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EMERY
Malcolm Waters—what’s left of him—is silhouetted tall for one moment against the clear blue sky.
His blood is bright red and hot where it splashed across me. On him, it pours down his neck and soaks the front of his shirt.
Dead as he is—and there’s no doubting that he is very, very dead—he keeps moving, but slowly, as though stuck in mud. Drops to his knees. Faceplants on the grass.
Only then is he still.
Only then am I free.
“Emery.”
I hear Adrik saying my name, but I can’t look away from Malcolm. I keep expecting him to stand back up like we’re in a zombie movie. To lumber to his feet and keep coming after me, more relentless than ever.
But he doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe.
“Emery,” Adrik says again, dropping down on the ground next to me. His hands rove over my body, smearing Malcolm’s blood like fingerpaint. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”
I try to shake my head, but my muscles are operating out of my control. My arms and legs are shaking. Trembling so hard I can’t stand, can’t reach out for Adrik.
My breathing was steady before, but it’s erratic now. It feels like there is a belt wrapped around my chest. My lungs refuse to expand.
“You’re in shock.” Adrik wraps his arms around me and lifts me up. “You’re fine now. I’ve got you.”
That shouldn’t make me feel better.
In the last twenty-four hours Adrik has hunted me down and locked me in a cell. He’s the brother of my rapist. He’s the man who wants to take my daughter from me.
And yet, when he cradles me in his arms, I let him, because my God, that is the only place left where I truly feel safe. I lay my head against his chest and close my eyes.
Wherever he’s taking me, whatever fate holds in store next, I’m just glad it’s him who’s doing it.
“Ad… Adrik,” I breathe.
I think I feel his lips whisper across my temple, but my eyes are already closed. I’m already drifting to sleep. Or into unconsciousness, maybe. It’s impossible to tell which.
I’m not even sure it matters.
* * *
When I wake up, I’m swaddled in so many blankets they form a wall around my head. I can’t see anything.
Flashes of gruesome images play on the backs of my eyelids. Blood against a clear blue sky. Bodies strewn across a hall. A gun going off, Adrik jerking back, and You’re fine now. I’ve got you. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.
Suddenly, a stern face peers over the side of the blankets, looking down at me. I jolt and let out a shrill, embarrassingly helpless scream.
“Sorry,” Toma says with a wince. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“No, it’s… I’m fine. It’s okay,” I stammer, as embarrassed as I was startled.
Toma is the doctor Adrik keeps on staff for his men. But right now, he doesn't look like any doctor I've ever seen. His face is bruised and scratched. And when he reaches in to pull my blankets down, I can see that his nails are dirty and broken beneath the latex gloves he's wearing.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
He chuckles and gestures to his face. “I’ve been worse. Seen worse and done worse, too. I was a military doctor in a previous life. It prepared me well for the attack today.”
The attack.
Somewhere, in the back of my mind, I hear explosions. I see the debris from shattered windows and collapsed walls. But it’s hazy. I was so focused on surviving, I couldn’t take it all in. Even now, my brain is keeping everything at bay because remembering will hurt far more than I am capable of bearing.
I’ve been living beneath the weight of heavy fear for so long. One ounce more and I might just crumble.
“More importantly,” he says, “I want to know if you’re okay. Do you hurt anywhere?”
I try to sit up and immediately groan. “Everywhere. Is that a problem?”
Toma chuckles again. “I expect you’re probably sore from the car accident. But if there is any acute pain, I need to know about that.”
I shake my head. “I’m just achy. I feel like I’ve been laying here for days. How long has it been?”
“A couple hours. When Adrik brought you here, you were unconscious. You didn’t wake up once through any of my testing.”
I frown. “Testing?”
"Adrik wanted you very thoroughly examined. I recall there was a threat made on my life if you died because of something I missed."
He smiles and shakes his head, as if that kind of threat is a normal thing for him. I suppose, from Adrik, it is.
"This hideout isn’t exactly like my lab back at the compound,” he continues, “but it’s the next best thing. I have most of what I need here. And a few friends of mine in a lab across town covered the difference.”
“And what’s the verdict?” I ask. “Will I live?”
“You'll live. Plus some.”
I frown again. “What does that mean? Am I immortal now or something?”
“Some people explain children that way,” he says. “They carry part of us on even once we’re gone.”
I can't quite comprehend what he's saying until he lays it out in simple language.
“You’re pregnant, Emery.”
I stare into his calm face, the words thudding against my skull like they’re hitting a brick wall. It takes far too long for them to penetrate. For me to even halfway understand what he’s telling me.
“Excuse me?” I blurt at last.
“When was your last period?” he asks. “Your bloodwork came back positive, but it doesn’t provide a fetal age. You’ll need an ultrasound for that.”
I try to think back, but tracking my cycle was not exactly high on my list given everything else that has been going on the last couple weeks. I didn’t even think about it, to be honest.
“Why did you even test me in the first place?”
“Precaution,” he says. “I didn’t want to expose you to any radiation if you were pregnant. And you were unconscious, so I couldn’t exactly ask. I’m sorry if it feels invasive. I was just trying to give you the best care—”
“It’s okay,” I say, giving him the sincerest smile I can muster. “Thank you for taking care of me. I’m just… I’m shocked. I had no idea.”
The last day of my life plays out in a kind of highlight reel.
Pietro slamming me against the cement wall.
Pietro throwing me on the marble floor of the entryway.
The SUV flipping in the middle of the road.
Malcolm dragging me over the backseat.
I’ve been beaten and bruised and battered, battered and bruised and beaten. My hands fall to my stomach.
“Is… is the baby okay?” I whisper.
Toma reaches out and lays a hand on my wrist. “I checked the fetal heartbeat on a doppler. It was a strong one hundred-forty bpm.”
I sigh in relief. It's a pure, instinctual moment, as old as time. Mother protects child. Child is safe. Mother can breathe.
And then the crippling fear and doubt grabs hold again. Because of everything those simple words mean.
I’m pregnant.
