Tattooed Hearts_A Secret Baby Second Chance Romance

by Melissa Devenport

  “Great. You and Mike got plans tonight?” Kian tried, whenever he could, to dissuade Savannah’s crush. He’d let her down a million times without actually saying the words. He hated that his partner’s daughter had been in love with him since the minute she laid eyes on him.

  He couldn’t quite regret meeting Jordan Fiacco in the bar that night. The guy was all full of hopes and dreams. He had cash he wanted to invest. They’d cooked up the plan for the club over a few whiskeys. He’d been hammered by the time the cab dropped him back at his place. The club was an instant hit in that underground, raunchy, warehouse kind of way people craved. It had lots of dark corners to hide all manner of deeds. It was so wildly successful, it produced the cash that Kian needed to open up his real objective: his shop.

  He couldn’t afford to make the wrong move. Considering Savannah hung on his every word while she was supposed to be Mike’s girlfriend made it hard not to make the wrong move.

  “Nope.” The cloying scent of Savannah’s perfume reached Kian’s nose and he tried not to breathe. “Maybe. I don’t know.”

  “Ask him to take you out to dinner. There’s a nice place that opened up. I’m sure he could get in.”

  “Oh?” Savannah’s head was always turned by the prospect of money being spent to spoil her. “I’ll go ask.” She let out a little, high pitched giggle of delight and thankfully disappeared.

  “One second.” Kian set down his machine yet again. He got up, closed the door and locked it. When he resumed his seat, he found his client ogling him, slack jawed. “What?” Kian asked irritably before he disposed of his gloves and put on a fresh set.

  “What did you ever do to attract the attention of a woman like that?”

  Kian rolled his eyes. “First of all, I never wanted to attract it. I’m fifteen years older than she is. Secondly, I made her father my business partner. Third, she’s dating my best friend.”

  “Oh.”

  Yah. Oh. That one word pretty much summed it all up. The guy considered that for a moment before he winced.

  “You know, I think we should just continue this another day. I’ll book a second time on my way out.”

  Kian ground his teeth together so hard it sent pain spiking through his jaw. “Just wait. We have an hour of outlining to do and then I’ll let you go. You just have to make it through that. It’s going to be damn difficult to resume where I left off otherwise.”

  If he wasn’t mistaken, his client seemed close to tears. “Alright,” the guy finally agreed.

  “Don’t worry,” Kian said soothingly, an ironic twist to his words. “We’ll have numbing cream next time you come.”

  Chapter 3

  A Specter from the Past

  Katelyn

  “So, pink then?”

  Katelyn had years of dealing with clients who had no imagination. She wasn’t surprised that Jill, a thirty year old mother to be, insisted on making her nursery pink.

  “We can do the walls pink,” Katelyn agreed, turning slowly. She recognized the determined look in Jill’s light green eyes and knew it was a battle she wasn’t going to win. “What do you think about doing something a little non-traditional and pairing it with a gray and white area rug? I think it would really tie your crib together with the room since it’s white and it’s a good neutral color. We could set up the shelving over there,” she pointed to the far wall. “The rocker could go there in that corner by the window and we could put up some unique art on the wall by the crib. I know of some great, cute lighting we could replace the fixture with or I could find some pretty sweet lamps.”

  “And the closet?” Jill’s eyes glowed with eagerness. She stepped closer to Katelyn, as though standing near could transfer Katelyn’s vision into her head by osmosis.

  “The closet we could paint white and the window trim as well. I was thinking about installing a whole storage system in there so that you would have space for clothing and diapers and everything else that you need.”

  Jill’s smile was so wide and bright it nearly lit up the room. She was tall, taller than Katelyn by a few inches which put her near six feet. She was slim with honey colored hair, a different blonde than Katelyn’s completely. Her eyes were her best feature though. The green was light, so light it was almost otherworldly.

  One hand moved to the slight bump of her stomach. To look at Jill, it was hard to believe she was already eight months pregnant. She hardly looked it, but it was probably her height that did it.

