Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 72284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 361(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 361(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
And while he’s preoccupied with assuring her that he is fine, I use his distraction to walk to the restroom before he can follow.
In the restroom stall, I let out a heavy breath.
Is this how it’s always going to be? Surrounded by bodyguards. Every move watched by a man with a gun.
It’s suffocating.
God, what would it be like if I had a baby?
Something in the back of my mind clicks, and I sit up straight.
A baby.
A strange feeling creeps into my gut.
When did I last have a period?
I start counting back dates, then weeks on my fingers.
Then months…
Holy fuck.
I haven’t had a period since before my wedding day.
Double holy fuck.
I quickly finish up in the stall and walk to the basin to wash my hands.
Am I pregnant?
And if I am… who am I pregnant by?
I grip the side of the sink in a sudden panic.
Oh God…
As I walk over to the paper towel dispenser to dry my hands, a young woman rushes in. “My baby. My baby. You have to help me.”
I swing around to look at her.
“What happened?” I ask, alarmed.
“She fell over and hit her head. She’s bleeding.”
She flies out of the bathroom and, caught up in her panic, I follow her just as quickly.
“Please help me,” she cries, grabbing me by the wrist.
“Where is she?” I ask as she starts to drag me down the corridor.
“Down here.”
“I can get help,” I say, trying to lead her the other way.
But she’s not listening. She keeps dragging me toward the fire exit.
“I have people with me who can help, but they’re back—”
“Please, she’s out here,” she begs.
She pushes down on the emergency door handle, and sunshine bursts into the corridor.
She leads me outside, but the minute I step into the daylight, I feel a blow to the back of my head, and everything goes black.
46
BROOKE
It’s the pain in my wrists that wakes me up. When I come to, I realize I’m tied to a chair, my wrists bound so tight my fingers are starting to tingle.
Why am I tied to a chair?
Oh God, why does everything hurt?
My mind scrambles to make sense of the situation.
I remember being in the liquor store with Igor and the other bodyguard. But the rest is fuzzy. I recall going to the restroom… there was a woman who said she needed help… then there was a man, and he…
Oh God, he knocked me out and brought me here.
I look around me. It looks like I’m in some kind of abandoned warehouse. Tall ceilings. Broken windows. Lots of shadows. Something watching me from those shadows.
I fight against my restraints, but it’s no use—the rope around my wrists is bound too tight, and I can’t wriggle it free. I let out a frightened and frustrated cry, but it’s only met with a chuckle coming from behind me. I jerk my neck to see who it is but a blinding pain rockets into my skull from the knock on my head, and I wince.
Seconds pass and a man appears in front of me. Vlad. He’s wearing a dark suit over a bright blue dress shirt. His dark blond hair is slicked back from his high forehead, and a pair of cold blue eyes narrow in on me as a cold, reptilian smile spreads across a pair of cruel, thin lips.
He adjusts a big gold ring on his pinky finger as he studies me, clearly admiring his handiwork. Beside him, two thugs dressed in all black with machine guns slung over their shoulders watch his every move, ready to act on his instruction.
“Hello, little bunny.”
His use of Lev’s nickname for me causes the two thugs beside him to snicker, and I want to spit in all of their faces. And if my mouth wasn’t a desert, I would.
“What do you want?” I croak. It’s not just my mouth that’s dry. My throat feels like sandpaper, and it makes me wonder how long I’ve been unconscious.
God, what did he do in that time?
I do a quick mental audit. I’m fully clothed, and it doesn’t feel like I’ve been redressed or anything like that, but my stomach churns with all the things that could have happened to me while I was out cold.
“What do I want? Hmmmmm…” Vlad makes a theatrical show of considering my question. “Let me see… I want a little more respect from your fiancé for one. I want him to see me as his equal and fear me as he should.” He grabs my chin and snarls in my face. “I want him to see what happens when he tries to humiliate me in public.”
My gaze slides to his other hand. The one still bandaged because Lev put a bullet in it the night of the poker game.
Despite his hand squeezing my chin and mouth, I manage to ask, “How’s the hand?”