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Once I’m settled in the car, he shuts the door and rounds and gets in the driver’s seat before starting the car. I watch him fumble with something in the passenger seat before he looks back at me.
“I’m sorry, Amar.” Before I can ask why, he holds a white cloth to my mouth. Breathing in on accident, I panic at the smell and taste of chemicals.
I try clawing at him, trying to get him away, but it doesn’t work. Panic surges at the last thought I have. My baby.
I wake up feeling groggy. Trying to move my legs, I feel them restrained. Trying to move my arms, I feel the same restraints. Groaning, my head falls back as I try to peel my eyes open, the light bulb above me burning them. My body burns in the places it’s broken, my pelvis in the most pain.
“Moss?” A deep Russian voice whispers. I know that voice. That’s my person. Pulling my head up, my eyes meet his. He sits in front of me in a small metal chair, all limbs restrained. He’s shirtless, his face covered in blood and bruises, fresh blood leaks from his chest, and my eyes scan every new cut on his torso. Tears well in my eyes at the sight of him hurt like this.
I look back at him and see his eyes flicking between mine and my very obvious baby bump, protruding through my shirt. “My baby?” He questions, tears in his eyes as he looks at my bump.
“Your daughter.” A sob rips from his throat, his eyes meeting mine as tears spill out. “She’ll be here in two months. She’s healthy, and so very loved by your mother and brother already. She has everything she needs for the rest of her life.” He lets out a choked chuckle, his tears still flowing down his cheeks.
“Did you have everything you needed?” He questions, his face etched with concern.
“Viktor has done a wonderful job of taking care of me. Destiny deserves a badge of honor for shaving where I can’t reach,” I chuckle at the memory of her shaving my ass for me when I cried I can’t reach it. Our friendship really peaked there.
“I’m glad they are there for you.”
“You could be too, you know,” I whisper, my head dropping.
“You’re sitting chained to a chair right now because of me. How can I be there for you when I can’t even protect you?” His eyes are filled with pain and sorrow.
“No, don’t do that. This happened because you weren’t there.” His eyes flick to my belly, admiration filling them at the sight of his daughter in my womb.
“I can’t, Penelope,” he bites, and I flinch at his words.
“Can’t, or won’t?”
“Can’t.” It looks like he gives up, his head dropping, his body going limp in his binds.
“Lies. I know you’re scared, but so am I. I almost died in that crash. In a coma for three weeks. Surgery for twenty-four hours. You won’t even try.”
“What if I fail at protecting you and her? I won’t forgive myself.” I see his shoulders shake with more tears, my heart breaking more.
“Don’t know that if you don’t try.”
Before he has time to answer, a door opens and in walks a short, stubby Mexican man. His face is wrinkled and tan, with facial hair covering his chin and upper lip. “Penelope, so glad you could join us! Dmitri here was just about to answer some more questions.”
I don’t hear what he asks over my screams. After he said that, a man bigger than Riot walked in and started wailing his fists on his face. He doesn’t look at me once while they beat him. At one point, the burly man pulls a knife and starts slashing his chest.
The first time Riot looks at me is when the short man stands behind me, wrenching my hair backwards, making me scream louder. He leans over my shoulder, caressing my now bigger boobs from pregnancy.
Riot roars, bucking in his chair, trying to break free. When he almost topples over, the burly man stops him before punching him so hard he stills.
My scream pierces the air, tears flowing down my face. It’s a few seconds before I feel a prick in my neck, making me instantly sleepy. Before I can protest, my head falls back, and everything goes black, my body going numb. I can’t catch a fucking break. Pregnant or not.
*This book is an advance reader copy and is to not be distributed anywhere. [email protected]*
32
Chapter Thirty-Two
Gasoline by Seether
Riot
My eyes open for the millionth time, head groggy from the drugs. I see her sitting in front of me. Anger races through me at the sight of her shirt ripped down the middle, showing her black lacy bra and her perfect baby bump. Her head is leaning forward, telling me she’s still under the drug.
