Ghostface Killer(38)

Pregnant.

The word stares back at me boldly, and I don't know whether to laugh or cry as my emotions just completely split in two. I'm elated, and at the exact same time, friggin' scared to death, because once again, my life has taken a dramatic, unforeseen turn.

I sit in the bathroom stall just processing. I want this baby. I want it so much I will do anything to keep it. Anything.

I guess I have more of Baz than just a song after all. I touch my tummy lightly and smile. 

The realization of my new reality rolls in like a tide as I stand up and prepare to go back to the party. I've been gone a while, and I know G is going to notice.

Placing the pregnancy test in my purse, I check myself out in the mirror one last time before I exit the bathroom.

"Get your fucking hands off me!" I hear someone yell down the hallway.

Regina? I follow the sound of heavy footsteps and a foul-mouthed woman.

"Asshole. You're fucking dead!"

That's definitely Regina. I pick up the pace. Just as I round a corner, I catch the slow shut of a service entrance door. I barrel through the exit just in time to find Regina being forced into the back seat of a white Yukon with blacked-out windows.

"Hey!" I shout, catching the attention of Regina and the guy trying to shove her into the car.

"Stevie." The relief on G's face is prominent. "You're in a world of shit now," she says smugly to the goon, who I recognize as the guy she was flirting with earlier. I step closer to them, reaching into my clutch.

"Let go of her now." I give him one chance.

He doesn't take it.

"G, remember when Benny ruined your brand-new Louis Vuitton pumps? What did you do to him?" I ask as I continue to stalk toward them.

Recognition flashes across her face right before she pulls the guy's hair barbarically and then stabs him in the calf with her stiletto heel. You don't fuck with that woman and her shoes.

The guy releases her just long enough for her to break away and me to strike. I pull the baton from my purse and open it with a lightning-quick flick of my wrist. I hit him in the arm, the side, and the thigh in a swift combo.

"Motherfucker!" He drops to his knees as he tries to shield himself. Sorry, dickhead, you're done.

"G, run!" I order as I beat the guy down, and two more men filter out of the car.

With no argument, she books it down the alleyway, one of the guys attempting to go after her. I get a quick hit on him before I'm attacked by douchebag number two. He pulls a gun, and I knock it out of his hand with the end of the metal baton as I'm grabbed from behind. I throw an elbow back and hit him in the gut before whacking him in the head over my shoulder with the baton. He drops, but they keep coming. These fucking guys are tough, and I'm not exactly dressed for combat. My heels keep slipping on the slick ground, and the tight dress restricts my range of motion. Not to mention the constant bouts of nausea making me lightheaded.

I'm not one to run from a fight, but I've never had to worry about anyone else but me before. Now I'm carrying secret cargo. Secret cargo I have my heart set on keeping. But one wrong kick or punch could cost me, and I am just not willing to take the risk. Regina is safe, and that's all that matters for now. Not who got in more punches or who took more bullets. Backing away slowly, I swing the baton in a defensive figure eight just as a fourth man exits the vehicle.

Great.

He comes at me dressed in a dark black suit and mirrored aviator sunglasses, hair pulled back in a high bun and brown beard manicured perfectly. Wielding a butterfly knife as he approaches, he looks as lethal as one of the horsemen of the apocalypse, the glinting blade and handles helicoptering expertly in his right hand. He barges between the two men's shoulders like a bull, barricading me back into the brick wall. He doesn't stop coming until his massive forearm is crushing my windpipe. I try to fight back, drawing on every fucking martial art move I know, but he's like a goddamn rock, and I can't get the footing I need as I hover off the ground to get a penetrative kick in.

The aggressor's lips curve into a cold, amused, triumphant smile as I struggle, attacking with futile arm strikes.




 

 

"Gah!" I get in a shot to his face, cracking the glasses right on his nose.

He laughs, shaking his head until the broken frames fall to the ground. That's when I get a tried and true look at him. A clear, unobstructed view of his features. No, not just his features. His eyes. Green, like cut emeralds. Incandescent and wild. Green, like the man's I was sent to kill. The man who I fell for before I could stop myself. The man I fled from. The man whose child I'm carrying.

But although they're the same color, they're different. Empty, ruthless, bloodthirsty. Nothing like the ones I came to adore. Nothing like the warm, sincere, humane eyes that made my insides kindle. That made me tumble head over heels.