Three Years(29)

“Take these,” Dornan says, holding out two brown pills that look like they’re made for a goddamn horse.

“What are they?” I ask, taking them slowly.

“Vitamins, baby girl. It’s a little late, but we want our boy to be strong, don’t we?”

I scowl at him as I take the tablets one at a time. Fucking asshole. If I had anything left inside me to throw up, I would, but breakfast must have been a while ago, because my stomach is growling again.

I’m still reeling from the apparent confirmation of our little bundle of horror so much, I barely even notice when The Prospect walks in, rapping twice on the open door as he enters hurriedly.

“What?” Dornan barks.

“Boss, we got an issue.” He looks worried.

“Well spit it out, ése. I’m busy with my baby mama.” He laughs, glancing at me. I keep my face impassive as I stare at the floor.

I see The Prospect glance at me in my peripheral vision before he turns his attention back to Dornan. “It’s the nurse lady, boss. Violetta found her this morning. She’s dead.”

It takes me a moment to understand he’s talking about my mother.

Dornan chuckles. “Well, what’d you do? Feed her to the pigs?”

The prospect shifts uneasily on his feet. “Jason took her to the funeral home, sir,” he replies. “The one you usually use in Tijuana.”

Dornan swats at the air dismissively, and The Prospect leaves quickly, closing the door behind him.

Dornan looks at me with a satisfied smirk. “Aww, did you hear that? Your stupid mother finally took too much. I’m amazed she lasted this long, the old dog.” He chuckles. “Sad, baby girl?”

I laugh. “Hardly.”

I see surprise flicker across his face before he returns to his customary smirk. “Well, if I didn’t know better, and if you didn’t look so much like your fucking father, I’d say you were my daughter.”

I can’t stop the disgusted look on my face at the thought that Dornan could ever be related to me, and I thank my lucky stars for inheriting John Portland’s features amid my mother’s eyes and hair.

Dornan shrugs. “It’s all semantics, anyway. I’ve owned you the moment the nurse handed you to me after your stupid mother had you.”

I glare at him, furious at the thought that even that moment of my life was overshadowed by Dornan fucking Ross.

“You know, I’m confused,” I say, my brain slightly clearer now that the heroin high has tapered a little. “You say I’m pregnant, but what kind of father shoots his baby up with enough drugs to kill it? You know, it’s going to be born an addict, if it even survives everything you’ve done to me.”

Dornan scowls, but I can tell my argument hits him somewhere. “Well, you were born an addict, and look how you turned out?”

“Bullshit.” He’s lying.

“Mmm-Hmm. Your stupid cunt of a mother couldn’t stay off the juice for a day, let alone nine months. You were in the hospital for weeks! Crying and fucking performing. You weren’t even signed out to her when you finally left.” He grins as he delivers his final blow. “You were signed out to me. I brought you home. Celia fucking took care of you until you detoxed, while your mother didn’t even miss a beat. Went back to the club the very next day.”

My cheeks burn. I’m angry because I know he’s probably telling the truth.

“My father would never let that happen.”

“Your father was in prison,” Dornan says. “Six months in Sing Sing. And your mother came back to me, just like always.” He smiles, as if the memory is a fond one, and brushes his knuckle against my cheek. I shrink back from his touch, and he laughs again.

“Oh, baby girl,” he says. “In years to come, you’ll be begging me to touch you. Because this is it for you. Me and you and this room. I hope you enjoyed the last twenty-one years. Because until you take your last breath, the only person you’ll ever see again is me.”

He leaves the room then, slamming the door for effect behind him. As soon as I hear his footsteps retreat down the hallway, I scramble off the bed, tiptoeing toward the French doors that lead to the balcony. Everything appears to have been repaired since one of the bombs I planted exploded right below this room, as it tore a gaping big hole on the side of the mansion. I peer out of the glass, glimpsing several armed guards at various points around the property, and in the distance, the smoggy lights that mark the border separating the US from Mexico.

I don’t know how I’d even get past the guards. How I’d get down to the ground floor from the second floor balcony. How I’d not freeze in this stupid little dress that’s totally unsuitable for winter.