Ghostface Killer(40)

I gulp in a deep breath, trying to reign in the revolutions making me sick to my stomach. I watch with wary eyes as Baz sits down next to me on the edge of the bed. Our gazes locked in a deadly stare.

"Sleeping Beauty is awake," he muses as he looks me over with bat-shit crazy eyes. Where the fuck did the Baz I know go? He couldn't have been playing me that well. The person sitting in front of me is the polar opposite of the man I know. My guard is up and completely impenetrable.

"Where the fuck are we?" I demand.

"Someplace safe," he rewards me with a vague-ass answer.

"What are you going to do with me?" No point beating around the bush. If he's going to kill me, I want to know up front.

"I'm going to keep you."

"Keep me?" I jerk my head back.

Baz skims his eyes over my body, and it's only then do I realize I'm not wearing my dress anymore. Just a big white T-shirt and panties. "You keep some interesting shit beneath your clothes." I know what he's referring to. Besides the baton I had in my purse, I also had a silk garter around my thigh adorned with two small throwing knives.




 

 

"You never know when trouble is going to find you," I defend my wardrobe and weapons of choice.

"I bet trouble finds a woman like you a lot."

"Hazards of the job."

"No doubt," he hisses, concentrating his attention on my abdomen. "Is it mine?"

I rub my bare thighs together, trying to contain my apprehension. I don't know if I should tell him. In this state, he isn't the Baz I know. "Is it?" he suddenly screams, and I jump sky-high.

"Yes! It's fucking yours."

My answer seems to calm him. His eyes growing wider, brighter.

His psycho gaze falls upon my stomach once more, and he reaches out to touch me.

"Baz," I warn, twisting my body away from him as best I can in the handcuffs.

It's a fruitless attempt, as he just yanks at my hip and draws me back.

"Don't . . . do that," he warns. "If I want to touch you, I'll fucking touch you." He splays his hand on my torso.

"I'm not some fucking plaything. If you have some warped, twisted sex slave idea running through your head, you better forget it right now. I'll break your neck before I let you put your hands on me." My rage roars.

"You don't look like you're in much of a position to break anything," he taunts, running his hand south and settling it high on the inside of my thigh. I see red, kick my foot out, and crack him right in the mouth.

"Fucker!" Baz covers his now bloody lip, and I smile.

"You were saying?"

"Crazy fucking bitch," he bites as he wipes the sticky blood away and plays with it between his fingertips.

"I'm crazy? You're the one who has me handcuffed to a bed, thinking you're going to live out some sick, sex fantasy."

"That isn't why you're handcuffed to a bed," he enlightens me.

"Don't trust me, then?" I ask snidely.

"You did try to kill me."

"I never tried to kill you. You, on the other hand, tried to kill me . . . twice."

"At least I'm straight up," he seethes. "You play with your food before you eat it. Sadistic bitch. You get close. Get feelings involved." There's hurt cracking though his certifiable eyes. "Then you strike."

"I've never gotten close before!" I yell, jerking on the cuffs. "Only with you. And I wasn't going to kill you! I changed my mind. I was going to protect you! You didn't even give me a chance to explain. Just opened fucking fire!"

"I don't have the luxury of giving chances." 

"Then what the fuck am I doing here?" I pose the burning question.

"You're pregnant with my fucking kid. I can't off you now." He stands maniacally. Shit. This Baz is scary. Big, huge body menacing. Mentally unhinged. It's clear, I really had no idea who I was dealing with in Colorado. None. And it burns me up. Usually, I'm the one deceiving people. Disguising myself as someone else, but Baz takes the blue ribbon. I was completely fooled by him, and now, not only am I in danger, but so is our child.

"So, what the fuck are you going to do with me? Just keep me chained to the bed as a human incubator?"

"Yeah." He stalks to the door. "That's exactly what I'm gonna fucking do."

My heart lurches, fear seizing my throat. A tidal wave of sickness crashes over me, and I fight like hell not to throw up. He isn't going to take my little one from me. No one is. Baz has no idea who he's dealing with.

Has no clue who he really got into bed with.

He may hold the upper hand now, but six months gives me plenty of time to devise an escape plan.

And park a bullet in Baz's brain. Like I was originally supposed to do.