KIERAN
I hated this feeling of losing control.
My hands gripped the steering wheel hard enough that my knuckles went white. The leather was slick under my palms. The engine roared as I pushed it past ninety on the FDR Drive.
I couldn't stand to look at her anymore. Couldn't stand the way she'd stood there in that entryway, lying to my face with those wide, tear-filled eyes. Seven weeks. Seven f*****g weeks when the report clearly said twelve.
Felix Harrington's child.
My vision went red every time I thought his name. My foot pressed harder on the accelerator.
I'd felt it building in my chest—that rage that made my hands shake, that made me see everything through a red haze. The urge to grab her shoulders. Break something. Break her.
So I left.
Better to push the car to its limit t
