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“Who are you, Katsia?” I whisper. I need last names or something. Who is this person and her mysterious husband? With so many questions hanging in my balance, I flick to the next page and start reading.
6.
Plot holes
Pregnancy went very slowly. Almost like a train that was about to crash, but in slow motion and you were the only passenger on board—with your pregnant belly. You knew it was coming, but you just hoped it was a different outcome. My husband always said how excited he was about us having another son. He said it was another soldier for his plan and that his right-hand man, Mathew, was also expecting a child. Around the same time as me too, they said. I was feeling very unnerved, not because I was pregnant at a later age, but because he was adamant it was a boy. Like he already knew I was bearing his son, the next boy in line.
What made him so sure I was carrying a boy? And why did that scare me? Why did I feel like there was always something missing when it came to what I knew, like something was always being held back from me? Stepping into the little nursery I had designed, I folded the little rug and placed it into the wicker drawer.
“Ma’am, I don’t mean to interrupt, but the meeting is about to begin and I need to escort you to the Landing.”
Nodding, I straightened my dress out, my hand running over my swollen belly. “I’m ready.” I was not ready, and I had no idea what was in store for me, but I knew I had four months before I gave birth to my baby. I had to find out as much as I could before those four months were up, because I knew, deep down, that just like the calm before the storm, something was going to blow up, and I was adamant that I, or my child, would be in the vicinity when it happened.
I jolt from my sleep, attempting to keep my eyes peeled open but failing miserably. Closing the book, I push it under my bed and shut my eyes, promising myself that I will continue it tomorrow. Though the book is thick, I’m so engrossed in the story that I know it won’t take me too long to finish.
“Madi come on! We’re going to be late!” Nate yells from his Porsche.
“Well, you can wait!” I hiss to myself under my breath, reaching for an apple in the fridge and flicking my long hair over my shoulder. I’ve been wearing a lot of scandalous clothes lately—probably Tatum’s influence—so I decide on ripped boyfriend jeans, a tight white tank top that shows just a smidge of my flat, toned belly and a lot of my boobs—not hard considering the size—and my Chucks. Leaving my hair in natural loose curls that flow down to my tailbone, I pinch my cheeks, trying to get a pink blush to spread across my skin, my leather bangles rubbing across my jaw in the movement, and then walk out the front door, closing it behind myself.
“Calm down!” I scold him, clutching my books in my hand.
He tips his aviators down his nose and checks me out from the driver seat just as I pull open the passenger door. “Well, damn, sis. Do you ever look bad?”
“Yes,” I reply curtly. “Usually after I kill cheating men.”
Nate rolls his eyes and pushes his glasses back up his nose, putting it into first gear and skidding out of the driveway. “Stop being dramatic. She didn’t even care.”
“I call bullshit. She would care.”
“And how do you know this? Maybe she’s just different.”
I grin, a thought popping up in my head. “Well”—I shrug, checking my nails with a slight smirk on my lips—“I mean, if she didn’t care, maybe it’s because she has this super sexy—and when I say sexy, I mean fucking gushing sexy, Nate. Like, one look and I was ready to tear my own panties off and shove them in my mouth just to have his hot body under—”
He slams on the brakes, my head jolting forward.
“Nate!” I scream at his impulsiveness.
“Yo! You hear that, dawg?” Nate hollers into his phone. His phone that is connected to his stereo. His phone that has the Bluetooth light flashing. His phone that—
“Yeah, I fucking heard that,” Bishop growls. So low it sends chills down my spine. Double shit. Fucking me and my unquestionable loyalty to my friends, always getting me into trouble one way or another.
“So who is this friend?” Nate asks, eyebrow quirked.
I laugh. “I’m not telling you shit.”
“Madi!” Bishop snaps. “Who is he?”
“I don’t know! We met him a few days ago when we went to pick her up from school.” Nate pulls back onto the road and continues to drive us toward school. “Anyway, Tatum and a little bit of me were saying how hot he was, and Tillie said how they sleep together. But they’ve been doing it since they were young and it’s just something comfortable between them. Zero awkwardness.” I look toward Nate. “You can’t get mad, Nate the Snake.”
