3.Chapter 3 Got Moore Blood In You
Melissa bolted back into the house from the balcony, her movements sharp and hurried. “Curtis, wash up—it’s dinner time,” she called, keeping her tone as steady as she could manage.
But her mind was miles away. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t shake the image of that car’s license plate or the unnervingly intense stare of the man behind the wheel. A prickly, unfamiliar unease coiled in her gut, refusing to let go.
The knock at the door came suddenly, loud and aggressive, making her flinch. Her pulse skyrocketed, a cold sweat breaking out along her spine.
For a moment, she just stood there, frozen, her breathing shallow. Relax, she told herself, even as her hand shook slightly when she reached for the doorknob.
She opened the door—and there he was. The man from the car.
Tall and broad-shouldered, he filled the doorway with an imposing presence that made her instinctively want to step back. His cologne hit her first—subtle, expensive, and irritatingly familiar.
It stirred a memory she couldn’t quite place, like a ghost brushing past her. Her stomach tightened. She didn’t know him. She was sure of that.
But there was something about the way he stood, so calm and self-assured, like he owned the damn world, that sent a chill rippling through her.
Melissa gripped the doorframe for support and forced herself to speak. “Can I help you? Are you… looking for someone?”
The man’s eyes locked onto hers, steady and unyielding. “Yeah,” he said, his voice low and deliberate. “You.”
That single word knocked the air out of her lungs. She blinked, trying to gather her thoughts, her grip tightening. “You’ve got the wrong person,” she said quickly, her voice a little too high-pitched to sound convincing.
His lips curled into a faint, humorless smile. “No, I don’t. Melissa Bush. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten what you did three years ago.”
Her heart stopped. Just like that, her world tipped on its axis. Three years ago. The words crashed into her like a truck, dredging up memories she’d fought so hard to bury.
Her eyes darted toward the living room, toward Curtis’s toys scattered on the floor. ‘If he knows…’ Her chest tightened painfully. ‘If they take me… Curtis. What happens to him?’
Her hands trembled at the thought. The idea of her little boy being ripped from her, tossed into foster care, growing up alone—it was unbearable.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, but her voice cracked halfway through. Her pale face and shaking hands told a different story.
The man, Bradley Moore, rolled his eyes, his patience clearly nonexistent. “Cut the bullshit,” he said, his tone sharp enough to slice through her weak protest.
Before she could respond, he shoved the door open, brushing past her like it was his house, not hers.
“What the hell are you doing?” Melissa snapped, scrambling to block his path. “Get out! You can’t just barge into someone’s house!”
He ignored her completely. His sharp eyes swept over the modest living room, taking in every detail.
The mismatched furniture, the small dining table with two steaming plates, the bookshelf crammed with kids’ books—it all painted a picture of a simple, quiet life.
His gaze landed on the toy bin overflowing with blocks and stuffed animals. A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.
Without a word, he strolled to the couch and sank into it like he owned the thing, one arm casually slung over the backrest. He patted the seat next to him, raising an eyebrow. “Sit.”
Melissa bristled, her jaw tightening as she stood frozen by the door. She didn’t move. “You’ve got the wrong person,” she said again, her voice cold but tight with unease. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Bradley leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees, his gaze locked on her like a predator sizing up prey. “Three years,” he said slowly, his tone almost conversational. “It took me three goddamn years to find you. You think I’m leaving without what’s mine?”
Melissa’s face twisted in a mix of confusion and disbelief as her thoughts tumbled over each other. “What’s mine? What the hell does he mean? Wait a second—he’s not a cop? He didn’t come here to bust me?’
The whirlwind of questions sparked an unexpected surge of boldness, and before she could think twice, the words flew out of her mouth. “What the hell are you even talking about? I don’t know you, I’ve never seen you before in my life!”
His expression darkened, and the air in the room seemed to drop a few degrees. “Give me back my son.”
The words hit like a sledgehammer. For a second, Melissa forgot how to breathe. She staggered back, her hand gripping the edge of the dining table for support.
“Your… son?” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “I don’t… I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Bradley’s patience had clearly hit its limit. He turned, motioning toward the bathroom door where a pair of curious little eyes peeked through the crack. “Milton, come here.”
Melissa could only watch, frozen, as the door creaked open and Curtis stepped out hesitantly. A cold, paralyzing fear gripped her chest.
There was something undeniable between this man and her son—some unspoken, invisible link she couldn’t ignore.
Curtis shuffled over to her, his tiny hand clutching the hem of her shirt like a lifeline. “Mommy, who’s that man?”
Melissa pulled him close, holding him tight against her. Her gaze never left Bradley, every fiber of her being screaming caution.
‘But… hadn’t Curtis been abandoned as a baby? Wasn’t there a note in his blanket—’We can’t afford to raise him’—a cold, heartless explanation for why he’d been left behind?’ she mused internally.
