“You are nothing like me. Get out of my house before I call the police.”
Pain twists Luc’s face before he turns to me, motioning with his head that we should leave.
“I’m so sorry!” Maria cries as she hands me back our son, and Luc picks up the car seat. We’ve barely walked through the living room when his father’s voice erupts with rage: “What were you thinking, inviting that thug into our home?”
The awfulness from that house follows us all the way to the car, and all the way back to Luc’s house, which is curiously close to his parents’ home.
I rot with guilt as Luc walks past me the moment we’re inside, retreating to the living room to sink into a leather armchair. His face sinks into his hands.
I walk upstairs and put the baby to bed. When I descend the stairs, Luc’s still sitting in the chair, his face buried in his palms.
My heart pounds against my chest as I approach the chair. I lift my hand and it trembles over his head.
What if he’s pissed?
I let it fall and give his hair a gentle brush.
Then his hands slide from his face, eyes burning.
“Kneel.”
LUC
Redness blots my vision. The ground is hard against my back. Heavy weights keep me pinned: a knee digging into my shoulder. Someone sits on my legs. No control. No control. The knife pats my cheek. During the first few seconds, I’m just pissed off. Then the pain kicks me right in the chest—it’s overwhelming. I struggle. Fuck, get them off! I can’t. Then panic sets in and I scream like a little bitch. I’m afraid for the first time in my life. There’s too much blood—I’m going to die—
“Fuck!”
A woman’s scream jars me out of the nightmare as I sit up, my heart pounding. Claire sits upright in bed, looking at me as though I have two heads.
“What happened?”
Fuck. I’m still breathing heavily. I raise my hands to my temple, trying not to think of the gash on my face and how much it burns right now.
“Sorry. Go back to bed.”
I just can’t help but cringe inwardly every time she looks at me like that. It was worse weeks ago, when we met my parents.
God, don’t think about that.
“I can’t sleep.”
She reaches underneath her t-shirt and makes a face as she holds her stomach. Just a sliver of her skin peeks between her panties and the t-shirt, and my dick swells with blood. Suddenly she yanks on the handcuff keeping her attached to the bars.
“Let me out! Now!”
She twists her body out of bed and rips back the sheets, her arm clanging against the bed.
“Hold on.”
“Hurry up!”
Jesus, what’s her problem? Then I notice how pale her skin is, and how she’s covering her mouth.
Oh shit.
I leap over the bed and grab the key on the nightstand to uncuff her wrist, and then she sprints to the bathroom. I duck in there just in time to see her bending her head over the porcelain bowl.
I see my own worried reflection as I rush to her side, holding her silky brown hair as her stomach heaves.
Is she pregnant?
The thought crosses my mind as she slams the lid shut and flushes the toilet. Her eyes are wet as she turns to the sink and splashes water over her mouth.
My hand still rubs her back. “Are you pregnant?”
Her face is like a lightbulb suddenly flickering on. She whirls around and shoves my chest hard, her hair wrapping around her neck. “You fucking bastard!”
Her closed fist hits me right across the jaw, and I laugh at the small burst of pain. She screams with fury and launches another punch at my chest as hard as she fucking can, battering my body. The pain is dwarfed by the joy expanding my chest. She’s pregnant.
“You got me pregnant,” she says through sobs.
“That was the plan.”
She slaps me.
Maybe I’m fucked up, but her rage turns me on. Her palm flies out of nowhere, but I snatch her skinny little wrist and hold it still. Damn, it pisses her off.
The wounded look on her face cuts at me, and I feel a tinge of regret as she yanks her arm away from me and marches into the bedroom.
“Claire, wait. This isn’t a bad thing.”
Her hair whips me in the face as she turns around. “How is bringing another baby into this fucked-up situation a good thing?”
I wrap my arms around her and pull her close as she struggles against me. My heart thuds loudly as she looks back at me, tears slipping down her flushed cheeks.
“I love you.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I do.”
“If you loved me, you’d let us go.”
I take her face in my hands and gently wipe away her tears with my thumbs. “You can’t protect him on your own.”
Fierce brown eyes meet mine. “Yes, I can.”