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“No.”
“Son…”
“This is why you’re having this bullshit father/son talk with me?”
Stomach turning, every muscle twists so tight that I can’t think about anything other than going down to the dungeons and killing the fucker right fucking now.
“I should’ve known you want something. Or is it the country that needs something from me? Was there actually any other meaning to this conversation?”
“Casper!”
“You don’t reprimand me like I’m a child!” The roar echoes in the spring air around us, ricocheting between the trees and the surface of the water. “I left Fleur to find that sack of shit so that all those vultures in there would back the fuck off her. And what? Now I’m meant to hand him over like I just happened on him?”
“They have Lucy Stanton,” he tells me as though it’s food for thought.
For a moment it is, as I stare out across the lake, trying to centre myself. Trying not to take all my frustration and anger out on the fucking bricks because right now any blood is better than no blood. Even if it’s mine.
“Lucy. Fucking. Stanton.”
“We’re getting her back,” Freddie says from behind me.
“Are we?” I spin to face him.
Of course, he’s flanked by all the others. This was never going to be a discussion; they were always going to tell me what to do and fuck me over again. I hunted Charles down, I brought them all here to get the answers they wanted, and now they want to take his blood away from me?
“I don’t think so,” I start for them.
I have every intention of walking past and pretending this hasn’t happened. But then Freddie has to be the same dick as always and put his hands on me.
And I’m just not in the mood for it.
Chapter 31
FLEUR
It started off as a simple twinge. Like all the other times, I ignored it because I still have a week to go. And by all the accounts I’ve heard today from Penny, Mercia, and Beatriz, the first one always goes over the forty-week mark.
Except that was over an hour ago, and now the twinges aren’t twinges anymore. They’re the worst fucking cramps I’ve ever had. I managed to escape everyone without alerting them to the fact I thought I’d peed myself.
But I’ve been sitting on the toilet for the last ten minutes with a slow, continuous trickle that heavies with every cramp.
The first one is always late—what a crock of fucking shit.
I look around the bathroom while I manage to get myself up from the loo, trying to figure out what the hell I’m meant to do right now. I imagined all this happening in a hospital. In a sterile environment. With a doctor. A nurse. Pain relief. Lots of pain relief. Gas and air. An epidural. All the pain relief…
Ah, fuuuuuuuck!
I get another cramp, and another string of fluid splashes between my feet. I can’t tell if it’s clear because the damn floor tiles are dark grey.
I swear my belly is twisting, like it’s trying to wring the baby out of me. My legs are threatening to give as I hold on to the edge of the sink for dear life.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Breathe, motherfucker, breathe!
Running the tap, I splash my sweaty face. Even though I’m scared shitless, I’m roasting. And when I reach for the towel, I knock all the crap off the side.
Fuck. Oh God. Big fat fucking grape through the eye of a fine-stitch fucking needle. Fuck.
