Claimed by the Betrayed Mercenary

Chapter Two

Connor’s POV

It only feels like seconds have passed before I’m finally dragged backward, three police officers grappling with me as I roar out the pain that has engulfed me. I watch as my wife, MY f.ucking wife! Goes to the side of the stranger that has invaded my home, tears rolling down her cheeks as she cups his face with her hand that isn't holding our baby.

I stare brokenly, unable to look away, as she wraps her arm around him, trying to hold on to him, our daughter so close to him that if he could move, the slightest flinch would have him brushing against her sweet skin. I can't tear my gaze away from the trio, looking so much like a damn family, as paramedics fight to get near enough to help the asshole who ruined my life.

I continue to struggle against the three officers holding me back, managing to rip one arm free before I’m shoved to the ground, my arms pulled behind my back and cuffed.

‘Eva!’ I yell loudly at my wife, ‘Eva!’

She doesn’t turn toward me, in fact, she shifts closer to the asshole who just ruined my life, holding his hand as he receives medical attention.

I’m not really aware of much else, I have a vague realisation that I’m being lifted to my feet, frogmarched out of my home, and shoved into the back of a police car as my neighbours' stand around staring. A couple even have cell phones out, recording the worst moment of my life like it’s some kind of f.ucking reality tv show. I hope the destruction of my entire universe gets you a few extra f.ucking clicks on social media you assholes!

I’m driven away from my home, the officer in front not speaking to me as we cut across town, heading for the local precinct where I’m bundled out of the back and booked before being thrown into a cell with half a dozen other men who barely acknowledge me.

Taking a seat, my head thumps back against the concrete wall, my body numb as I rub my thumb over the scarring cuts on my knuckles. I can’t even feel the pain from the bruising that starting to show, I can’t feel anything except the deep void where my heart used to be.

I don’t know how long I sit there before I’m taken to a room, a scrawny looking lawyer waiting for me who introduces himself as my attorney and that he’s already spoken to the Bail commissioner, who has set my bail. I nod automatically as the man in front of me mumbles about rules of my release, possible outcomes, and likelihood of trial. I’m not really listening, what does it even matter? Then he says something that has my attention snapping to him, the fog I’m sitting in lifting.

‘What?’ I growl, leaning forward toward him, smirking as the man shrinks back an inch from me.

‘A no contact order Mr Montgomery’ my lawyer repeats, ‘you are not allowed within one hundred feet of either Mr Vern or Mrs Montgomery. As such, you cannot return to the marital home or contact your wife in any way.’

I laugh harshly, slumping back in my chair, ‘she gets my house?’ I demand incredulously, ‘the s.lut f.ucks me over, literally! Tells me my kid isn’t mine and she gets to live in my goddamn house?’

The lawyer sighs, rubbing his thumb across his temple, ‘I know it seems unfair Mr Montgomery’ he replies, ‘but you are the aggressor, from what has been reported, Mr Vern didn’t raise his hands to you at all in the altercation. Your wife and daughter need a safe space to live . . ‘

‘She’s not my wife, and Grace . . Gracie is not . . .’ I swallow, unable to finish my sentence. Once I say it, it’s out there and I can no longer live under the thin veil of denial that maybe the asshole was lying.

My lawyer nods, ‘I know sir, but this is how things work, the courts will not throw a new mother and a newborn baby out on the street when they did nothing illegal.’

‘What about my clothes?’ I mutter, ‘I need clean clothes, underwear, deodorant . .’

‘We’ll arrange for you to be able to collect some belongings with Mrs Montgomery, the order only covers her and the child. You may enter your home if she is absent but I strongly recommend that you request a member of the police to accompany you. I can arrange this before we pay your bail, and leave, would you like me to do so?’

I nod numbly, zoning out again as the lawyer rambles on before standing up and knocking on the door, escorting me out of the room. The rest passes in a haze, before long I’m standing outside of the precinct, my belongings in one hand as I shake the lawyer's hand with my other.

‘I will keep in touch Mr Montgomery’ the man tells me, ‘do you have enough money to rent a room?’

I nod, holding up my wallet that contains all my cards, ‘I’ll be fine.’

The lawyer nods, giving me a parting wave before heading toward his vehicle, as I step toward the cab that I ordered as we were leaving, climbing inside and giving the name of a local motel.

I spend a sleepless night in the cheap room, tossing and turning until light streams through the thin curtains, lighting up the room. Dressing in the same clothes I was wearing yesterday, I sit on the corner of the bed and wait, listening to the ticking of the clock until, hours later, my cell rings and I’m told I can go home.

Hailing a cab, I head to my house, finding a police car already parked in my drive, next to my truck. Shoving open the door, I hand the driver some bills and climb out, nodding to the police woman who climbs out of her patrol car, joining me as I head up the driveway to the front door.

Sliding my key into the lock, I push open my front door, swinging wide as I’m hit by the silence. I don’t even have to go inside, even if I hadn’t already been told, I know that Eva and Grace are gone.

Moving from room to room, my chest constricts further until I can’t breathe. Gracie’s toys are still littered over the floor, a stray pack of wipes sticks out from under the couch and some of her bottles stand upside down on the draining board from where I washed them yesterday. Entering her room, I find Gracie’s cot is neatly made, the teddy bear mobile that I bought before she was even born, swings gently from the breeze I made opening the door.

I tug open one of the drawers, pulling out a tiny sleepsuit, pressing it to my nose as I inhale the scent of our laundry powder and that distinct baby smell that seems to infiltrate everything around you when you have a kid. I fight back the tears, shoving the outfit back into the drawer, slamming it shut before storming from the room, as fast as I can.

I turn right, stepping into our bedroom, mine and Eva’s, the scent of her perfume slamming into me as soon as I step over the threshold.

Tugging open the door to the closet, my breathing catches, my clothes hang on the left, neat rows of shirts, trousers, and jackets. Opposite are Eva’s things, her dresses, jeans, blouses, and a few cardigans. Our shows line the back, on a rack, mingled together, a visual mockery of how I thought our lives were entwined. We were so in love, so damn connected that we didn’t need a specific rack for my shoes and for hers, we just put them together because we were a unit, a family.

Stumbling back, I sink down onto the bed, dropping my head to my hands, as pain slices through me. The knowledge that my wife cheated, my baby wasn’t mine and that my life as I know it was all a lie, hits me like a sledgehammer, breaking the last of my grip on my emotions.