Natalia
FINDING FAMILY
DALTON
T hat is a hideous color of pink. It’s like Barbie threw up on the door. Who thought this was a good idea? Grimacing and prancing in place, I try to hype myself up. I can do this. She’ll be happy to see me. I’m the marshmallow to her hot chocolate. A better duo than Peanut Butter and Jelly.
Nodding, blood rushing, I tap my knuckles to the door in quick succession three times. If she opens the door and slams it in my face, I’ll just come back when everyone is sleeping and snatch her up like I did last time. Space. It’s a stupid idea.
The door swings open, and I gawk at Joker. That probably isn’t his name, but with those scars sitting on either side of his mouth, it should be. Dark hair brushes his forehead, the shaved sides a little too similar to my own hair cut. Blinking, I think back to Natalia telling me this guy was a Lasher, another son of my father’s business partner. I guess that makes us brothers.
If he’s standing in my way, keeping me from Natalia, then he’s about to be a dead brother.
“Is Nat here?” I ask, unable to see around his bulky frame. He doesn’t speak, stepping back and pulling the door open wider. Giving him an appreciative nod, I step through, scanning the living room for my flower and coming up empty. Two fucks I don’t know sit on sofas on opposite sides of the room.
The one to my left sits on the sofa against the wall nearest the door, a dark-haired babe clutched in his arms. He runs assessing blue eyes over me, but I couldn’t care less about his opinion, glancing at the dark-haired fucker on the other sofa. His solemn expression matches the other one.
If I didn’t know any better, someone was getting an intervention, and I didn’t sign up for one.
“Where’s my girl?” I ask, fury rising and my knives pleading in wheezy voices for me to kill them all.
“She’s with her sister,” Joker chimes in, arms folded across his muscled chest, crossing his ankles while leaning against the door. Well, exit one is now blocked.
“My Zoe is with her too. Apparently you fucked up, and she needs cheering up,” the blonde speaks up, rocking back and forth, jostling the infant a little in between rocks. What a waste of time. And my business with Natalia is none of theirs.
Opening my mouth, the other dark-haired member of the trio speaks up, cutting me off.
“I’m Xander. The grumpy blonde is Zaine, and that’s Zaiden at the door. I’m your cousin and they’re your brothers,” he says, eyes trying to peer into my soul. Swallowing, I try to think through what I want to say.
First, I want to say get bent, but I don’t think that’ll go over well if they’re anything like me and Deaton.
Second, who’s fucking child is Zaine rocking? It better not be Natalia’s or I’m killing someone today. Well, someone else, remembering ex number five from a little while ago.
“I’m Zachary. So this is the circle jerk going on while the women are away?” I ask, going for deflection. Zaine’s lips thin and he rises, nostrils flaring and glaring at me.
“Why should we let you anywhere near Natalia?” Zaine asks, getting to the point. He keeps going, “Hmm? You kidnapped her, killed her ex, and frightened the fuck out of her. She’s the aunt to my future sister-in-law, so Xavier and I don’t have a fucking problem putting you six feet under. We got him.” His head jerks at Zaiden.
So that’s how it is. I step forward until the tips of my shoes knock against the tips of his.
“Let me make myself clear then, brother. I also don’t have a fucking problem putting any of you six feet under, so I suggest you mind your own damn business unless you’re looking to lose someone precious to you,” I snarl. Rustling to my left has my eyes snapping to Xander.
He scowls at me and Zaine, snapping, “Put your damn dicks away. You’re brothers, for fuck’s sake. We all care for Natalia,” he looks at me meaningfully. “If you want to make sure she doesn’t run scared from you again, maybe take some damn advice from those in the room who also kidnapped their girlfriends.” My eyebrows raise at that, swinging my eyes to meet Zaine’s gaze.
A light pink blush stains his cheeks and cupping the little girl with one arm, he flips Xander the middle finger with the other before sitting back down.
Patting the babe’s bottom—I’m assuming she’s his damn kid—with one hand and resuming his rocking, he asks me, “So how are you going to win her over? Zaiden had flowers, but he didn’t peel the skin from Sarah’s ex.”
I don’t regret that one bit, but I don’t volunteer the information that I killed her prior five exes.
“Fine. What do you suggest?” My hands snake into my back pockets, rocking on my heels as I await their suggestions.
Zaine’s lips curl up, and I immediately hate whatever he’s about to say. “You can promise not to kill indiscriminately. Maybe even make a date night out of it. Go to a club, prowl for would-be rapists trying to drug some girl’s drink. You can use her as bait. You get a kill and she gets a clean conscience for ridding the world of scum.”
Grumbling under my breath, I admit that’s not a terrible idea. I could do that, become a reformed killer for my flower. Sighing and resigning myself to being a kept man, I jerk my chin at the beer resting at Xander’s feet.
“You got any more of those?” I ask. Zaine snorts and Xander gets up, walking toward the kitchen through the doorless archway at the back of the room. If it doesn’t have doors, does that make it an open floor plan? I bet Samantha would know.
