by Jaymin Eve
As I stood, Dylan wrapped an arm around me, half hauling me across the room and toward the door. Before we reached it, more of the black-clad men burst through. Or I was guessing male due to general size and build, but who knew for sure.
Dylan didn't hesitate, shooting them, one by one. They were armed as well, but none of them moved with the speed of the guy holding me. Even without the gun, he was a fucking weapon.
When his bullets were out, he dropped the pistol and, in two quick steps, used his hands to take out more of the men, dropping bodies like this was some kind of computer game.
If this weren't the sort of life or death situation that had terror tearing through me until I was about to piss myself, I'd have been a tiny bit turned on by his badassery. He was impressive.
"Brooke, move," Dylan snapped, and I did, trying my best to ignore the bodies I tripped over. Just pretend they’re piles of clothing.
We got out the door this time, and even though Dylan had to have taken out ten or more men, at least that many, if not more, waited for us on the other side. Dylan went straight to work, and I tried to back up. But one of them had been waiting just beside the open door, hidden in a small alcove.
His arms wrapped painfully around my body as he hauled me against his chest, lifting my feet off the floor. "Got you, bitch," he said, sounding gleeful as he yanked me around, smashing my arm against the doorframe. "You're going to regret stealing from us. Now where the fuck is the blueprint?"
Blueprint? Was... this Delta? I mean, surely Dylan would have had a head's up, and Delta didn't seem the type to send a massive squad of trained mercenaries in through the night to attack one of their own CEO’s.
Was there another player on the board? Was this who Blake had been planning on selling the plans to before he got caught by Delta? He’d probably already taken their money, and unsurprisingly, they were pissed, ready to break shit to get what they wanted back.
Shit like me.
"You have the wrong person," I choked out, struggling against his hold as he walked along the hall with me. I heard Dylan curse as he fought harder than ever, but with half a dozen or more agents still around him, there was no way he'd get to me in time.
Which left me to save myself. Drawing on whatever strength I'd learned from Ruth in the short time I’d known her, I focused on the surroundings, trying to formulate a plan.
"I didn't steal anything," I added. "It was Blake. He has your plans, and you idiots have fallen for his false stories."
My captor laughed, a low rasp that told me this dude was probably a heavy smoker or drinker. "Not likely, love. Your brother folded like a house of cards; it just took a little torture and he was spilling the entire story. He stashed it on you then sent you right into the Delta lair thinking you’d be hidden off the grid. Now we have to get it back, or our bosses will murder our asses. It's nothing personal."
My fucking piece of shit brother. If he were here right now, I'd be trying to murder his ass. I’d do jail time for that piece of shit, no worries. "Then it’ll be in my bag or something. Just let me go and I’ll get it for you.”
I was almost positive it wasn’t. I’d emptied that bag before repacking it to leave camp and there hadn’t been any stolen files stashed there. But maybe I could at least distract them long enough to either escape or get back to Dylan.
He grunted. "We checked all of your belongings, and that leaves one option," Raspy Voice said. "It's on you somewhere. Maybe even imbedded under your skin. Which means one of us is going to do a very thorough examination of your person." His lips brushed against my ear. "I'm hoping it's me."
We were nearing the stairs, and I caught sight of another guy waiting at the top to help this asshole take control of me. If I ended up with them, there would be no chance of escape. Since Raspy Voice was distracted being a sleazy motherfucker, he didn't notice what I was doing with my feet. Swinging them out, I hooked my leg into the banister, and using all of my strength, pulled myself out of his grip.
I knew I was going to fall awkwardly, but I managed to roll so I landed flat on my back and not on my stomach. The shock still probably wasn't good for the baby, but I had to hope it was better than the alternative.
Somewhat winded, I managed to drag myself up, coughing and spluttering. The guy was cursing, already coming for me, so I swung my foot again and slammed it into the side of his leg. When his knee buckled, dropping him down, I scrambled away.
"Get that fucking bitch," he called.
Yeah, not happening, asshole.