  “Great. I like all your ideas. Everything you’ve said sounds wonderful. Are you sure that you can have it all done in a month?”

  “I can have it done in a week.” Katelyn grinned at Jill’s surprised look. “Believe me, I know that babies take their own time about coming. Just because you have four weeks left doesn’t mean it will actually be four weeks. I want you to have the room done and the peace of mind that you need.”

  “Thank you. You’re so great. Of all the designers I talked to, I knew right away it was you that I wanted to meet with and now that you’re here, I can’t wait to do this project.”

  “If you want to follow me into your kitchen we can finalize the design. I’ll do up a few sketches and jot down the ideas and get you to sign off on them and we can discuss budget and then you’re good to go. You can pick out cribs and bedding and art until your heart is content.”

  “Hmmm. Budget…” Jill trailed off as they walked down the hall. “I was thinking fifteen thousand. Do you think that would cover it?”

  Katelyn did her best to hide her shock. She basically charged an initial consultation fee and then charged by the hour for her work. Her rates were cheaper that most designers, but she wasn’t cheap by any stretch of the imagination. It was shocking how much money people had to just throw around. If she had fifteen grand, she’d invest in something and it sure as hell wouldn’t be a nursery.

  At the rate I’m going I’ll never even have kids. The thought was a depressing one. Katelyn swallowed hard and followed Jill downstairs into her massive kitchen. The house was a new construction and the nursery room was at least five hundred square feet though she had yet to measure it. She tried to tell herself there was still time. Everyone said forty was the new twenty and she was thirteen years away from that.

  Katelyn finalized the designs and plans with Jill over the next few hours. By the time she left, battled traffic and picked up a few groceries, it was well past seven. She was starving and couldn’t wait to get into the condo, feed Missy and get her own dinner. She’d picked up a bag of salad and figured that was as good as anything. Maybe she’d split the can of tuna with Missy.

  It was well past Missy’s dinnertime and the Siamese let her know. She meowed loudly and incessantly until her dinner plate was set down in front of her.

  “You still have a dish full of crunchies you could have eaten,” Katelyn scolded, staring hard at the overflowing bowl of hard foot Missy always refused to eat.

  Missy was too busy chowing down tuna to give Katelyn a response let alone a second glance. She rolled her eyes.

  She unpacked her groceries, put the food in the fridge and pantry and filled up a bowl out of the bag of salad. She was just adding dressing when her phone went off in her purse.

  Because she was a workaholic and pretty much always had been, but also because she didn’t exactly keep regular hours, she fished her phone out and stared at the text across the screen.

  Her stomach churned when she recognized the number. The text was even more sinister.

  GUESS WHAT SWEETHEART? I’M IN MIAMI. WE NEED TO TALK.

  Is it never going to end? Will I ever be free from him?

  She pretty much already had an answer to that. John Robertson would always be her lifelong regret. The man that turned her head when she was too young and inexperienced to know better. He’d been in London on business. Some jewelry show. The guy actually had his own jewelry store. He’d been there looking at stones and gold and whatever else he did. She’d bumped into him on a café o
n her way home from work. He’d thought it was charming that she’d come from nothing and studied hard, worked even harder. He’d been enchanted that at seventeen she’d made her own way in the world, by nineteen she had a Certificate in Interior Design and that by twenty-three she was already making a name for herself. He’d been utterly charming, the sweetest man in the world. He was interesting too, foreign, exotic. Most of all, he was handsome.

  She’d been astounded that of all the women in the world, he wanted to take her out. They’d gone to a club, had a few drinks and danced. She’d slept with him that night. From that night on, she was lost. She’d followed him over to Chicago a few months later where they were married.

  It didn’t take long for her to figure out that the charming man she’d met in that café wasn’t the one she married. No, John had a much deeper darkness hidden away inside of himself. A darkness that wasn’t visible from the outside looking in. It was only once he had her, trapped, his ring on her finger, dependent on him for everything until she could work, until she got her Green Card, that his real character came out.

