by Logan Fox
Despite everything, I have the overwhelming urge to go over to Hunter, pat him on the back and say, ‘well played, ol’ chum.’
But that’s only because a person can only get so angry before they eventually become sardonic.
“Over a hundred children a year,” Hunter says.
I jerk, splashing soda water over my wrist. I press my eyes closed, willing serenity to flood me instead of an intense urge to throw my cutlery at Hunter’s head.
Kane’s toying with a serviette, and Zee’s scooting her cutlery around on the tablecloth with a finger. Hunter’s nursing his third scotch.
“Over three hundred children, and no one’s doing anything about it.”
Silence settles between each of his statements like a thick, itchy blanket.
“When I speak to the cops, they clam up. Private investigators turn down any amount of money I’m willing to pay.” Hunter tosses down the rest of his whiskey. “I can’t let this go on.”
“When did it start?” Kane asks, but as if he couldn ‘t care less about Hunter’s answer.
“From what I gather, about four years ago.”
I was right; Kane doesn’t even acknowledge that he heard Hunter’s answer. My gaze flashes back to Hunter. His mouth is a nearly invisible line, his eyes hooded.
“If you’d asked,” Kane says quietly, “I could have gone to see Owen.”
Hunter sits back in his chair, sneering around a, “Yeah?” He crosses his arms over his chest. “Because I recall that turned out spectacularly, last time.”
I watch Kane from under lowered lashes. Tiny spots of white appear on his cheeks, and his jaw bunches as if he’s clenching his teeth. He doesn’t look at Hunter, doesn’t look at Zee, but perhaps he felt my gaze on him because a second later his gaze darts up and pins me in my seat.
Hurriedly looking away, I stand and head for the downstairs bathroom.
“Everything all right?” Hunter calls out.
I suppress a laugh. I turn around walking backward as I point to my lower belly. “Yeah, I have this thing called a bladder…? Not sure if you’re familiar with it at all, Doctor, but it fills up every so often.”
Hunter drops his gaze and spins his tumbler between his fingers as if he wishes it were full.
I pee, refuse to look at myself in the mirror, and head back to the table.
“—decided to hand the baby to Father.”
I stop in my tracks. Hunter looks up at me over the top of a fresh glass of scotch.
Kane turns to me, face unreadable. “What? You waiting for me to give you fucking permission or something?”
My cheeks warm up. I’m rooted to the spot, a cold certainty growing inside me. Because, he may sound as heartless as a marble statue, but his words are a touch too tight…and just a little too emphatic.
Fuck.
He may still be processing all this — fuck knows, I am — but he doesn’t want to lose his baby. At least, right now.
My gaze flashes to Hunter. He’s staring at Kane, his glass of scotch halfway between his lips and the table.
Yeah…guess you’re regretting this game of chess right about now, aren’t you, Doctor Hill?
Chapter Thirty-Three
Hunter
Kane stands and pulls Zee to her feet. He heads for the door, not even making eye contact with Clover when he passes her. At the door, he pauses and turns to look back at me over his shoulder.
“You’re right, Red.” Kane’s eyes cut briefly to Clover. “Hunter’s always done whatever he wants and fuck the consequences.”
With his eyes back on me, Kane’s face turns to stone. “So go ahead and do whatever the hell you want, Hunter.” He ushers Zee out of the door. “But leave me the fuck out of it.”
I shoot to my feet. “Kane, please. I don’t know if I can do this alone.”
Kane sneers at me. “Looks like you’re doing a bang up job so far.” He shrugs. “Next time, try asking. You’d be fucking surprised how well it works.”
“You wouldn’t have agreed!” I yell, but he’s already closing the door. “You wouldn’t have—” I cut off and hurl my tumbler at the closest wall.
Glass slams against glass. The tumbler shatters, the glass wall gets a splash of scotch.
“He’s right, you know,” Clover says.
I squeeze my eyes shut, leaning on a fist as I will myself not to crumble.