And yet, here stood this man, driving a car worth more than most people’s houses. He didn’t look like someone who couldn’t afford a pack of diapers.
More than that, his whole presence, his every movement, oozed wealth and sophistication. That wasn’t something you could fake, let alone pick up in a couple of years.
Melissa hadn’t even managed to come up with a lie to soothe Curtis when Bradley’s voice cut through the tension. “I’m your father.”
The words landed like a punch to the gut. She’d had her suspicions, sure—but hearing him say it out loud? It knocked the air out of her lungs. Her knees wobbled, and she nearly hit the floor.
Her body shook uncontrollably, trembling like a leaf caught in a storm.
On paper, she was the one who had saved Curtis when he was abandoned as a baby. But in truth, he’d been the one keeping her alive all these years, the reason she fought so hard just to survive.
Melissa opened her mouth, but no words came out. All she could do was hold Curtis tighter, as though sheer force could shield him from whatever was coming.
“You’re my dad?” Curtis’s eyes sparkled with cautious excitement, his voice full of innocent curiosity.
Bradley’s lips curved into the slightest smile, clearly satisfied with the reaction. “That’s right.”
Curtis tilted his head, studying the man as if trying to solve a puzzle. Finally, he blurted out, “But… aren’t you supposed to be dead?”
Bradley’s brow twitched slightly. His gaze flicked toward Melissa, who stood frozen like a statue. Then he turned back to Curtis. “What else did she tell you?”
Curtis’s little fingers began counting as he answered earnestly, “She said you’re a super good driver, you can cook, and… you love her a lot!”
Bradley’s lips curled into a sharp, mocking smile. “Take all the time you need,” he drawled, his tone cool and cutting. “You’ll figure out soon enough what kind of man your father really is.”
His words hit like a slap. Curtis, wide-eyed and hesitant, turned to Melissa, his voice trembling with confusion. “Mommy… is he really my daddy? He’s alive?”
Melissa froze, panic overtaking her. She shook her head so hard it was a wonder it didn’t come loose. “No, no, he’s not—he’s not your daddy!”
Bradley’s expression darkened in an instant, the air in the room seeming to drop several degrees. His voice was icy and sharp. “So, not only are you a thief, but you’re a liar too?”
Melissa’s shaking grew worse. She looked small, fragile, as she stumbled over her words. “No, no… it’s not like that… I didn’t steal… he’s mine…”
Her voice broke, and tears brimmed in her eyes. She looked so small, so helpless, that Curtis’s chest tightened. This wasn’t the mommy he knew—the strong, loving, sometimes stern mommy who always had everything under control. Right now, she looked broken.
Something clicked in Curtis’s young mind. This man—this tall, scary man with his harsh words and cruel eyes—had to be a bad guy.
With sudden determination, Curtis stepped forward, planting his small body in front of Melissa. He threw his arms out as wide as they would go and glared up at Bradley. “You’re a bad man!” he shouted, his voice shaking but firm. “You’re not my daddy! Get out of my house!”
Bradley’s eyes narrowed, his irritation flashing like lightning. His voice turned sharper, louder. “Ungrateful little brat! Protecting an outsider? I’m your father, whether you like it or not.”
Curtis flinched but didn’t back down. His little jaw tightened as he stomped over to the corner, grabbing his toy gun.
Though his hands trembled, he aimed it straight at Bradley, his face set in childish defiance. “You’re lying! You’re a bad man, and you can’t hurt my mommy! Get out, or—or I’ll shoot you!”
Bradley blinked, startled for a split second, before a deep laugh rumbled from his chest. “Well, well,” he said, amusement flickering in his cold eyes. “At least you’ve got some Moore blood in you.”
For a moment, Curtis faltered, lowering the toy gun slightly. That hesitation was all Bradley needed. In one swift move, he reached out, grabbed the toy gun from Curtis’s hands, and tossed it aside without a second thought.
His smirk vanished as his voice turned razor-sharp. “Enough of this bullshit.” Snapping his fingers, he signaled to the two men waiting just outside the door. “Take them.”
Chaos erupted instantly. Before Melissa could react, Bradley scooped Curtis up in one arm, his grip unyielding.
The two large men stormed in, each grabbing one of Melissa’s arms and lifting her off the ground like she weighed nothing.
The room filled with frantic screams.
“Curtis!” Melissa cried, her voice raw with desperation.
“Mommy! Mommy, I want my mommy!” Curtis yelled, his small fists pounding against Bradley’s chest.
Tears streamed down Curtis’s face as he fought with everything he had, but Bradley’s hold was like steel. Desperation surged in him, and with no other option, he sank his teeth into Bradley’s neck, biting down as hard as he could.