  “Abusive mother fucker,” Katelyn swore under her breath. Her hand shook so badly she had to set the phone down. Shivers started at the back of her neck and traced their way down her spine, hard and bracing. A cold sweat broke out over her skin, chilling her in the air conditioned condo. It stuck her sheer red blouse and black lace camisole to her damp skin.

  Her knuckles whitened on her phone and she relaxed her grip. Slowly, so very slowly, she inhaled a deep, cleansing breath. Her eyes closed. Behind them, cutting through the darkness, was John’s handsome face. He was blonde haired and blue eyed. The kind of All American dream boat, football team captain, that women swooned for. He seemed like the perfect husband. If only people knew about the manipulation, the insults, the horrible things he whispered in her ear, the mental abuse that was far worse than the bruises she got so good at covering over with makeup.

  He’d cut her down, face twisted, sneering, until she had almost nothing left of herself at all. She’d been smart enough to get out when she could. She’d packed her bags and left. For everything that he was, John didn’t want to lose his livelihood. They had no prenup and he was the one with all the money. He signed the divorce papers in exchange for a zero dollar settlement and her silence about what had happened. His reputation was just like his jewelry, gold, and he couldn’t risk her tarnishing it.

  Katelyn opened her eyes. She knew it would only be a matter of time before John found her. Before he showed up on her doorstep, begging her to take him back. This wasn’t the first text she’d received.

  She finally texted back, just to test him. I DON’T HAVE ANYTHING TO SAY.

  Not even half a minute later, her phone dinged. She stared at the screen, stomach sinking. Yes, she knew John well. Far too well.

  I’M NOT LEAVING UNTIL WE TALK. I CAN GET YOUR ADDRESS THE HARD WAY OR YOU CAN GET IT OVER WITH AND SEND IT TO ME.

  Katelyn thought briefly about driving right down to the police station and filing a restraining order. She only hesitated because she didn’t want to set John off. Maybe if she just agreed to meet with him and get it over and done with, he’d leave. She could set up her phone and tell him she was filming it all, so that he wouldn’t do anything. She could leave the front door open or meet him on the sidewalk. Anything to keep herself safe.

  John was nothing if not resourceful. Her address was public knowledge. Chances were he already knew it though he asked her for it. All he’d have to do was type her name into a search and her business would come up. She had no office so she’d had to register her condo address.

  A fresh set of tremors started up. Her hands shook so hard that she nearly dropped her phone. Missy meowed softly, sensing the strain in the kitchen.

  Katelyn smiled and the act of it served to calm her. “It’s okay, honey. I won’t let anything happen to us. I’ll get it done and it will be over with. I’ll warn him that I’ll put a restraining order in place. He never got his parting shot. He just has to let me hear it. This is probably all this is. One more hour and hopefully he’ll be out of our lives forever.”

  Finally she texted her address. She had a sinking feeling as soon as she did it, that it wouldn’t be over at all. John wasn’t the kind of person who liked losing. She’d left him and he’d never been able to input his cherished last word. She knew, all year, that this was coming. This final meeting. She just wanted to get it over with so he couldn’t hold it over her head any longer.

  “Yup, after this I’m definitely getting the restraining order.” She’d meant to do it sooner, but she was actually afraid of how John would react once he found out. It wasn’t like she could just phone him up and tell him. Using it as a bargaining tool would be the perfect way to stay strong, to let him know that he couldn’t bully or intimidate her any longer. It would ensure he was no longer a part of her life.

  Despite her resolve, Katelyn left the kitchen, salad forgotten. She couldn’t have forced down a single bite to save her life.

  There was a large, upholstered chair in the corner of the living room. She dragged it over to the window and sat down. The blinds were drawn and she left them that way. She’d be ready when John pulled up. She’d film the whole damn thing.

  Plans flowed through her head, wringing her out, draining her. She rehearsed their conversation, hashing it out over and over until she finally fell into an exhausted sleep.

  Chapter 4

  An Escape from the Inescapable

  Kian

  Most nights he was able to block out the pain of his loss. Staring across the desk at his business partner in his upscale office at the back of the club, Kian already knew tonight wasn’t one of those nights.