“No.”
“If you’d asked, Hunter, if you’d tried—”
“No one agrees to give up someone they love, even if it’ll save hundreds of lives!” I yell, slamming my palms on the table top hard enough to clatter the cutlery. “Who would do that? Huh? No one!”
She watches me, eyes the stormy blue of an impending thunderstorm. “Good thing you don’t love me then,” she says quietly.
I jerk my spine straight, but she’s already floating up the stairs, her kaftan flowing around her ankles like that of a specter.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Clover
THIRD TRIMESTER
Kane’s baby kicks me awake. At first, I think it’s a cramp. Random shit like that’s been happening non-stop. Bloating, cravings, mood swings like I’m pms’ing during a full moon. My sex drive is wicked crazy these days, so much so that I can’t punish Hunter by denying him his own climaxes anymore.
I’m out of control. A spinning top losing momentum, wobbling. Soon, I’ll topple and roll off the edge of the table.
When I feel that single, insistent movement inside me, I sit up straight and take a hitched breath.
I was dreaming. Or nightmaring, anyway. Not a new occurrence; my dreams are filled with visions of what’s to come these days, now that I’m nearing the end of my third trimester.
Gah. Trimester. I wouldn’t even have known the word if it hadn’t been for Hunter droning on about all this baby shit.
I lean against the headboard, glancing over at Hunter’s sleeping form. I don’t always allow him to sleep next to me anymore — and sometimes I think he doesn’t dare to in case he wakes up with a blade sticking out of his ribs.
But he couldn’t fuck me enough tonight. I lost count of how many times I came, and I only let him stop when he couldn’t get it up anymore.
Sometimes, I wonder if it’s because Kane’s baby was conceived during a kinda threesome that I’m so goddamn horny all the time.
A child conceived of lust and manipulation.
He could be president one day.
The kid gives me another kick, this one hard enough to make me gasp in surprise.
Hunter bolts to a sit, immediately picking me out in the gloom. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I mutter, stroking my belly. I’m hoping it will get the damn kid to settle.
“Are you experiencing pain?” Hunter’s voice is still thick from sleep
“I’m experiencing lack of fucking sleep.” I glare at him. “You should go sleep on the couch.”
“I’m too tired.”
“Think I give a fuck?” I snap back. I point at the bedroom door. “Scat.”
A second later, Hunter has my hands pinned above my head, straddling me in his silk boxers. The floppy shirt I go to sleep in these nights hikes up, and that silky sensation does all sorts of lurid things to my mind.
“Enough.” He puts his face so close to mine, I can feel his words brushing my lips. “You’ve had your fun.”
“Yeah?” I shift under him, wishing he could see the glower I was directing up at him. “Go fuck yourself, asshole.”
Hunter lets out an angry sound and squeezes my wrists hard enough to make me shift in pain. “You will not speak to me like that.”
“What, I’m supposed to respect you?” I laugh. “You don’t deserve it.”
Instead of arguing his case, he kisses me. I twist my face away, but he just attacks my neck, scraping his teeth over my skin and licking the hollow of my throat.
“Get off,” I say through gritted teeth. “I’ve had enough of you for one night.”
“I haven’t,” he says, voice muffled by my hair as he nuzzles the base of my scalp.
I try to buck him off, but he’s too heavy and I’m too goddamn pregnant; he rides me like a bronco, and his only response to my bouncing hips is to tighten his thighs. He tugs away my underwear and drags his hand unceremoniously over my cunt. I moan, but part in anger, part with lust.
He’s still folded over my belly, mouth teasing my collarbones and his dick positioned just right when the baby kicks a third time.
“Christ.” He sits bolt upright, cock sliding over my folds as it misses its mark.
Both his hands rest on my stomach. I buck again, but he ignores me.
“Did you feel that?” he murmurs. I can barely make out his face in the dark, but I can see the black slashes of his eyebrows drawing together.
