Avenging Christa: Irresistibly Mine Duet Book 2 Page 5

  Bad luck, asshole. You failed.

  If only the custody battle over Max could be solved so easily. That, I feared, was going to get a lot worse before it got any better, and the eventual outcome was outside my sphere of influence. I hated not being in control. It reminded me of being forced to leave Nina behind when I was sixteen, and the feelings of hopelessness that I’d had to find a way to deal with. I despised anything that reminded me of that time.

  “Shall we get some lunch,” I suggested when Max’s excited chattering faded, his energy expended—for the time being at least. It wouldn’t be long until he was bouncing around again.

  “Do you mind if we go home?” Christa asked.

  I draped an arm around her shoulder and kissed her hair. “Whatever you want, angel. It’s exhausting, pretending, isn’t it?”

  She met my concerned gaze, then rested her head against me. “I love you. Don’t ever leave me, please.”

  I chuckled. “You won’t get rid of me that easily.”

  “Thank goodness for that.”

  It took us an hour to get home, by which time Max was over-hungry and showed his displeasure by wailing at the top of his lungs as we crawled the last two miles. The old me, pre-Christa, would have been irritated, but now, my only concern was to make him feel comfortable again. How I’d changed, and for the better.

  We got him fed and settled, then grabbed a bite to eat ourselves. Thankfully, Christa ate her entire sandwich. I’d expected a battle. Every time her stress levels increased, Christa lost her appetite, and the last few weeks had definitely taken their toll.

  Her phone rang, and I watched the blood drain from her face.

  “Is it him?”

  “I don’t know. It’s not the same number as this morning.”

  “Give it to me,” I commanded.

  She didn’t hesitate, pushing the phone across the kitchen table. I tapped the cracked screen to answer.

  “Somers,” I barked down the line.

  “Hello, sir. I’m calling to see if you would be interested in our new travel booking service. I—”

  I hung up. “Cold caller.” When she sagged with relief, I took her hands in mine. “I think we should change your number. We need to get you a new cell anyway, so we could do that at the same time.”

  She shook her head. “It wouldn’t work. He’d find out the new one in no time. Besides,” she said, shrugging, “if he can’t get hold of me, it’ll only make him worse, more hurtful, angrier.” My face must have shown I disagreed, because Christa continued. “Trust me on this. I know Sutton. If I make myself inaccessible, it’ll only fuel his rage, not to mention the courts will probably expect him to be able to contact me, especially if he gets some form of visitation.”

  I didn’t like it, but I had to succumb to her superior knowledge when it came to that fucker. And she was right about the court.

  “True,” I said grudgingly. “But let’s continue to reassess.”

  My phone rang. Draven. I snatched it up.

  “Sorry, angel, I need to take this.” I strode out of the living room. Luckily, Christa didn’t find my behavior strange as I often took business calls in my study.

  “Any news?” I asked the second I closed the door behind me.

  “I arrived in Seattle this morning, and I’ve started to make a few inquiries but nothing to report so far.”

  I expelled an irritated breath. “Results, Draven. That’s what I need. Fast results.”

  “It’s early days, man,” Draven replied. I had the distinct impression he dealt with demanding people like me on a regular basis, if his patient response was anything to go by. “You gotta understand that this could take a while, and that’s if there’s any shit to dig out.”

  I breathed noisily through my nose. “Trust me, it’s there, and I’m relying on you to find it.” I knew I was being unreasonable. I’d only hired the guy yesterday morning, but that wouldn’t stop me from pushing him hard. If I remained constantly on his back, he’d work harder. Fact.

  “I feel you. I’ll check in again tomorrow.”

  * * *

  The morning of the initial hearing finally arrived. As each day had passed, Christa had withdrawn farther into her shell. She still turned up to work and, according to my sources, continued to perform to the highest levels, her coworkers completely unaware of the turmoil in her private life. But the light-hearted, teasing, fun-loving girl I loved morphed into an introspective shadow of her former self. She didn’t need to voice her concerns about coming face to face with Atwood. The last time she’d set eyes on him had been at his sentencing hearing ten months earlier, and she’d rightfully assumed that would be the last time she’d ever have to see him. Unfortunately, a few greased palms had set a monster free, and Christa was the one to suffer.