  “Numbers are up again this month. I feel like we should follow through with the patio renovation. Buy some new furniture and open up the wall to extend it. The outdoor dance floor deal we’ve been discussing for the past months…” Jordan Fiacco went on, detailing his vision for a better club, one that would cater to more upscale clients. He wanted to increase cover charge on certain nights, host events, blah blah blah.

  Kian didn’t truly care so he checked out. Fiacco had been kind enough to offer him a stiff drink, a tall glass half full of whiskey, when he’d walked into his office. He took full advantage of his host, tipping back the glass and taking a long pull of the amber liquid. It burned its way down his throat, warming his stomach. It did nothing to numb the pain in his heart. Yet. He was sure it would, if he consumed enough.

  Maybe a whole bottle. Maybe then I’d stop seeing their faces.

  The hiss of pouring rain, the pitch black of the night, the scream of his wife, the screech of metal hitting metal, the hard crunch of impact echoed through his brain. He jerked hard at the shrill ringing in his temples, the horrible sound that was the last sound his wife ever made.

  “Kian? Fiacco stopped speaking and raised a brow.

  Kian gave himself a mental shake. The image of Cynthia’s beautiful face, bloodied, smashed from the airbag breaking her nose, cut up with shards of broken glass, her luminous brown eyes stilled for life, open and sightless passed in front of his eyes. He blinked hard and the image swam away, back to the past.

  “Yah. Sorry.” He slammed back another mouthful of whiskey. He didn’t taste it, hardly felt the burn past the overwhelming pressure of grief that threatened to cave his chest in.

  Jordan Fiacco went on, prattling off more details, costs, the benefits, time it would take. It took Kian all of a minute to check back out. Fiacco was nearing fifty, or just over. He couldn’t actually remember. His dark black hair was always combed impeccably back. His black eyes were shrewd, but not entirely unkind. He was the kind of man who was loyal to those who were loyal to him. His family was his entire life.

  Kian could relate to that. His family meant everything to him. At least, until that night four years ago, until the accident that ripped them away from him. The guy who careened through a red light, smashing
into the passenger side of their car, hadn’t been drunk. He hadn’t been elderly or careless. It was just raining so damn hard that night it all but obliterated the traffic lights and the guy couldn’t see them coming until it was too late. A comedy of errors that wasn’t a fucking comedy at all. That night not only ruined his life. It changed everything he was.

  “Kian. Are you listening?”

  He snapped to again and realized that Fiacco was sitting patiently, obviously awaiting his input. Kian mumbled some response that he hoped passed for assent to whatever Fiacco’s plans were. He knew the guy would never lose money. The club meant everything to him. It was his retirement plan. Kian was just the partner and the capital he’d been waiting for. He did him the courtesy of discussing plans as well as depositing a huge sum of money into his corporate account every single month.

  Fiacco wasn’t the weasel kind. No, he was just slick. He managed to stay off law enforcement’s radar. He obeyed the laws, paid taxes and ran a legit business, at least on the books. He turned a blind eye to the shit that went down in the club so long as no one got hurt or worse, stabbed, shot or killed. He knew just the right palms to grease to keep the heat out of their establishment.

  Yes, one look at Jordan Fiacco, two years ago in that seedy bar where he’d popped in for a drink raised a shit pile of red flags in Kian’s mind. Years of instinct and training were hard to smother. That’s what he’d instantly liked about the guy. The fact that he was the exact opposite of what Kian himself was at the time. The fact that he lived beneath the law, but somehow above it as well. Investing with Fiacco gave Kian the chance to get as far away from his old self as he possibly could.

  “Alright, I think we’re pretty much done here.” Fiacco folded his hands on top of his oak desk. He eyed Kian, those dark eyes cutting right through him. The guy didn’t know a damn thing about Kian’s past, but he still got the feeling once and a while that Fiacco could tell he’d once belonged to the badge wearing, gun toting kind.