“Happens all the time,” I lie. “It’s called being pregnant. Now get in or fuck off!”
He folds over me again, a little heavier this time. His cock is in me so fast that he draws a reluctant groan from my throat.
“She’s moving,” he whispers, his mouth by my ear. “Can you feel her?”
“Get off me, you sick fuck,” I choke. Tears well in my eyes and scatter down my face, wetting my hair. “Get off!” The last is a shriek.
Hunter’s pulls out, falling to the bed beside me. “Clover…”
I wrap my arms around my belly and roll away, turning my back to him.
My shoulders wrack as I sob. I’m distantly aware that Hunter’s hand is on my shoulder, that he’s speaking to me. But nothing exists except the alien feeling of another being moving around inside me.
Her? It’s a girl? How does he even—?
The baby consumes my nightmares. I dream of giving birth to a tiny blue thing with buggy, transparent eyes.
On other nights, it tears me apart when it comes out, and I bleed out right there while Hunter’s stroking my head and telling me the Mother will welcome me with open arms.
Last night, it grew so big, it split my stomach open and crawled out, mewling like a newborn kitten.
“Clover.” Hunter melds against me, his erection gone, but his muscles twice as stiff as they’d been before. “Please, I didn’t realize—”
“I’m so scared,” I sputter through my sobs. “I’m so fucking scared.”
Hunter’s arm is around me in an instant. “Shh.” He grips me tight. “You’re safe with me.”
But his words just make me cry harder. If it wasn’t for him, I wouldn’t have this foreign thing growing and kicking inside me, stealing all my nourishment as it gets ready to kill me on its way out.
I can’t say why I’m so terrified of childbirth. I’ve never even seen a home birth video, for Christ’s sake. But now I realize my mind already had a clear picture of the type of mental chaos I would go through if I ever did get knocked up. I was trying to protect myself from this very thing; making sure I’d never transform into this wretched creature.
More than once, I’ve tried to think of ways to get rid of it.
But then I remember it’s inside me, attached to me, so much a part of me that every attempt would be potential suicide.
Hunter’s hand slides over my belly. The baby kicks again. It’s as if they’re communicating with each other, and my placenta just keeps getting in the way.
When my tears finally dry up, Hunter moves against me. He’s hard again and kissing the back of my neck.
“Does it turn you on?” I ask, voice dead. “Fucking a woman pregnant with your friend’s child?”
He makes an angry sound but doesn’t move away. Instead, he slides his hand between my leg and lifts it up so he can get to my cunt.
“You get me hard,” he murmurs in my ear. His hand clenches over my belly as he uses the other to guide himself to my slit. “I can’t explain it any more than I can explain why you’re still here, or why you let me have you whenever I want.”
I can’t explain it myself either. Unless…
Maybe Hunter never cured me at all.
What if I’m addicted to him now? Still a masochist, but on a much deeper level. Knowing he’ll never be capable of loving me, knowing all I have to look forward to is half-truths and full-blown lies.
But I’m still here.
He bites down on my shoulder as he thrust into me hard enough to make me whimper. That first flash of almost-pain flickers through me like electricity, setting my nerve endings alight.
The baby doesn’t kick while we’re fucking; in fact, it seems Hunter’s furious rhythm rocks her to sleep.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Hunter
I tuck a bedraggled curl behind Clover’s ear, my mouth pressed to her arm. My hand is still draped over her belly, but it’s been at least an hour since the fetus kicked.
I’m not sure if I never want to feel that sensation again…or if I’d lose my mind if I didn’t.
While my body’s satisfied to the point of numbness, my mind is a tumultuous whirlwind of what-ifs.
What if Clover hadn’t fallen pregnant — what would I have done?
What if Clover miscarries?
What if she can’t hold out to full term and tries to abort the baby?
What if Clover dies?
I squeeze my eyes shut. Careful not to stir too much, I wrap my arms around her and cradle her belly.
Something moves against my hand, and my body turns to stone.
