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“That baby is ours, an—”
“You’ll have to kill me yourself. That’s what they want to do to me?” Clicking her seat belt into place, she sighs. Her worry and fear fill the space around us like some life-leaching force.
“No one will lay a finger on you. Not me, not Christopher…none of them. You understand?”
She nods, but it doesn’t ease the tension surrounding us both.
Without another word, I drive away, pretending she’s not silently crying and that I’m not aching to comfort her.
That’s the crux of the problem, isn’t it? Once you’ve crossed a line, you can’t uncross it…and if they come for her…I’ll kill every single one of the motherfuckers before they can come anywhere near her or our child.
