the clubhouse was dead.”
“That sounds fair,” I say, ignoring the irony.
While I may appear to live on the straight and narrow, I have no issues bending, breaking, and steamrolling over rules when I need to. I simply hide it really well.
Rita opens the front door quietly as Grant and I get out of the SUV, bustling forward to take our overnight bags.
“Rita,” Grant says, ready to fight her over doing his laundry.
“Hush,” she snaps goodnaturedly. “Go up and shower before you see everyone else. I can smell the chemicals on you, sir.”
That’s directed at me. Ugh. I should have thought of that.
“I’m headed up there,” I promise. “Where is Isolde?”
“At her house,” Rita says, shooing us inside. “Where did you think she’d be?”
“Well, here,” I say, my brows knitting together. Clearly, I’ve missed something.
“She won’t stay unless she’s exhausted and falls asleep,” Rita explains, shutting the door behind us. “I expect you know why.”
“I need an appointment with a contractor,” I growl.
“I’ll get you one,” Grant says.