  Apart from finding a couple of exes who hadn’t exactly spoken highly of Atwood, and a few dodgy dealings, Draven hadn’t come up with anything I could use to help fight our corner. The lack of progress was driving me crazy. There had to be something dark hidden in his past. Something I could use to blackmail the bastard into backing the fuck off. But he was either extraordinarily adept at covering his own tracks, or there wasn’t any dirt to find. I didn’t believe either scenario.

  Our babysitter, Mrs. Flannigan—who’d turned into something of a godsend and was someone I’d been seriously thinking about putting on the payroll—arrived to take care of Max. Christa took some persuading to leave him, while a bemused Max couldn’t understand why his mother kept coming back for another kiss and a hug. The more I watched her inner turmoil play out, the more my anger grew. I felt like a rabid dog had chewed on my insides, such was the constant fire burning in my abdomen.

  Paul stopped the car outside the family court building. I spotted Francesca waiting outside. When I turned to Christa, I found her pale and slightly clammy, and she was repeatedly gnawing on her bottom lip and twisting the strap on her purse.

  “It’s going to be okay, angel,” I said, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

  She raised her eyes to mine. “I don’t think anything will ever be okay again after today.”

  My heart squeezed painfully. There was nothing I could say that would comfort her or make this horror disappear. All I could do was be there and try to deflect the bullets as they were fired.

  “I’m here,” I said, taking her hand. “Lean on me.”

  We stepped onto the sidewalk. Francesca spotted us and came over.

  “All set?” she asked.

  Christa gave Francesca a tired smile. “We’re pretty tense as it is. I’m sure you can understand.”

  Francesca nodded. “I do.” She patted Christa’s shoulder. “Okay, let’s do this.”

  She spun on her heel and walked inside. We followed her into the courthouse. She’d already briefed us on what would happen today, and Christa had spent an hour or so with one of Francesca’s team members preparing her for what was to come. Francesca didn’t expect it to be a long hearing. Both sides had already submitted their papers. Atwood’s petition claimed access to Max and, as expected, he’d cited my violent altercation with Kawalski as a reason why a more permanent arrangement should be considered at the earliest convenience. We’d obviously issued a firm rebuttal, to both the visitation and the permanent residence application. Francesca had told us to prepare for the judge granting Atwood immediate access. Walking inside the courthouse, it felt like a pointless exercise in futility.

  The inside of the building smelled of despair, of angst, of anger and frustration. I gripped Christa’s hand tighter, the sound of her heels echoing in the wide, high-ceilinged hallway. We turned a corner, and Christa pulled up fast. I followed her gaze. Atwood was lounging against a wall, his feet casually crossed at the ankles, tapping on his phone. Beside him was a woman, definitely family if the resemblance was anything to go by, and another guy, likely his lawyer.

  “Easy, angel.” I steered Christa to a seat as far away from Atwood as we could get. “Shouldn�
��t they be waiting somewhere else?” I hissed at Francesca.

  She gave me an apologetic shrug and a half-grimace. Atwood raised his chin, his eyes on Christa, and he smiled. The bastard actually smiled. I clenched my hand into a fist, the one that wasn’t holding Christa’s, desperately trying to offer her some comfort. What I wouldn’t give to go over there and wipe that smile off his goddamn face.

  His companion flashed a look of pure hatred in Christa’s direction. Atwood, by comparison, kept his face arranged in a genial expression as he pushed off the wall and walked toward us. Christa sucked in a breath, and her entire body stiffened.

  “Dayton,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

  She didn’t need to say anything else. I got to my feet, standing in front of Christa, and held up my hand. “Not another step.”

  Atwood’s forehead wrinkled in an attempt at conveying confusion. “I only want to say hello to the mother of my child.”