The other guy dashed from the stairs, but I remembered seeing a second staircase at the back of the house. A small one down to a laundry room or something. Maybe I could get there before he caught me…
Even though it was darker here, I remembered the way pretty well from the tour last night, and when I rounded the corner, the guy on my ass, I could have sobbed at the lack of tall, shadowy figures trying to block my path.
Yes. Thank fuck.
My feet had never moved so fast as I sprinted, determined to get to a phone and call 911, but just as I started down the top step, I tripped over an obstacle I hadn't noticed on the floor. Arms flailing, I fell hard in the dark, something heavy going down with me.
When I landed in a painful heap on the floor at the bottom, whatever I’d tripped over slammed into my side, and I tried to gasp in some air. I was winded, my side aching, and the real fear that I’d fallen too hard on my stomach had panic detonating in my system.
It was quite dark down here, but as I felt around to push myself up, I knew that it was a body beside me. My stomach roiled as I wondered how any of them had died by the stairs… I mean, Dylan hadn’t made it that far yet.
I pushed myself up and sharp pain shot across my right knee, left elbow, and left ass cheek. Then my hand brushed across long hair. The horror of who I’d tripped over hit me at the same moment someone hit a light above, clearly wanting to see where I was before they attacked.
Ruth’s lifeless eyes stared up at me as I screamed in horror, the pain and guilt of what I’d done almost sending my brain into a place I couldn’t get it back from. Tears poured down my face while I continued to scream, and it was only when someone slammed a boot into my ribs that I was able to snap out of my state and roll into a ball, trying to protect myself.
Ruth was dead. The woman had risked her life to help me, and in the end, it’d cost her everything. I’d have time to unpack the absolute devastation of that later, but for now, I had to save myself.
And my baby.
As I rolled to the side, someone booted me back to the floor, and I knew it was all over. "You fucking cunt,” he rasped. “You almost broke my knee."
Oh, great. It was ten-pack-a-day dude.
Curling back into a ball, I protected my stomach as best as I could while he nailed me with his boot again. And just when I was sure that I was about to die, the front door burst open. Snow and ice blew in with the new arrivals, and I heard a blast of radio and a clear command of “Delta attack.” Then the asshole's boot landed on my temple, and I was knocked out cold.
21
Consciousness came back in flashes of pain as I let out a sobbing moan. Strong arms cradled me and tightened as I cried.
"Shh, baby, I've got you." Dylan's deep rumble met my ears, soothing despite my pain. "We're getting you to the hospital; it'll be okay."
But... would it? The fall down the stairs... the kicks from that motherfucker before the Delta guys turned up… Ruth…
My sobs grew harder, until I was choking on my fear and guilt. Dylan was helplessly trying to figure out what was wrong. Did he even know about Ruth? Did he know we might have lost our baby?
He couldn't know, and yet he sounded as frantic as me. "Brooke, baby, you're bleeding." Panic underscored those words. "Where are you hurt? Your legs are covered." His grip on me shifted, and I cracked my eyes open to find myself in the passenger seat of an SUV with Dylan looming in the open door. "Were you shot?" His hands roamed over my b
ody, searching for my injury.
But he wouldn't find it. Not like that.
I knew, though. Deep down, I’d known it from the second I'd tumbled down those stairs, hitting every step on the way down. Turned out I didn't need to take another test, after all.
"I'm fine," I lied in a weak voice, gritting my teeth as his hands skimmed my aching ribs. "Dylan, I wasn't shot." My voice hitched as my chest tightened, overwhelming sadness washing through me.
His thumb brushed over my cheek, swiping away the tears streaming down my face. "Brooke, you're scaring me. What's going on? What's this blood from? You must have been shot or stabbed and you're in shock."
I shook my head, then winced at the sharp pain in my skull. "Just... can we just get to a hospital? Please?" My voice cracked again, then dissolved into sobs that shook my whole chest.
