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“Shit, you didn’t know?”
I shook my head. No wonder no one seemed surprised when she dropped Kingdom knowledge left and right.
I think people tended to forget my limited knowledge of the world. How would I have known who she was? I didn’t watch the televised news segments, or have cellulars.
The only news I’d ever been interested in was about the Savages. I only discovered my music preferences and clothing style four years ago.
“ It’s not something I ever discuss freely, but it’s not a secret. I thought you knew.”
Her tone was apologetic, so I believed her. I just couldn’t see it, and I didn’t understand why she was still in the Badlands, along with her sister. After Romero’s cryptic response about Beth, I was positive something was going on with that whole situation and they were both tight lipped about it.
I wasn’t going to dive into her business—that included raging at Romero to tell me what the fuck it was, because I knew he knew. If she wanted to tell me, she would.
“You know what’s crazy?” she asked.
“Hmm?” I responded absentmindedly.
“If people in The Order are turning on each other and either joining the Savages or branching off, and the same is happening with everyone else, where are these rouges aligning? No one wants to be alone in the Badlands. That’s fuckin suicidal.”
I replayed her words in my head
twice.
She was right.
“You’re right. There’s someone else, a third player!” Goddamn, why hadn’t I thought of that? It was the same question I’d asked myself long ago: who the fuck was the enemy of whom?
I sat up in my chair, already spinning through who it could be. I began speaking aloud. “Whoever is feeding people info is on the inside and close to this person. So close that they knew Romero had me the first time and exactly when he had me the second time. Now, who would run off and tell David Romero had found me?”
“That little bitch, Dahlia.” Cobra’s venomous voice cut through our conversation.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Everything that happened after Cobra eavesdropped on our conversation was a blur.
He was there one second and gone the next, no doubt going straight to Romero.
I waited around with Arlen, but nothing happened. She wanted to confront her; I knew it was best to give the bitch her illusion of safety and let her gut herself.
She was lingering and interacting with people when I went back to the room.
I ended up in bed without Rome, figuring he was out pillaging villages in a rage, or drowning puppies.
What sounded like a foghorn woke me at three in the morning.
Before I could make it down the hall to investigate, Romero carried me—literally—back to our room and fucked me back to bed.
Fast forward a few hours later, a woman with silver hair and a pudgy face quickly lost her smile when neither of us seemed to have the reaction she was expecting.
“Heartbeat is one-fifty-four.” She wiped her fetal Doppler off and then the goop on my stomach. “That’s good,” she added when I stared blankly.
Romero squeezed my hand, and I squeezed his back. We were happy, of course, but neither of us were sentimental people. I was so in love with him that I’d lie, steal, and kill without hesitation. Yet, I’d only said it once.
I just found out the asshole who spent my whole life playing god wasn’t my real father, but that a man who literally ate prime rib was. I wasn’t going to break down over a heartbeat.
I never thought there was anything wrong with Baby S to begin with. He was alive and healthy. Excellent.
I was barely over two months, according to some weird wheel thing the doctor spun around. She asked me a shit load of questions about being sick, tired, cravings.
