“Keenan,” he finally answered.

“Come again?”

“I convinced her that it was safer to keep quiet about your disappearance because she was still hiding from Mitch and had another child to protect from him.”

“Why didn’t you turn Mitch in for what he did to her?

“Our parents would never have let the charges stick. They would have chosen him over her despite what he’d done. Sophia came from a working class family. She had no one to stand behind her.”

“She would have had you… or would she?”

“It was too risky. My family’s resources far outreached mine.”

“You’re pathetic,” I barked.

“I did what I thought I had to do.”

“Because you thought Keenan was your son and I wasn’t?”

“That’s not—”

“That’s exactly what it was. You had a choice and you made it. You’re no better than your fucking parents.”

“Making tough decisions in the heat of the moment is not always as simple you think. Choices have to be made, and often it is the wrong decisions that take precedence.”

“So how did my brother convince her to leave me behind?”

He cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. “I promised her that I would find you. I hired some of the best men, but you were fucking gone. Just like that. It was like you never existed. There wasn’t a trace of you left. Weeks passed and your mother became more and more frantic. She stopped eating and she barely held or took care of Keenan anymore. Her suffering meant his and she started to threaten to involve the police. I couldn’t allow that.”

“What did you do?” I growled.

“I threatened to take Keenan from her if she didn’t forget you.”

“You son-of-a-bitch.” I took a step forward threateningly but quickly reminded myself that I didn’t care. “Why?”

“To protect the one son I had left. I loved you, Keiran, and I didn’t protect you. I wouldn’t make that same mistake twice.”

“Did you ever suspect Mitch?”

“He was the first person I suspected. I had him watched for months, but he was never seen with you. He must have—” John sucked in a ragged breath before continuing. “He must have sold you quickly.”

“So how soon was it before you gave up?”

“I never gave up, Keiran. I never stopped looking. I’m not perfect. There were many times I can recall wanting to give up. There were days when it was hopeless. Your mother stopped talking to me altogether. We lived in the same house, but we were strangers. She never forgave me.”

“Why did you get involved with her?” It was a struggle to keep my voice neutral when all I felt was anger. I fucking hated heroes.

“It’s complicated. I didn’t think I loved your mother. I didn’t think I could ever love her, and then one day, I did.”

“So what changed?” I growled impatiently.

“She told me she needed me. She told me she needed to forget. She needed to erase him. I—I wanted to be her hero.”

“Haven’t you ever heard the phrase ‘chivalry is dead’?”

“If that girl ever looked at you and asked you to save her, would you do it?”

“How is screwing my mother saving her?” I asked rather than answer his question. The only person Monroe would ever need to be saved from was me.

“Despite what you boys may think of her, your mother was a good woman who was corrupted by men who didn’t deserve her. We ruined her. We ruined you.”

“Trust me. It takes more than bad parenting to cause my type of ruin.”

“Nevertheless, if we hadn’t,” he paused to take a deep breath, “if I hadn’t let you go, you would be okay.”

“You don’t think I’m okay?” My lips curled in a humorless grin as I watched him from the other side of the desk.

“Cut the shit,” he said in a hard tone. “Don’t hide behind sarcasm. It isn’t cute. I don’t care what those little girls think.”

“I’m sensing this conversation is over. Good talk.” I turned to leave, but when my hand gripped the door handle, another hand gripped my shoulder. I didn’t even hear him cross the room.

“You need to hear this.”

“No, I don’t. It’s done. This is what I am, and I don’t plan to change.”

“That makes for a pretty bleak future, son. Do you plan to drag that girl of yours into it?”

“And if I am?”

“I won’t let you hurt her anymore.”

“How do you plan to stop me?”

Why did he care anyway? From the tale he had just spun, he pretty much just confirmed that he was a selfish bastard. Now he was determined to protect a total stranger. He didn’t need to know I had no intentions of hurting Monroe unless she gave me no choice. My desires have long since morphed into a different kind of need. The need to own.

“Let’s just hope it doesn’t come to that.” He continued to stare at me with a curious expression, and I could tell he wanted to say more. “Why her?”

“Why not?” I countered without missing a beat.

“She doesn’t seem like your type.”

She’s exactly my type. “You don’t know what my type is.”

“But you do have a type?”

“Fuck.” My patience was nonexistent. “Is this conversation going somewhere? I have somewhere to be.”

“Look,” he released a harsh breath. “Before you go… there’s something I meant to give you.” He walked back over to his desk, unlocked one of his desk drawers and pulled out a small stack of aged envelopes. He pushed them across his desk and nodded for me to take them.

“What is that?”

“Letters your mother wrote. None of them are addressed. I think it was how she kept a journal.”

“Keep it.”

“They aren’t meant for me. Take them,” he urged. “Get to know your mother, son.”

“I’ve been without her for eighteen years. I don’t need to know her.”

“Will you ever let go?”

I gritted my teeth to keep from spewing the hateful words I felt from my gut and the black hole some called a heart. “No. Keeping my hatred reminds me of what you’ve done. That’s something I never want to forget.”

* * *

She’s crying again. She was always crying.

If she didn’t stop, they would punish her, and when they grew tired of punishing her, they would make me kill her. That was the way it had been for the last two years. I was in charge of killing the prospects as they called us. It was my ‘reward’ for doing such a great job.

I hated my reward.

I hated killing.

But I could never let them see what it did to me. The hardest part of doing everything they told me was pretending to like it. Every day was colder than the last. At least that’s the way I felt inside.

I swung my legs over my dirty, hard cot, and when my feet hit the concrete, I used my toes to grip the cold ground for balance. It was late, and I was barely fed because the trainers decided to leave a little less for us to eat that night. Even though I was treated better than many of the other underperforming prospects, sometimes I still starved like the rest.

I made my way over to her cot. As my eyes adjusted to the dark, I could see her cradling her arm to her chest.

I knew something bad happened to her. She’d only been here less than a week and had more beatings than I’ve had for the last eight years.

“You need to stop crying… now,” I ordered harshly when she continued to vocally shed her pain.

She flinched at the sound of my voice and scrambled up from her prone position to face me. Her cries only increased in volume as I approached, so I stopped and watched her watch me. She stared at me with fear apparent in her eyes, and even though I felt the same, I couldn’t share her feelings.

“P—please don’t hurt me.”

“If I wanted to hurt you, I would have waited and put the pillow over your head in your sleep.” Her eyes widened at my threat. “I will still hurt you though if you don’t stop crying.”

“I’m sorry. It just h—hurts so bad.”

I peered down at the dirty and bruised arm she held that was swollen and red. “What happened to your arm?”