Truth Be Told (Blackbridge Security Book 4)

told Alex to take the bus straight home after school. Let me know if he doesn’t get here by four-thirty.”
She assures me she will as I grab my purse and keys. I say a prayer that my car starts without trouble this morning as I pull open the front door, but a man standing there makes me yelp.
For a split second I think I’m going to be robbed—something not completely unheard of in this town—although most criminals around here know the people in this neighborhood don’t have a single item of value in their homes. Our dollar store plates and Goodwill furniture aren’t worth the jail time if they get caught. It provides a shaky barrier of protection that is usually only breeched when someone is so baked out of their head, they aren’t using reason.
However, the man standing in front of me isn’t a crackhead. This guy is much more dangerous, and on instinct, I take a step back and try to slam the door shut.
His booted foot stops it, forcing it to bounce back and nearly hit me in the face. From the angry glint in his eyes, I don’t know that he’d be remorseful if it did smack me upside the head. There’s possibly a hint of regret that it didn’t when I glare at him.
“Would you have really kept him a secret his entire life?” he snaps. I knew if I ever saw him again, this would be the reason why.
“I-I don’t know what you’re talking a-about,” I stammer, my cheeks heating with the lie as a bone-deep tremble begins inside of me.
My worst nightmare is playing out right this very second, and shamefully, murder is the first thing on my brain. If I kill him, he won’t be able to take my son from me.
But that’s foolish. I’m not a violent person, and even though he ripped my heart out of my chest and stomped on it that night in his granddad’s truck, I know he’d never take a child from his mother.
At least, I hope he wouldn’t.
I could be wrong. The scowl on his face isn’t one I’ve ever seen directed at me before, although I’m familiar with the sight of it. It’s the look he gives to people he hates—the guy who smacked my butt that night at the football game, the girls who picked on me in gym class because my breasts were smaller than theirs, the teacher who warned me against dating a piece of trash like Ignacio Torres.
“My son,” he hisses.
“Y-your son?”
“Alex!” he roars, making me jump and take another step back.
“Is not your son,” I lie again.
“The fuck he isn’t.” His words come out on a low growl. “You named him Alejandro.”
“And?” How the hell did he find out so much damn information that he knows his full name? “I like that name.”
“It’s my fucking middle name.”
“How would I even know that?” I’m grasping at straws but lying seems to be the only thing I can manage right now.
As a teen with hearts in her foolish eyes, how many times did I write Mrs. Ignacio Alejandro Torres on my notebooks for school after seeing his driver’s license photo at the movie theater? A million or more at least.
“You always were a shit liar, Tinley. I want a paternity test.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“I’ll get attorneys involved if I have to.”
I swallow the lump threatening to shut off my air supply and glare at him. By this point, I’m shaking nearly uncontrollably, and he must notice because he takes a step back. The distance doesn’t help because I’m not afraid of him physically. It’s the havoc he can cause in my life right now, all the other lies I’ve told coming to light that have the power to ruin my life.
“Please, Ig. Don’t do this.”
He blinks at me, his eyes drifting closed for a second too long before he opens them again, the fire there increasing.
“It’s been nearly thirteen years,” I continue. “Can’t you just leave it alone?”
“Leave it alone?” he spits. “Are you serious right now? You’ve robbed me of more than half of his childhood.”
“And you told me you didn’t want anything to do with me. Why would I think for a second that you’d want to be involved in a child’s life?”
“So, you’re admitting he’s mine?”
I look away, unable to speak the truth.
“I still want a paternity test.”
“You weren’t here,” I sob, the threatening tears making themselves known. “When I came back to tell you, you were already gone. Your grandfather wouldn’t tell me where you were. He said any kid you had a part in conceiving was already at the shit end of the gene pool and would be better off without you.”
He doesn’t cringe with the news, but there’s never been any love lost between those two.
“How hard did you look for me, Tin? How many times did you search my name online or ask around about me, hmm?”
I clamp my mouth closed because the answer is not once. I was so bitter back then, an angry, pregnant teen who had the ability to hold on to a grudge despite the news being every part his business.
After being turned away at his old house, I went right back to Dallas, relieved that Ignacio wasn’t around to relay the news to. I did what I thought at the time was my due diligence and never had the urge again. I had my parents there to help. I didn’t need a man that didn’t want me trying to tell me how to raise my son. If he could walk away from me so easily, I wouldn’t give him a chance to do the same thing to Alex.
“You knew that night,” he whispers, his eyes searching mine for the truth. “You said you had something else to tell me, but when I asked, you just walked away.”
I force my eyes to stay on his even though every cell in my body is telling me to look at the floor in