  I clenched my jaw, a hundred curse words swimming around my head. My absolute helplessness to protect her was killing me. “She doesn’t want to talk to you,” I said icily. “Now fuck off.”

  Francesca stood and put a hand on my arm in warning. “Mr. Atwood, I suggest you take a seat at the far end of the waiting area. This is a difficult time for all of us.”

  Atwood shrugged, his smirk still firmly in place, but behind his eyes, the malevolence briefly rose to the surface. I’d known this guy had evil stamped all the way through to his rotten core, but knowing and seeing were two completely different things. I straightened my posture, rising to my full height, and fixed my gaze on him, my message clear. You don’t fucking scare me.

  He strolled back to his side of the waiting room where his lawyer spoke to him in rapid, low tones, probably telling him to stay away. Atwood appeared bored, staring into the distance, barely listening.

  I sat beside Christa and twisted my body so that Atwood, and the woman whose hateful stare burned into the back of my head, wouldn’t be able to see her. “It’s okay, angel. Breathe. This will soon be over.”

  “And then I’ll have to hand Max over to him, won’t I?” she said, the pain in her voice tugging at my heartstrings.

  I wouldn’t disrespect her by disagreeing, because we both knew we’d lose this first round. We just had to get it over with and then work on our strategy for preventing more permanent access. Draven mightn’t have found jack shit, but I remained stoic in my belief the dirt was there, and if we remained tenacious and focused, we’d find it.

  The door to the courtroom opened, and we were invited inside by the official. Christa clung to my hand, but she kept her posture erect, her eyes facing forward. She took a seat beside Francesca. I sat on the bench directly behind their table. Suppressing the urge to send a vengeful glare in Atwood’s direction, I formed my face into a bland expression, one that I’d used in the boardroom and during business negotiations on several very successful occasions. No one looking at me would guess at the vortex of emotions swirling in my gut.

  The whole procedure was over in less than ten minutes. As expected, Atwood received visitation rights, although I took it as a minor victory that he only got one two-hour visit with Max per week for the next two weeks, the first one of which would be tomorrow, after which the judge wanted us back in court to reassess. Francesca successfully argued for a court-appointed chaperone to accompany Max, and the slight bend to Christa’s spine at that news told of her relief that Atwood wouldn’t be left alone with her son.

  The second the judge left the courtroom. I jumped from my seat and grabbed Christa’s hand. I hustled her to the exit, but halfway down the hallway, Atwood caught up to us. He must have run on ahead because he was alone.

  “Round one to me,” he said, sneering.

  Christa trembled in my arms, but my chest swelled with pride when she fixed her attention on me and said, “Shall we go home,” as though Atwood hadn’t even spoken.

  I smiled down at her and tucked her closer into my side. “Whatever my angel wants.”

  We’d almost reached the exit when Atwood called out, “See you soon, Sienna, especially when I’m living two floors down.”

  A grin inched across my face. The current owner mustn’t have broken the news yet. It would be such a shame not to take this opportunity to inform him of the change in circumstance. I turned around, very deliberately, and locked gazes with him. “Firstly, her name is Christa, except you can call her Ms. Adams. And secondly, I think you’ll find that apartment is no longer for sale.”

  A frown drew his brows low, giving him a sullen, almost childlike appearance. “What the fuck are you talking about, Somers?”

  My lips curled into a smug smile. “A better offer came along.”

  “Dayton,” Francesca said in a warning tone.

  I ignored her. By now, both Atwood’s lawyer and his female companion, who Christa had whispered to me earlier on was his sister, had caught up with him. Excellent. They might as well all hear this.

  “I’ll use lots of small words to make this easy for you to understand. If you struggle, I’m sure your lawyer can translate. I’m the new owner of that apartment, and every other apartment in that building that might come up for sale in the future.” I took a couple of steps in his direction until we were toe to toe. I glared down at him. This bastard wasn’t the only one who could instill fear in people, except I chose to fight my battles in the boardroom rather than beat defenseless, pregnant women half to death. I internally high-fived myself when Atwood stepped back. I lowered my voice. “Round fucking two to me, asshole.”