Dylan didn't need any more persuading. He buckled my seat belt, then rushed around the hood of the car while barking commands at some of the armed guys spilling out of Ruth's house. Ruth’s house. Fuck, one emotional drama at a time. First, we had to get to the hospital so I could confirm the reason for the pain and fear spiking in my chest.
Then I could mourn them all.
A moment later Dylan was behind the wheel, his vehicle speeding down the snow-covered streets like a demon was on our ass. All the while I cried and hugged my arms around myself, like that could slow the bleeding somehow.
"Brooke, you need to talk to me," Dylan implored as he drove with his fingers all but strangling the steering wheel. It wouldn't take long to get to the local hospital; I'd seen it when we were leaving Walmart. So I just clamped my lips shut and shook my head again, despite how badly my head pounded.
What use would it be to tell Dylan now? Tell him that I was probably pregnant with his baby, and now...
"Brooke!" he shouted, making me jump in fright. "Fuck, I'm sorry. Sorry. Shit, I didn't mean to frighten you, but you're really scaring me."
I swallowed heavily, parting my lips to reply, but no sound came out. I had literally no words to give him in this situation. Thankfully, though, the lights of town were coming closer with every passing second, so I just stayed silent and sent weak, hopeless prayers that some miracle might happen—that I wasn't miscarrying my unexpected pregnancy before I could even decide how I felt about it.
Dylan stopped our vehicle directly in front of the tiny hospital, ignoring all the "no stopping" signs, and left the engine running. He threw open his door and was jerking mine open before I could even unbuckle my seat belt.
He scooped me up in his arms, but his grip on me was surprisingly gentle for all the tension vibrating through his body.
"I've got you, Brooke. It's okay, you're going to be okay. I'm so sorry; fuck, this is all my fault. Help! We need a doctor!" he shouted to the nearest staff member as the sliding doors admitted us and the fluorescent lights made my headache spike.
I squeezed my eyes shut to block out the light, trusting Dylan as a nurse guided him over to a gurney and instructed him to put me down. A doctor soon joined her, and the questions came thick and fast. Dylan answered most, giving short, sharp responses about my injuries, but then the one question came that he couldn't handle.
"Ma’am," the doctor repeated, and I cracked my lids open to meet the woman's concerned eyes. "Is there any chance you could be pregnant?"
I didn't immediately respond. I couldn't. But as tears streamed down my face, I forced the words past my lips because if there was any hope, then they needed the facts.
"Maybe," I croaked in a sorrowful whisper. "I think so."
From the corner of my eye, I saw Dylan freeze. If not for his dark complexion, he might've just blanched whiter than me.
The doctor simply gave a nod and coaxed me to lie back on the bed while she rattled off some orders to her nurse. Then an orderly started pushing my gurney down a corridor.
"Sir, you need to wait here." A male nurse held up a hand to block Dylan from following, and I held my breath as I waited for his response in the form of violence.
But it didn't happen. Dylan just stood there looking shocked and helpless, his green eyes locked on my face as they wheeled me away. A moment later, the doors swung closed between us, cutting him off from view, and I squeezed my eyes shut tight. It did nothing to stop the tears from leaking out, though.
The sunlight streaming through my window when I woke seemed almost cruel. How dare the sun rise all happy and bright after the night we'd just suffered through? My baby… possibly dying as I lay here. Ruth, brutally murdered in her beautiful home. All because of me.
No. Not because of me. Because of Blake.
Anger burned through my veins like acid as I thought of everything he'd taken from me. My freedom. My confidence. My baby...
"Oh, you're awake," a woman commented, and my head jerked around to find a nurse standing beside my bed with a chart in her hands. I hadn't even noticed her there as I stared at the sunlight and wallowed in my own misery. "I'll go and get Doctor Mooney; she can update you on everything."
Tears started flowing down my face again as dread washed through me. I didn't need the doctor to tell me what I already knew.
The nurse smiled warmly and gave my arm a gentle squeeze, careful not to bump the IV line in the back of my hand.
