This is Love, Baby(27)

He really is dead.

No denying that now.

It’s been completely confirmed.

As if that weren’t excruciating enough, the police think I was involved, too. I would never hurt him. Ever. Surely I can speak to them—find Land and have him vouch for me. I didn’t kill War and they’ll soon be able to prove that. Gabe will go to prison for his sins. Everything will work out.

I glance down at the test on the floor beside me. I’d splurged on the easiest to read, most expensive test. Brandon sent me in with a wad of cash and I bought the best.

One glimpse at the one grey word on the display screen tells me what I already knew in my heart. Tears blur the bathroom around me and I let loose a flood. My body aches and I cry until I’m hyperventilating.

Pregnant.

This baby has no father.

This baby only has me.

I’m not completely alone in this world.

What if this baby is Gabe’s?

The terrifying thought has me clutching my stomach in absolute disgust. There’s no way. This baby is in no way his. For one, the shot lasts for three months. I’d been given the Depo shot about a month before Gabe took me, which meant it would have worn off while I was with War. I know for a fact I had a normal period not long after coming to stay with him at his beach house.

This is mine and War’s baby. Not Gabe’s. No damn way.

I sob for a good twenty minutes before I find the strength to pull myself back together. This baby needs me now. I’m going to figure it all out for my little one.

On shaky legs, I stand, deposit the test and packaging into the trash, and then wash my hands and face in the sink. Carefully, I take my time smudging on some of the new concealer and base I’d purchased to hide my red, puffy face. Once I look halfway composed, I leave the bathroom.

I crash into a solid, warm chest. Arms wrap around me and I shiver.

“Everything okay?”

No. Everything is not okay.

“Everything’s fine. I’m just tired.”

Satisfied by my answer, he releases me and saunters over to the waitress who’s carrying a takeout bag. Wordlessly, we head back to the truck and make our way back to the cabin.




As soon as Brandon heads for the shower, I carry the food into the kitchen to once again attempt to coax answers from Gabe.

“Who killed your puppy?” he greets as I set the bag on the counter and set to opening his food.

“Enough with the games, Gabe. Tell me where Dad is.”

He watches me with furrowed brows as I bring a chicken strip over to him. His nostrils flare, inhaling the greasy meat, and he groans. I wave it near his mouth but don’t get close enough for him to bite.

“Never took you for a torturer, sweetheart,” he says with a hint of grumpiness in his voice.

“And I never took you for a rapist murderer but here we are.” I break the chicken piece in half and raise a brow at him. “You want food, you talk.”

He frowns. “I don’t know where Tony is.”

I toss one half of the chicken into the hole and revel in the horrified way he stares after it. “Wrong answer.”

“Fucking hell, woman. Just give me the goddamned chicken. I’m starving over here.”

I laugh, not girly and carefree but freakish and maniacal. “You’re starving? Try three days, asshole. Then tell me how much you’re starving. It’s been three hours,” I hiss out. “You can handle it.”

His dark eyes meet mine and then they peruse my body. “I need to take a piss,” he says suddenly. “I’ve been holding it all damn day, Baylee. I’m the monster, not you. Have some pity on an old man.”

I know he plans on trying to overtake me. Gabe sees himself as brilliant and as the master when it comes to the two of us. I’m not as innocent as he thinks, though.

“Should I untie you? Let you piss out the back door?” I ask sweetly and bat my eyelashes at him as I break apart the second half of the chicken strip.

He groans when I toss another piece into the hole. “I promise, I won’t run,” he says and then his voice turns low, “and if I do, you can spank me, little girl.”

“Fine.”

His eyes widen in shock for a moment before he masks it with a pitiful stare. I push the small piece of chicken into his mouth and he chomps hungrily on it. We don’t speak anymore as I feed him more of his food which he devours. Once I think he’s had enough, I untie both feet that are secured to the chair. Brandon tied his hands behind his back and wrapped rope around his chest and the chair. I leave his hands bound but untie him from the chair.

“My hands?” he asks and curses as I help him stand. He’s clearly woozy because his knees buckle and he would have fallen if it weren’t for me holding onto his elbow.