  I spun on my heel, took hold of Christa’s hand, and swept her outside.

  8

  Christa

  Dayton slipped his arms around my waist and rested his chin on my shoulder. I leaned into his comforting embrace and tried to absorb his strength into my body. Today was undoubtedly going to be one of the toughest days of my life. I felt so powerless, caught up in a system that professed to only want the best for Max, and yet would happily send him off into the arms of a psychopath. How I’d kept it together yesterday, I’d never know. I smiled, though, every time I thought back to when Dayton had told Sutton he wouldn’t be living in our building. I didn’t want to think about how much it had cost Dayton to win that victory for me, but he insisted buying Manhattan real estate was a good investment. Not for the first time, I wondered what I would have done, how I’d have fought Sutton if not for Dayton’s enormous wealth.

  “How are you holding up? Get much sleep?”

  I shook my head. “Not a wink.”

  “Me either.” He kissed the top of my head. “Max not awake yet?”

  I shook my head. “I’ll wake him in a little while.” I turned in his arms and clutched his biceps. “Thank you. For yesterday. For everything.”

  He bent his head and brushed his lips over mine. “I wish I had the power to stop this from happening. I hate that you’re having to go through this.”

  His face twisted, and I knew he was in as much pain as me. In a strange way, I took comfort in that. He understood, which meant I didn’t have to pretend this wasn’t tearing me apart inside, that handing Max over in a couple of hours wouldn’t break me in a way I feared I’d never be able to fix.

  “There is something you can do.”

  “Name it, angel.”

  “Hold me.”

  His eyes softened, and his hand came around the back of my head. He nestled me against his chest, and we stood there in silence while the sun rose above the high-rise buildings and New York came to life far below us.

  By the time I got Max up, dressed, and fed, I was operating on autopilot. If I allowed myself to think about the reality of handing Max over, I would probably pack a bag and run as far away as I could with my son. But that wouldn’t achieve anything. I had to face this, to fight it, to trust that Dayton and Francesca would do everything in their power to minimize the damage Sutton inflicted. I could only hope that Max and I came out the other side relatively un
scathed. I kept thinking I’d failed as a mother. I was the one person who was supposed to protect Max and yet I couldn’t shield him from this. At least the chaperone would make sure he came to no harm. I didn’t think for one second Sutton would hurt him physically—he wasn’t stupid—but he was a master manipulator, a man who burrowed inside people’s heads and made them think they were the ones at fault.

  “Okay, here we go,” Dayton said when he received notification that they were on their way up.

  We waited in the foyer, Dayton clutching my hand as I clung to Max who was more than bemused by our strange behavior. I’d tried to explain to him that an old friend of Mommy’s was coming to take him somewhere fun for a couple of hours. Max, being the good-natured kid he was, had simply accepted it without question. On the one hand, I wanted him to scream and yell, to throw a tantrum and refuse to go, and then the chaperone would be able to report back to the court how distressed Max was, and maybe that would go in my favor. On the other hand, I didn’t want Max to suffer or be scared about what was happening. His welfare and happiness were my only concerns.

  My own agony would have to be put on the back burner, at least until Sutton had left with… God, I couldn’t even say the words. My breathing escalated, and I broke out in a cold sweat. Why was this happening to me? I was a good person… Wasn’t I? Sutton should be rotting in jail, far away from here. He should be having to barter with cigarettes and dope to avoid becoming the bitch of some tattooed giant. Hatred filled my veins. That was exactly where he should be, living every day in fear of being raped or beaten or worse. He deserved to suffer for what he’d done to me then, and what he was putting me through now.

  “Christa?”

  Dayton’s voice came at me through a fog of cotton wool. My neck felt stiff and sore as I looked up at him. Something in my eyes must have given me away because his face crumpled.

  “Oh, angel.”

  He kissed my temple and tenderly brushed a lock of hair off Max’s forehead. The gentleness he used on me and my son almost sent me over the edge.