"You're going to be okay, Brooklyn," she told me in a gentle voice. "You had a close call and a hell of a scare, but you're okay. Just take some deep breaths, yes? Deep breaths. Your baby needs all the calming vibes from its mama right now."
My heart stopped.
"Wh-what?"
Understanding flashed over the nurse's face, and she tilted her head to the side. "Oh, honey. You don't remember—of course not, you suffered a bit of a head injury. Mild concussion. There is still a viable heartbeat for your jellybean.” She paused. “I’ll let the doctor explain the rest to you.”
Overwhelming sobs shook my chest, making my ribs ache painfully and my head swim, so I couldn't respond even if I had the words. The nurse seemed to understand, though, gave me a small hug, then whispered that she'd fetch the doctor to give me more information.
I was only left alone for a few moments, just long enough for me to realize something that made my stomach sink and my heart ache.
Dylan wasn't here. I was totally alone in my hospital room.
The last thing I remembered was that horrified look on his face as I admitted to knowing—maybe knowing—that I was pregnant. He had to have done the math. He had to know it was his. Unless...
Oh fuck. What if he thought it was someone else's? I'd never told him he was my first, and we had never discussed other sexual partners. Hell, we were nothing more than a casual hookup every couple of weeks; he probably expected me to have been with other guys as well.
My doctor entered the room, cutting off my pity party before it could really kick into gear, and I almost lost it again at her bright smile.
"Brooklyn, it's so good to see you awake," she told me with warmth in her tone. She pulled up a chair and sat beside my bed like we were old friends, cocking her head to the side to inspect my face. "You look really upset, hon. Is it just a bit overwhelming, or is there something else?"
I didn't even know how to answer that question. Both? Yes, it was crazy overwhelming, but I was also distraught about the senseless murder of a woman who didn't deserve to die last night and freaking right the fuck out that Dylan wasn't here.
So, I just nodded.
The doctor smiled, patting my arm like the nurse had. "I get it," she offered with a sympathetic smile. "Here are the facts for you. You suffered quite a few injuries last night, including a cracked rib, substantial bruising, and a mild concussion, which we have been monitoring. In regard to the fetus, we’ve estimated you at around seven-weeks gestation, and for now, the heartbeat is strong and viable, which is nearly a miracle with all your injuries.”
There was hope, but I also sensed a but coming.
“But you are still lightly bleeding. There’s nothi
ng we can do, at this early stage, to prevent a miscarriage. For now, it’s basically in nature’s hands. So I’m going to need you to relax, stay calm, and let us get you all healed up.”
I nodded, still incapable of words. I was taking in everything she was telling me, though—mainly the fact that I definitely was pregnant. And that I was still pregnant. At least for now. The still-bleeding thing wasn’t reassuring, but my little baby was clearly a fighter already.
Keep fighting, little person. Stay strong.
The doctor continued on, talking medical jargon about my continued treatment and what they were monitoring me for. They wanted to keep me in the hospital for another few days, and after that I had to be on bed rest for a few weeks, so I needed a responsible adult to go home with who would care for me. Despite Dylan having already approved unlimited expenses on his credit card for me, he was no where to be found. He certainly wasn’t waiting to take me home, so someone else would need to do it.
Except... I didn't have a home, let alone a bed to rest in for weeks. I wasn't going back to Blake, not for all the tea in China. If he was even still alive, that was. What had that guy said when he’d grabbed me? They'd tortured Blake for information?
If I was lucky, they'd killed him and fed his body to sharks.
"Do you have any questions for me right now, Brooklyn?" Doctor Mooney was so calm and kind, seriously acing the bedside manner part of her job. “You should be discharged in time for Christmas Eve, you don’t need to worry about that.”
I needed to swallow twice and wet my lips before I could reply.
"The guy that brought me in last night..." I trailed off, at a loss for what to ask. Where was he? Why wasn't he here when I woke up? Doesn't he understand that this is his baby?
"He wasn't permitted access until you woke up and could give consent, as he isn't immediate family," she told me gently. "He informed us that you have no family to contact, but we can't risk these things."