His smile returns, sharp now. “Then why are you here bleeding all over yourself because I sent my child a toy?”
Because I like him.
Because he asked if I was fake.
Because Amelia kissed me like choosing was new.
Because you put your hand inside my house.
I say none of that.
I step closer.
Jeremy lowers his voice. “You can have Amelia. She’s proved she’s nothing but low life trash. A whore. Just like I always suspected. Blood matters, you see. But she won’t keep my son from me. Because, you see, blood matters.”
The world narrows to a point. There is the trap. I see it. I know it. I step into it anyway. My fist hits his mouth before the last syllable finishes leaving it.
He goes down hard.
The sound satisfies something in me so deep I don’t want to name it.
People scream. Someone yells. A phone drops. Jeremy rolls to his side, spitting blood onto the concrete, eyes wide now because pain has finally made a believer out of him.
I grab his jacket and haul him up enough to hit him again.
“Derby!”
Oaks.
Too far.
Not enough.
I hit Jeremy in the ribs. Once. Twice. He folds, gasping. His polished shoes skid on the wet pavement. I pin him against the wall with one forearm across his throat.
“You send anything to that kid again,” I say, voice calm as church bells, “and they will identify you by dental records and blood.”
Jeremy’s bloody mouth curves.
Even now.
Even with fear in his eyes.
“You just proved me right.”
I hit him again.
Not in the face.
Stomach.
He retches.
Hands grab me from behind.
Oaks and Wildcat.
I throw an elbow. Catch somebody. Wildcat swears. Oaks locks one arm around my chest and yanks.