by Never, M.
“Champagne?” A server offers as he passes by. I go to grab a glass then stop myself. That fucking pregnancy test is burning a hole in my purse.
I politely decline.
Scanning the room, I search Regina out. She’s laughing and flirting with a handsome man in a tux who I assume is her next play thing.
This party is a complete bore, so I have no reservations slipping away for a little while to take care of some personal business.
I search out a bathroom with some privacy, finding a communal one far away from the party back by the kitchen.
I lock myself in the farthest stall, pull the pregnancy test out of my bag, and rip it open with my pulse pounding in my head.
I sit on the toilet and pee on the stick, my hand shaking the entire time.
I breathe deeply, attempting to stay calm as I stare at the little window for what feels like hours. Blue writing finally starts to appear, and my heartbeat picks up, thumping so fast I fear I might pass out. Then it’s clear as day. The results.
Pregnant.
The word stares back at me boldly, and I don’t know whether to laugh or cry as my emotions just completely split in two. I’m elated, and at the exact same time, friggin’ scared to death, because once again, my life has taken a dramatic, unforeseen turn.
I sit in the bathroom stall just processing. I want this baby. I want it so much I will do anything to keep it. Anything.
I guess I have more of Baz than just a song after all. I touch my tummy lightly and smile.
The realization of my new reality rolls in like a tide as I stand up and prepare to go back to the party. I’ve been gone a while, and I know G is going to notice.
Placing the pregnancy test in my purse, I check myself out in the mirror one last time before I exit the bathroom.
“Get your fucking hands off me!” I hear someone yell down the hallway.
Regina? I follow the sound of heavy footsteps and a foul-mouthed woman.
“Asshole. You’re fucking dead!”
That’s definitely Regina. I pick up the pace. Just as I round a corner, I catch the slow shut of a service entrance door. I barrel through the exit just in time to find Regina being forced into the back seat of a white Yukon with blacked-out windows.
“Hey!” I shout, catching the attention of Regina and the guy trying to shove her into the car.
“Stevie.” The relief on G’s face is prominent. “You’re in a world of shit now,” she says smugly to the goon, who I recognize as the guy she was flirting with earlier. I step closer to them, reaching into my clutch.
“Let go of her now.” I give him one chance.
He doesn’t take it.
“G, remember when Benny ruined your brand-new Louis Vuitton pumps? What did you do to him?” I ask as I continue to stalk toward them.
Recognition flashes across her face right before she pulls the guy’s hair barbarically and then stabs him in the calf with her stiletto heel. You don’t fuck with that woman and her shoes.
The guy releases her just long enough for her to break away and me to strike. I pull the baton from my purse and open it with a lightning-quick flick of my wrist. I hit him in the arm, the side, and the thigh in a swift combo.
“Motherfucker!” He drops to his knees as he tries to shield himself. Sorry, dickhead, you’re done.
“G, run!” I order as I beat the guy down, and two more men filter out of the car.
With no argument, she books it down the alleyway, one of the guys attempting to go after her. I get a quick hit on him before I’m attacked by douchebag number two. He pulls a gun, and I knock it out of his hand with the end of the metal baton as I’m grabbed from behind. I throw an elbow back and hit him in the gut before whacking him in the head over my shoulder with the baton. He drops, but they keep coming. These fucking guys are tough, and I’m not exactly dressed for combat. My heels keep slipping on the slick ground, and the tight dress restricts my range of motion. Not to mention the constant bouts of nausea making me lightheaded.
I’m not one to run from a fight, but I’ve never had to worry about anyone else but me before. Now I’m carrying secret cargo. Secret cargo I have my heart set on keeping. But one wrong kick or punch could cost me, and I am just not willing to take the risk. Regina is safe, and that’s all that matters for now. Not who got in more punches or who took more bullets. Backing away slowly, I swing the baton in a defensive figure eight just as a fourth man exits the vehicle.
Great.
