At 10:03 p.m., the hospital called—my ex-wife was unconscious, pregnant, and dying… and the child she’d been hiding was mine

in a hospital bed.

No money.

No prenatal care.

Bruises on her wrist.

Threats on her phone.

And my brother’s name tied around it like a noose.

“Find Liam,” I said.

Ryan’s jaw tightened.

“I already sent men.”

“Quietly?”

“Yes.”

“No one touches him until I speak to him.”

Ryan looked at me for half a second too long.

“I mean it,” I said.

“I know.”

He walked away, already continue reading …