“So, what do you do?” Zaiden asks, walking toward Zaine and taking a seat. I don’t answer, watching Zaine carefully transfer the bundle into my other brother’s waiting hands, smitten looks on both of their faces. Xander walks back in with the beer and I take it gratefully, turning my back on the father duo.
“Not a fan of kids, I see,” Xander quips, paying closer attention than my brothers. Shaking my head, pulling out a knife to pop the cap off of the beer, I gulp it down greedily once I have access to the precious liquid.
After about five minutes, silently pacing, beer in hand, my skin is close to crawling off me with boredom.
“Why don’t you chill?” Xander pipes up again, making me want to rearrange his teeth. What is up with these freaks? Everything is too normal, my stomach twisting nauseously. I spot Zaine getting up and I’m fucking ready, tossing the empty beer bottle to the floor after draining the last bit.
He just stares at me, brow cocked. I don’t like how similar we look. I don’t like the baby’s cute little babble erupting from her while Uncle Zaiden holds her. And I fucking can’t stand the normalcy of drinking beer while the women are out doing God knows what.
Zaine sees too much and I’m jumping back when he prowls closer, all lithe muscles shifting, reminding me too much of a lion preparing to pounce. And I feel like the fucking gazelle. My breathing is coming fast and I don’t know how to slow it, palms sweating. What the fuck is wrong with me?
Hands touch me and I lash out, but I’m shoved roughly against a wall, a hard forehead thunking into mine. Zaine breathes with me, one hand pressed on my throat and the other pinning a shoulder to the wall.
“Who’s in your head, Z?” I shake it emphatically, but I swear I hear her, whispering how I’m an abomination, that I don’t deserve a fucking family. Is she right?
“No,” Zaine says, answering the question I don’t remember opening my mouth to ask. “She’s wrong and she never should’ve told a child that. You have issues, we all do. But I’ve got you. I’m your big brother and I’m right fucking here. This is what family is. We pick up the pieces when your arms are too damn heavy. Let it go, Z.”
My knees buckle and Zaine catches me, tearless sobs leaving me, stretching that wound I didn’t know I had wide fucking open, letting all the pain and fear out.
She’s dead. She’s dead. She’s dead. I did that. I killed her. I plucked Natalia up, the only lead to my family. Zaine rocks us and I let him, eyes drifting closed. Deaton never held me like this and being so tightly wound, I don’t think I would’ve let him.
It took witnessing my two brothers fawn over an infant to realize how deeply I craved that. Not a kid, but family, that easy fucking connection that I never had with the Lewis’. Zaine keeps holding me, waiting for me to signal I’m ready to let go. I don’t think I’ll ever be willing to let go of this feeling. It feels too much like coming home.
* * *
NATALIA
My feet ache from endless walking through the mall, but my cheeks hurt from all the smiling. A girls’ day was exactly what the doctor ordered, and it felt wonderful. Zoe and Sarah chatted frequently about pregnancy, lactating and the price of formula going up while I talked about anything and everything between the two women.
Sarah and I frequently made trips down memory lane. Zoe and I got more acquainted, swapping experiences between us, from finding the right leave-in conditioner to discussing some of the blatant racism we experienced in the workplace. It felt good, too good, placing a balm on the festering hole left behind by Dalton.
Pulling into the driveway of Sarah’s house, looking out of the window, I’m loath for the day to end. I’m not looking forward to saying goodnight to Sarah and goodbye to Zoe, whose fiancé is eager to place her back under mock house arrest. Before we left, I noted the possessive aura pulsing around Zaine and Zaiden, each snagging an arm around their woman, poking at the Dalton sized hole. It’s clear they’re over the moon for the two women.
But I remind myself that great sex does not make a great relationship, especially when one is a killer. Stepping out of the car, my eyes snag on a motorcycle parked near the sunroom’s window.
I look at Sarah, walking around the car and point at the unknown vehicle. “Whose is that?” She shrugs, jerking her head toward the door. My heart rate picks up, my body sensing exactly who the bike belongs to, panties growing wetter with each step toward the pink door.
Sarah opens it, Zoe trailing behind us, and laughter slips through the doorframe. We step through and gawk at the men in the living room. All four of them sit around the coffee table, each holding a hand of playing cards, Zaria resting near Zaine’s leg in a car seat he rocks absently with one hand.
I’ve stepped into an alternate universe. Dalton sets his cards down, the laughter dying down now that they’ve noticed us. He looks good, still wearing all black like the color is going out of style.
“Can we talk? In private?” His head jerks at the kitchen entryway. Several pairs of eyes jump around the room, avoiding us. I nod, too shocked to do anything. This was not what I had expected to come home to. He smiles, arming himself with those dimples, and holds out a hand.
A gravitational pull yanks me toward him until our fingers link and he’s leading me into the kitchen.