He comes at me dressed in a dark black suit and mirrored aviator sunglasses, hair pulled back in a high bun and brown beard manicured perfectly. Wielding a butterfly knife as he approaches, he looks as lethal as one of the horsemen of the apocalypse, the glinting blade and handles helicoptering expertly in his right hand. He barges between the two men’s shoulders like a bull, barricading me back into the brick wall. He doesn’t stop coming until his massive forearm is crushing my windpipe. I try to fight back, drawing on every fucking martial art move I know, but he’s like a goddamn rock, and I can’t get the footing I need as I hover off the ground to get a penetrative kick in.
The aggressor’s lips curve into a cold, amused, triumphant smile as I struggle, attacking with futile arm strikes.
“Gah!” I get in a shot to his face, cracking the glasses right on his nose.
He laughs, shaking his head until the broken frames fall to the ground. That’s when I get a tried and true look at him. A clear, unobstructed view of his features. No, not just his features. His eyes. Green, like cut emeralds. Incandescent and wild. Green, like the man’s I was sent to kill. The man who I fell for before I could stop myself. The man I fled from. The man whose child I’m carrying.
But although they’re the same color, they’re different. Empty, ruthless, bloodthirsty. Nothing like the ones I came to adore. Nothing like the warm, sincere, humane eyes that made my insides kindle. That made me tumble head over heels.
“Baz?” I struggle to swallow, stunned.
His inhuman gaze narrows, heavily trained on me. In this aging moment, I’m a stranger. A nobody, a nothing. I barely recognize him, and it breaks my heart. He was clearly playing me the same way I was playing him. Although, I stopped playing after a while. It was all real for me. The time was real, my feelings were real, this baby is real.
“Baz, let go!” I demand.
“After you’re dead.” He raises his free hand and puts on another show with the butterfly knife, flipping it through his fingers like a deadly pinwheel.
“Baz!” I thrash fitfully, desperate to break free. He closes the knife then opens it again in a stealthy move before rearing his arm back, the tip aimed right at my torso. “Baz, don’t!” I screech. A bloodcurdling, ear-piercing sound. I protect my abdomen as something shifts in his stare. Clarity? Recognition? Realization? I bet on number three as he inspects my trembling eyes. As he reads my mind, placing me under that damn spotlight like only he can do. His gaze drops for a fraction of a second to where I’m protecting my stomach. A dark, harrowing expression mars his freshly trimmed face. An entire decade passes before he moves again. Before he fists the handle of the knife in his hand and smashes me right in the face, catapulting me into darkness.
“GET UP, STEVIE.” I hear his voice raise from beyond the grave in the darkness, and my chest aches. “Don’t punk out.” Then he laughs. God, that sinister, demented laugh. “Don’t be fucking weak. You know who’s weak? Pussies, that’s who. And just because you have one doesn’t mean you have to be one.”
My face hurts. “Benny?” I can’t see him in the darkness, but I can feel him. Feel his wrath after I disappointed him. “I’m not weak!” I scream. “I am not weak!”
I startle awake, and my head throbs. Oh, God. I have the hangover from hell. I look around the foreign room. Where am I? I try to get up, but I’m deterred by the handcuffs shackling me to the bed. What the fuck? I yank my arms, the metal chain links clanking against the iron part of the headboard above me.
&nbs
p; I try to remember how I got here. Benny? No. Baz. Shit. It all comes rushing back. Baz in the alleyway. Baz with the knife. Baz almost killing me, again. I clench my jaw and my face stings. Damn, he hit me fucking hard. He hit me like he hates me. Which also fucking hurts.