I push my face into Clover’s curls, inhaling deep. For the first time in a long time, I feel tears prick at my eyes.
“I’m so sorry,” I murmur, my lips barely moving.
Her hair grows damp.
“I am so fucking sorry.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
Clover
A WEEK LATER
Hunter’s leg jerks, waking me instantly. I hear his phone vibrating on his side-table, and groan as I roll onto my back. It feels like I’ve just gotten to sleep — my eyes are grainy, my head stuffed with dirty cotton wool.
He sits up and snatches his phone from the table. White light suffuses the room as he unlocks the screen.
“What the fuck?” he mumbles.
My hair stands on end. I push onto my elbows, blinking at him. “Tell me.”
“Kane’s here.” Hunter looks at me, bright light gleaming from his eyes.
“What? What time is it?”
“Three.”
“In the fucking morning?” I snap. I fall back and roll onto my side. I feel like a beached whale, but fatter and less graceful. “Tell him to fuck off.”
“Hello?”
I groan; he answered the goddamn intercom.
“Yeah, sure.” Hunter slides out of bed and pads across the room in his boxers.
“Seriously?” I call after him, but he doesn’t even bother turning around.
I hear a car pull up outside, and heave myself out of bed, utterly shocked that I can still manage unaided. If Baby gets any bigger, I’ll have to get myself a goddamn wheelchair.
I hobble over to the window and stare down.
Kane steps out of his Jeep. Hunter leaves the house, a robe around his shoulders, and goes up to him. They talk, nothing but the murmur of their voices reaching me through the thick glass wall.
Hunter puts a hand out, and Kane knocks it away, staggering.
Christ, he’s drunk.
Kane opens the back door and straightens with a limp Zee in his arms. Hunter immediately tries to take her, but Kane elbows him aside with a barely audible, “Fuck off.”
My heart’s in my throat.
Did he hurt her?
Is she dead?
I barely pause long enough to grab a hoody from the floor — Hunter’s become a real slob these days — and hurry downstairs as fast as my enormous body can handle.
I’m halfway down the stairs when Kane comes through the door. His gaze darts to me, perhaps drawn by my movement, and sticks.
I have one arm under my stomach, more to stop it from bouncing around as I hu
rry down the stairs than anything else, but his eyes immediately flicker to my pregnant belly. He stands there, cradling an unmoving Zee until I make my way to the ground floor.
“What’s wrong — with her?” I ask, clearing my throat halfway through.
“I sedated her,” he says, but absently.
He goes over to the couch, sets Zee down, and comes back to me. He reeks of hard liquor, cigarettes, and weed but even when I step back, he just keeps coming at me.
Hunter’s beside him in an instant, grabbing his upper arm.
Kane shrugs him off.
His hands are on my belly, rubbing me like he’s expecting a fucking genie to pop out.
“Kane,” Hunter says quietly. “Can I get you some coffee?”
“Yeah,” Kane murmurs. He steps right up to me, his stomach against mine. My gaze flickers to Hunter, and a cold shiver trembles down my spine.
Hunter’s face is set in resignation.
To my shock, he goes into the kitchen, leaving me alone with Kane.
I grab Kane’s wrists to stop him from rubbing my belly. I can feel his child moving around in here. She seems to get active whenever anyone pays attention to her bloated egg sack — ie: my stomach — and starts kicking like a budding football star.
For some reason, I’m loathe to let Kane feel that life. I know he has every right, but I have a feeling that whatever abyss he’s currently teetering on the brink off, a single kick from his child will send him over the edge.
I’m pretty fucking sure no one wants that.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
Hazel eyes flick up, study me. “I had to see you.”
“Me?” I croak.
His eyes dart down again. His mouth tightens into a line. “Please, Clover, don’t do this.”
I try to step away, but I’m right against the stairs. I tug at his hands, but he refuses to budge from my belly. “Hunter said she’ll be fine.” Another tug; I could be pulling at a tree root for all the give in his corded arms.