30. The Wrong One
Chapter 30
The Wrong One
HUNTER
A brief flash of artificial light cuts through the dim hospital room, casting fleeting shadows across the walls. I glance down, making sure the glow from my phone doesn’t disturb the two most important people in my life. Megan lies on the hospital bed, her breathing slow and steady as she sleeps, her body still recovering from the ordeal of childbirth. Cradled in the crook of her arm, our son is swaddled in a soft blue and white blanket, his tiny chest rising and falling in perfect rhythm with hers.
My chest tightens as I watch them, the weight of gratitude nearly overwhelming. They’re here. Safe. Mine.
I pick up my phone, silencing the screen quickly. Megan stirs slightly but doesn’t wake. She deserves this rest—God knows she’s earned it.
We chose not to find out the baby’s sex, wanting to be surprised when he arrived. The look on Megan’s face when the doctor announced, “It’s a boy!” was something I’ll never forget. It was as if she thought giving me a son was the greatest gift she could ever offer as if that mattered more than the fact that she and the baby were alive and healthy.
Now, don’t get me wrong—I’m over the moon to have a son. A son. The word feels strange on my tongue, like something precious I’m afraid to mishandle. And he’s beautiful, with a head full of lush dark hair, a button nose, and long legs that seem to promise he’ll outgrow me one day. His skin is the perfect creamy blend of Megan’s gorgeous brown complexion and my fairer tone.
When the nurse placed him in my arms after Megan held him first, I felt something powerful explode in my chest, shooting straight to my eyes and blurring my vision.
The memory still hits me like a freight train. I’ve never felt anything like it.
The phone buzzes in my hand, pulling me from my thoughts.
“What?” I whisper, assuming it’s Christian or Vaughn checking in.
“Congratulations,” comes a raspy voice on the other end, thick with a sneer. My stomach drops, ice shooting through my veins. I know that voice.
Fabre.
I stand immediately, careful not to make a sound as I slip out of the room. The hospital hallway is quiet except for the occasional beep of a monitor and the low murmur of voices from the nurses’ station. Lars isn’t at his usual post outside the door—he mentioned grabbing food from the cafeteria. Christian, Vaughn, and Lena are all at home, resting. I’ve shut down the Blue Whiskey for the first time since opening it, just to carve out a few days to bask in this fleeting love bubble with Megan and our son.
But of course, the bubble never lasts.
“This is starting to get creepy,” I say, my tone dripping with sarcasm as I press the phone to my ear.
“Creepy?” Fabre’s laugh is like nails on a chalkboard.
“I’m starting to think you’re obsessed with me. Unfortunately, I’m already spoken for.”
“You think you’re untouchable, don’t you, Middleton?” he snarls.
“I think you’re definitely dying to touch me,” I reply coolly, though every muscle in my body is coiled with tension.
The smugness in his voice vanishes, replaced by venom. “I’m coming for your city.”
“It’s not mine to take.”
“You’re in my way,” he continues with his warnings. “But not for long.”
“Is that a threat?”
“You’ve seen a bit of what I can do,” he snarls. “How far my reach stretches. I’m going to take your city, your fiancée, and your goddamn life.”
My jaw tightens, and my voice drops, the calm tone masking the storm raging beneath. “Listen to me carefully, Fabre. I get threatened every day by half-ass gangsters like you. And I get why you want L.A.—it’s a business move. But what you will not do is threaten my woman. Megan is mine. Mine to love. Mine to protect. Mine to kill for and mine to die for. For some ridiculous reason that only you understand, you’ve decided to make this personal, and if there’s one thing you should know about me, it’s that I handle personal shit better than anyone.”
Inside, I’m seething. My entire world is just a few feet away, blissfully unaware of the chaos that threatens to spill into their lives. And they should remain unaware—because it’s my job to make sure they never have to carry the weight of my world.
Megan should only have to worry about simple things such as breastfeeding our son or painting her next masterpiece. My son should grow up in warmth and love, never knowing a damn thing about this petty gangster shit.
Fabre’s laugh cuts through the silence, grating and mocking. “Tough words for a man I could’ve taken out a million times today. I’ve had eyes on you and everyone you care about all week.”
His words twist in my gut, but I don’t falter. “And who’s watching Naomi?” I ask darkly.
The silence on the other end is immediate and suffocating.
“Leave Naomi out of this,” he finally says, his tone faltering.
“That’s not how this works,” I snap, my voice hardening. “You threaten what’s mine, I threaten what’s yours.”
“You know I could’ve hurt Megan a dozen times already,” he says, trying to regain control.
“And yet you did hurt her,” I growl. “You kidnapped her.”
“She’s back with you safe and sound,” he replies dismissively.
“She’s home now, not because of you—but because she got away. Did you really think I’d let that slide? That I’d forget? I’m going to fucking destroy you, Fabre. You, and every single person in that backwater town you call home. You fucked with the wrong one.”
I end the call without waiting for his reply, my hand trembling with rage. But beneath the fury, there’s relief. The lines have been drawn. No more games, no more passive threats.
This is war.
I glance back at the hospital room door. Inside, my family sleeps peacefully, unaware of the storm brewing just outside their sanctuary. I take a deep breath, forcing the tension to drain from my shoulders. For them, I’ll be the shield that never breaks.
Because no one touches what’s mine.
In fact, no one should even consider it.