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“I’m not grabbing your pussy, bitch. I’ll never take what isn’t mine. You’ll offer it to me. That was Marky’s mistake. He wanted some cunt who didn’t want him, but I feel the same thing you do.”
The cold fear always burning inside me whenever Jimbo is around turns downright frigid as I cradle my belly. He takes my reaction as a rejection and shoves me against the wall. I notice his hand in a fist and panic.
“I’m pregnant,” I blurt out.
Jimbo goes still, considering my words. He leans closer and hisses, “I can help you fix that problem.”
“No,” Fiona gasps.
I’m unsure if she’s worried about me or upset over my news. Either way, she shoves her way between us and holds on to me tightly.
“Fuck off, dummy,” Jimbo demands and knocks her away.
Startled, Fiona lets out one of her high-pitched squeals, shattering the mansion’s quiet. Jimbo immediately backhands her. Fiona’s fragile body hits the hardwoods, sparking a barking fit from Gatsby.
Feeling the situation spiraling out of control, I can’t get to Fiona with Gatsby in the way. He snarls, seeming feral. Despite his professionally groomed apricot curls, the animal is capable of harming the large man.
“What the ever-loving fuck is this bullshit?” Todd hollers after appearing from the dining room.
As the old man falls into a coughing fit, his bodyguard moves forward. I worry he’ll hurt Gatsby, but his gaze is on Jimbo. The monster backs away, allowing me to cradle a crying Fiona.
“I’m dying,” she mumbles to me. “He broke my brain more.”
“No, you’re okay,” I say and rest her hand on Gatsby. The dog instantly settles under her touch. He watches Jimbo warily while I help Fiona to her feet. “We’ll get you cleaned up.”
“I just want a quiet dinner,” Todd snarls to no one in particular. “I’ve earned that fucking right.”
“I’m sorry,” Fiona says, facing the wrong way while she apologizes to her father. “I got scared and screamed.”
“Well, keep your voice down,” Todd mutters, but his rage is focused on Jimbo down the hall. “Clean yourself up and get to the table.”
Fiona walks with me to the bathroom, where I use a towel to clean her bloody lip.
“You’re having a baby,” she says, resting her hands on my belly.
“Yes.”
“Is that information new or is the baby getting big?”
“I’m around ten weeks.”
“Is that a lot?”
“Not really. Twenty weeks is the halfway mark.”
“Is Eagle the father?”
I open my mouth to ask who else it would be. Realizing she’s messing with me, I sigh.
“I think so. It’s difficult to keep track.”
Fiona grins. “If it’s a girl, can I name her?”
“Maybe.”
“That’s probably not a good idea. I always wanted a baby named Bubbles.”
“You named your dog after a literary character. I’m sure you’d pick something lovely for the baby.”
