Submission Specialist(Still a Bad Boy #2)(47)
When I shuffled into the bathroom I kept my eyes level, holding my own unsteady gaze in the mirror as I approached. I looked scared, and the sight of that stick in the lower periphery of my vision wasn’t helping.
Without glancing down, I picked it up and held it in front of me. I could see it in my hands in the mirror. Such a little thing. So much power.
If I looked down and saw two lines, who would be staring out at me from the mirror when I looked back up? Not Skylar Cross, the scared small town girl fleeing to find her own life. Not Skylar Aquila, the proud young wife of a rising MMA star. It’d be an expectant mother. A mommy.
It was almost like there was some kind of iron bar under my chin when I tried to look down, forcing my head back up, but I managed it, and turned the stick over in my hands. My heart bounced all over my chest like a ricocheting bullet as I focused on the little result window.
Two lines. Two.
The home pregnancy test clattered to the ground and I didn’t even spare a glance at the mother-to-be in the mirror. I needed to sit down. Fast.
More by good luck than good management, I made it to the living room and collapsed on to the couch. With my head in my hands I tried to wrap my brain around what was happening.
What was Austin going to say? What was he going to do? Everything was almost perfect, and now it was all going to change.
He loved me, I was sure of it, but he was only a handful of years older than I was. Had his sexual hunger for me blinded him about basic biology as much as it had done to me?
Before we were thrust together, he had a well-deserved reputation. Fighting his way through the NHBFC ranks and fucking his way through every desirable woman he happened across. How could the concept of fatherhood have ever seeped its way into the haze of that lifestyle?
A lump formed in my throat. If I looked at myself in the mirror would I see a single mother-to-be?
A tear escaped the corner of my eye before I could shake my head to clear it. That was crazy terror-talk.
Austin had looked at me like he wanted to eat me all up since the day we met, but since getting married, that hunger went deeper, it was something else. He wanted me. Mind, body and soul. I was sure of it.
I sat up straight and took several deep calming breaths before looking down and putting my hand on my stomach. Under my palm I couldn’t feel anything out of the ordinary, just my stomach the same as usual. What would it be like to feel a little kick?
The thought brought a tentative smile to my face.
“Don’t worry, little one, everything is going to be OK,” I cooed as much to myself as to my barely-macroscopic child.
I startled when I heard those words, amazed at how much my voice sounded like the memory of my own mother. A knock rang out on the door, and I startled again.
When I answered it, there was a group of three men in dark business suits standing there, the smallest nearer the door and two bigger guys behind him, looking like well-dressed bodyguards.
“Hello?”
“Hi there. We’re business associates of Austin’s.”
“Oh… business associates? He’s not home right now, he’ll be down at Ross’ gym. Do you have the address?”
“Yeah we know where that motherfucker is, you dead bitch.”
The smaller guy held his finger up and then waved it in my direction. Before I could get out of the way enough to slam the door, the two bigger guys rushed in and grabbed me by the arms, dragging me outside kicking and screaming.
Chapter 23
Austin
Ross and I were in the media room, halfway through watching a slow-motion replay of Brenton Southgate’s twentieth fight from a few years back, when the knock came on the door. Ross had told everybody not to bother us, and most of the time everybody in the gym had their own shit to get on with, so Ross muttered a few choice words as he paused the playback and opened the door.
The light from outside flowed in and I looked over my shoulder to see Ken Horn standing there. He looked more serious than a heart attack.
“What the fuck did you do, Austin?” he asked.
“What needed to be done, man, fuck them.”
“What’s he talking about?” asked Ross.
Ken stepped in the door and Ross closed it behind him. “Oh, he hasn’t told you?”
Ross looked from Ken, to me, and back again as Ken walked over and half sat on a desk before continuing.
He pointed at me. “This crazy asshole killed a Bertolini soldier, fucked up another two, Renato Picolli and Renato’s nephew too.”
“What the fuck?” said Ross.
Ken threw up his hands.
“Fuck them,” I repeated. “I didn’t fuckin’ shoot that guy. They never should have pulled a gun on me.”
“What the fuck is going on?” Ross said again as if I’d ignored him.