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Oh no.
“Ugh!” complained Sting. “It’s so dark in here.” He danced to a wall and clicked on an overhead light. “Much better.” Grinning, he faced Stain while holding out my journal. “Some very intriguing pages in here. Before you fuck your toy, you may want to know where her cunt has been.”
Written words… My biggest mistake.
Without them, I could’ve convinced Stain not to kill me.
Instead, his twin suggested they commit the most heinous of crimes. Raise an enemy’s child, then sell him or her to a buyer.
Stain spit rage as he explained, “I hope it’s a girl. Legend fucked my daughter. Now, I’ll fuck his.”
I screamed my own fury. “He would never fuck a child, you sick bastard!”
Stain loved witnessing my unraveling. “She wasn’t a child. She was my planted seed.” His eyes closed as he ran his hands through his own short, dark hair. “Hair so black it had a tint of blue, skin as ivory as snow… My daughter—the irresistible beauty slipped in as a dancer at his strip club…”
As Stain continued to explain his wicked plan that had gone awry, I couldn’t help but think of how Legend was furious when I arrived, a ‘dancer’ wanting a job or sex with his son. All Legend saw was a repeat of a horrific time in his life that cost him so much. Including the freedom of the jet-black-haired little girl he’d had to hide away.
Now another of his children was going to be in the dreadful hands of the men who killed Charmaine. Stain wanted the hidden child—his granddaughter—the only thing left of his dead daughter.
As pages of my diary—proof of who Stain was—were ripped away, I realized I was victim to a threat much bigger than I could have ever imagined. And now, my child would fall victim, too.
Fighting Stain for my book, my life, and that of my unborn child, my injured hand splattered some of the remaining pages…
An omen.
Because of me, innocent blood would be shed, after all.
3 Months Later
Locked away in the basement, it had been so hard to maintain my sanity. It was dark and cold. Hoping to find a weapon, I searched every crevice but only found empty cardboard boxes that I now used as a bed and blanket. I was only given enough food and water to be kept alive.
I wished I had my journal so, someday, someone would know what happened to me.
I wished I had a way to leave a message so that Legend could rescue our baby.
All I had was a thin piece of wood, a rusty screw, and a few matches… and the will to carve one name only: LEGEND
7 Months Later
On the silver table that was brought in for a heartless delivery, I watched as my amniotic fluid slipped down a drain in the middle of the basement—Stain’s torture chamber. A contraction had me grunting and fighting my restraints. My wrists and ankles were tied, making the pain impossible to move through or find the slightest bit of comfort.
Alone, I thought of Da, and how he had probably lost his mind from losing another daughter.
Alone, I thought of Maeve and prayed I was truly chasing a ghost. That she hadn’t been locked away and tortured daily like I had.
Alone, I thought of Ma and hoped she would be waiting for me in Heaven.
Alone, I thought of my baby girl. Her gender was only discovered so the twins could better plot Legend’s revenge.
Alone, I thought of Legend, and how he let in a young woman in need and would once again pay for it.
The gallant Steel Stallion President wouldn’t be barging in to save me, because I had been forced to write him a letter saying I had lost the baby in a miscarriage and wished to not speak with him ever again.
Alone, I cried out as I bore down to deliver my baby into… hell.
When the door opened, I didn’t look at Stain entering with a knife in his hand. Nor did I pay attention to Sting coming in with towels and a hand-held bassinet. I was just grateful he didn’t let my infant slide off the table…
As Sting cooed, wrapping my crying baby in a towel, my restrained hands grasped to touch her.
