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He closes his eyes, preparing himself for this confrontation. “I’m sorry.” He whispers, before opening them again, begging me without words. “Kam’s right, Jax. It’s not that I want to believe that she’s not coming back.” His voice cracks, admitting it out loud. “It’s just preparation for the worst outcome. I don’t know if I can survive otherwise.” Tears are pooling in both our eyes, as we’re hit with cold, hard facts.
My brothers surround us as I turn toward Henry and embrace him tightly. This is the first-time doubt has slithered under my solid belief that I’ll get her back, and that reality is not something I can face.
Something I willnotface. She’s coming back to me. I know she is. My girl is strong as hell, and she’ll fight with all she has to get back to us.
Chapter Twelve
Avery
Time doesn’t exist down here like it does topside, but by the size of my belly, I’m inclined to believe Sarah when she says I’m almost eight months.
The baby moves often, letting me know my bean is happy and healthy. I talk to the baby often, singing, telling stories about how happy grandpa will be when they meet, and about daddy. Every fiber of my being wishes that Jax was here with me, sharing our baby’s milestones like normal expecting parents, instead of shackled in a basement.
Sarah continues to pretend we’re besties by over sharing her supposed interactions with Jaxton. I’ve chosen to block out all the psychobabble bullshit she spits about rekindling their love for the baby. The little devil on my shoulder begs for the bug to plant and fester, but true or not, staying mentally sharp is the key to survival. If playing her game leads to freedom, then I’m well on my way to becoming a dungeon master.
She believes I’m docile, that protecting the baby is my only focus, and she’s right. The baby is my primary focus, but not my only motivation. I’ll admit, she’s good. An opportunity still hasn’t presented itself the entire time I’ve been here. The shackle that’s now scaring my ankle has not once been unlocked while conscious. I’m assuming I have until the baby’s born before she gets rid of me, but that’s a guess. I’m an incubator, growingherbaby instead.
But something’s different today. A shift in the air signals the tides are changing, insisting that I prepare. For what? I’m not sure, but the constant commotion upstairs sets me on edge.
After what feels like hours, Sarah descends the stairs and enters while balancing a full tray of food. You’d think that the beaming smile she greets me with is because of the very pregnant belly she’s wearing—a replica of mine—but it’s vindictive. Smug. Another tool in her arsenal tailored to fucking with my day.
“Good morning, baby.” She chimes, staring at my belly, before meeting my eyes.
I don’t answer. Her cheese has not only slid off her cracker but is now molding on the side. She doesn’t like it when I interrupt her ‘bonding time’ with the baby. She enjoys reminding me that the baby needs to hear her voice, since she’s the mommy.Barf. Over my dead body.Which may come to fruition if she doesn’t slip up soon. If this bitch succeeds in killing me, I only hope that Jaxton does a DNA test and figures out that she’s not the real mom. At least he’ll have a piece of me.
The wicked gleam in her eye relays her confidence, which is part of my plan. Iwanther to believe I’m incapable—stuck—and at her mercy. All of which is true, but when the moment’s right, I’m going to pounce. “How’re you feeling today?” She coos, as if she gives two shits about how I’m actually doing. Again, the concern is only for the baby.
“Doing fine. The same.” My hand trails over the roundness of my belly, drawing fire to Sarah’s irises. Her jealousy is clear when I touch the baby or experience something she can’t. She’s not going to risk getting close enough to feel a kick, nor would I let her, but the snake wants to lash out. The little bun in my oven is the only reason she’s behaving herself. I’ve gotten hit with the bar a few times, never near the baby, but arms, legs, and head are perfect targets. I didn’t say I never tempted her. It’s the only rebellion I have. “Kicking like crazy.” By the twitching of her left eye, that one put her over.
A cackle that would put a pack of hyenas to shame slips past her lips before she refocuses on me, narrowing her eyes. “We’re going to try something different today.” She pauses, gauging my reaction, so I give her nothing. “You’re smelling—badly—and it’s wafting upstairs. When guests come over, I can’t have them asking about the smell or get curious and try to find it. Plus, you’re getting close to having the baby, so cleanliness is important. That’s why you’re getting a bath today!”
She’s acting like she gets to bathe her dog for the first time, but excitement zips through my veins.She’s bringing me upstairs. This is it! My one chance.“That sounds heavenly. Thank you. I’d love a bath.”
Her eyes narrow again, always analyzing. “One wrong move, and whack!” She whips the bar out from behind her back and swings it towards me.
A startled squeak chirps free as I flinch, a reaction not fabricated, because she’s a fucking unpredictable psycho. “I’ll be good.” I rub my belly and hunch my shoulders, giving off the illusion of weakness, hopefully playing her right into my hand.
“Okay,” she responds slowly to my pleading. “But it’ll have to wait until later. I have an appointment to get to.” She claps her hands together like we’re all set and walks from the room.
Anticipation claws under my skin as the day ticks by. Counting the minutes is pointless after several hours pass. Breakfast is long gone, ensuring I have the energy for whatever lays ahead.
It seems as if an entire day passes before the front door slams closed and footsteps sound above. Impatiently, I wait. She spends time in what I believe to be the living room, bedroom, and kitchen, before her kitten heals clomp their way down the stairs.
The click of the key is as loud as a gunshot in the silent room, but then she’s humming as she sets another plate of food down. “Eat before you bathe.” She perches on the chair next to the door, waiting for me to finish eating.
She’s impatient.Distracted.
My mind drifts, wondering what her appointment was about, or if she even had one. She hasn’t mentioned Jaxton lately either, indicating things weren’t going as planned. In fact, I’m almost positive they’re not. Jaxton wouldn’t have been so distraught on TV if he wasn’t waiting and hoping with every part of him, I’ll return.
When I finish eating, I clean my area like a good pet, and sit back to wait for her direction. Submissively, while excitement vibrates under my skin, hoping the ploy will feed into the innocent act.
She slowly reveals a set of keys from her pocket, allowing me the time to note the shape, size, and color. “Go sit on the bed.” Her instructions are firm, trying to claim authority.
I do as she asks, floating with excitement. When my back is against the wall, she grabs my ankle. The release of the lock signals a new beginning, a fresh start, the ending point of this culmination of events.
My ankle is all the colors of the rainbow, sprinkled with dried blood, and itching madly. When I rub the offended area, an unintentional moan escapes. “Oh, thank you. It’ll be nice to get this soaked and clean.” Hopefully, the amenability doesn’t create suspicion.
She tsks, as if the half-infected ankle is my fault. “I suppose we’ll have to treat that, too.” She sighs, exasperated. “Let’s go.” She points toward the forbidden door—stairs visible for the first time.