Baz isn’t the first man to hit me, and I doubt he’ll be the last. When I first went to live with Benny, he would beat me often. Once or twice a week, at least. Even through all my training, all my collection of skills, he made sure I knew who was boss. I let him do it for years. Layering bruises on top of my already bloodied lips and black eyes from sessions with my trainers. It didn’t matter how hard they hit me, Benny’s blows always hurt more. They hurt deep down inside because I loved him. I wanted to please him, but I felt like I never could. Until the day I hit him back. I couldn’t take the abuse anymore. The rage was storming inside me. I was older by then. Nearly twenty. I had taken down men twice my size, killed in cold blood, and bloomed into a seductress. But I was always fearful of Benny. He was the one person who scared me most. He was unpredictable, and unpredictability is a dangerous thing. But I didn’t care at that moment. I just wanted him to stop hurting me. I wanted him to stop hurting my heart every time he touched me with violent hands. I snapped, hauled off and clocked him square in the mouth. He fell back, lip split wide open, blood pouring onto his black shirt. When I realized what I did, I panicked, knowing I was in for the beating of my life. Shit, shit, shit. I almost started to cry when Benny started laughing. A huge, crazy cackle booming from his bloody mouth. I stood there gaping at him, completely confused.
“It’s about fucking time.” He looked up at me from his seat on the floor. “You have finally awoken.”
I just stared at him dumbfounded. “Awoken?”
Benny stood up, wiping his bloody lip, his teeth stained red.
“Yes. Little fox, awoken.” He stalked toward me until my back hit the wall. He placed his hands on my neck and forced my face up by stabbing the tips of his thumbs into the tender flesh below my jaw. I swallowed hard, feeling their uncomfortable pressure. “Don’t ever let anyone push you around, Stevie. Not even me.”
With that statement, a monumental lesson was learned. Looking up into Benny’s crazy green eyes, I realized who I was and exactly what I was capable of. I really had awoken.
The door to the bedroom creaks, ripping me from the memory. I tense, my hands securely secured above my head. Could I be any more of a sacrificial lamb right now? How pathetic. I hate being helpless. My stomach ripples once Baz comes into view. I’m hit with a wave of nausea as my little one reminds me of its presence.
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.
I don’t know how long I yanked at the cuffs trying to squeeze my wrist free. I stopped when I drew blood. It was impossible. He obviously isn’t stupid. He secured them tight enough so I couldn’t slip my little hands through. Ugh! I kick my legs, my shirt riding up, exposing my stomach. I look down at the bare skin, still flat and tight. No signs of my pregnancy yet, except for the morning sickness which happens all throughout the day. Torture. I’m possessed by a little demon who apparently takes right after it’s father.
I
don’t know how long I lie here, but I can’t ignore my turning insides, my light head, and the urge to pee. I try to close my eyes and try to relax, wishing I could assure myself that Baz isn’t going to hurt me, but past experiences and all. He seems so unhinged. So abrasive. So defensive. Such a complete contrast to the man my affections grew leaps and bounds for.
And those eyes. Those fucking alien eyes. It’s like he’s not even the same person. Like he’s demonized, because those are not Baz’s eyes. There is no warmth, no light, only . . . crazy. You can’t hide or mask crazy. You just can’t, and Baz definitely wasn’t crazy when we were together. When we made this child.
Sometimes life becomes a little too much for me to handle. Sometimes I obsess. Or can’t let things go.
The door to the dark bedroom creaks open again, and I steel myself, preparing for batty Baz.
The aroma of food instantly turns my stomach. Dear God, no food. Please, no food.
Baz places a tray on the bed, and I catch sight of some soup, bread, and a glass of water. I drop my head back. Just looking at it makes me want to gag.
Baz pulls on a string next to the bed, drawing up the shades. Bright light fills the room, and I squint as my eyes adjust. It’s the first time I get a good look at my surroundings. The room is sparsely decorated, just the light wooden bed with iron headboard, matching dresser, and two creepy, hand-painted bear pictures on the wall. They’re staring straight at me, their beady little eyes boring into me in my tethered state. Wonderful. Behind the bed is a huge window, and I peek over my shoulder hoping I can get an idea of where we are. When I look through the glass, all I see are trees and a blanket of white. Snow. A lot of snow. As far as the eye can see. Shit.