This Is Love, Baby (War & Peace #2) Page 8

  “I don’t want it to be easy on him, believe me. But he needs to pay for what happened to me and what he did to those I love. I want him to think about what he’s done every day in a tiny prison cell for the rest of his life. Once we get what we need from him, we’ll call the police.” My voice is firm and unwavering. I’ve thought a lot about this. Brandon and I are just two young adults. We’re not killers. I won’t let him kill for me and I certainly want to be a good parent to my future child. Murdering someone, even the devil, is a bad start to motherhood.

  He scoffs at my words. “The police? We can’t get them involved. We’ve been through this, babe. They think you’re involved in War’s murder.” He bares his teeth slightly as the last word rolls off his tongue. It cuts me deep and affects me more than being accused of the one who did it. “Remember?”

  Murder.

  Murder.

  Murder.

  The world spins around me and my belly rumbles as my dinner threatens to make a reappearance. I swallow to keep from throwing up and hiss at him. “How could I forget? I was there. Remember?” Tossing his word back at him, I meet his glare before I start scooting out of the booth. “I need to go to the ladies room.” Snatching up my purse, I hightail it past the flirtatious waitress and into the bathroom.

  Once inside with the door locked, I slip into the stall and open my purse. Tears roll down my cheeks and drip from my face as I hunt for the pregnancy test I’d purchased. On autopilot, I open the test, and follow the instructions in taking it. Once I do, I sit on the restroom floor as I wait for the result. My eyes close and I think about War.

  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.

  “You’re going to piss out the door but your hands aren’t getting untied,” I tell him simply.

  “How am I going to get my dick out?” he snaps and his body seems to grow stronger by the second.

  I lift my chin and meet the devil’s glare head on. Unafraid. “I guess I’ll have to pull your dick out and help you.” Quirking up an eyebrow, I smirk. “Unless you’re shy. Not like I haven’t seen it before.”

  He rolls his eyes but I still see them working out a plan. Slinging open a drawer, I locate a steak knife and point it at his cock. “If you try and run away, I’ll stab you. If you try and hurt me, I’ll cut your dick off,” I tell him in an even voice.

  His eyes widen and he smiles. “My sweet girl is something of a badass. Sure you don’t want a quick fuck before Captain America gets out of the shower? You know I’m the only one that makes you purr like a goddamned kitten. The way my tongue knows just how to taste you so you’re coming all over my face. God, I miss your sweet honey dripping down my chin. Would go great with those chicken strips.”

  I grab a fistful of his shirt and guide him to the backdoor, ignoring his vulgarity. I’m sickened to discover he’s hard through his jeans. Rat bastard. With a huff, I unbutton his pants and unzip them. His giant dick practically attacks me as it falls out.

  “Oh, sweetheart, just like that,” he faux moans as I tug him free.

  I roll my eyes. “Just piss already.”

  He wasn’t lying about needing to pee because he wastes no time. Once he’s done, I push him back into his pants and redress him. As soon as I shut the door, he throws his body at me.
The knife drops from my grip and clatters to the floor. My heart thrums in my chest as he pushes his shoulder into my back and shoves me into the wall. Even hungry and tied up, he’s still stronger than me.

  “Listen to me,” he hisses and brings his hot breath to my ear as he grinds his hard cock into my back. “That boy is fucked up in the head. More fucked than me. Trust me. You think I’m crazy? He hides his crazy, which makes him much more dangerous.”

  I still my body, surprised at his words, and stop trying to fight him. “W-What?”

  He grumbles and kisses me just below my ear. “I love you, sweet girl,” he murmurs. “I know you think I’m a monster but I love you so fucking much. And that pussy boy in there, he’s gone mental. He’ll hurt you.”

  I gasp when he sucks my earlobe into his mouth. “You hurt me!”

  His hips rock against me before he speaks. “And I’m sorry, okay? But don’t you see he’s different? Fucking hear what I’m saying, baby.”

  My mind flits back to the way he’s been acting today. The awkward way in which he practically mauled me in the cemetery. All of his lies. Gabe’s previous words about asking Brandon where my father was.

  “What did you mean anyway when you told me to ask Brandon where Dad is? He said he went to San Francisco. Is that the truth? Do you think he knows something he’s not telling me?”

  His body relaxes behind me and his voice becomes a low growl. “I’m sure he knows a lot more than something, baby. That boy isn’t right.”

  “Brandon is a good person,” I argue in his defense.

  “He’ll lie and hurt people,” he replies gruffly, as if I should see this as clearly as he apparently does. “Anything to keep you as his girl.”

  I shiver at his words. “He wouldn’t hurt anyone.”

  His laugh is dark and humorless. “Little girl, he already has.”

  “What? You’re lying,” I snap.

  He kisses me again and another shudder wracks through me. “Just get the hell out of here. Leave his crazy ass here. I can deal with him. But you, my love,” he says in an admonishing whisper, “need to get the fuck away from him.”

  Heavy footsteps thunder into the kitchen and I hear the cocking of a gun. “Get the ever loving fuck away from my girl or I’ll pump your head with every goddamn bullet in this gun.”

  Gabe presses another kiss to my neck before pulling away. Brandon charges forward, gun raised like he might hit him again, but I intervene.

  “Enough, Brandon!” I huff and gesture to Gabe, “Just tie him back to the chair.”

  Brandon curses but slams the gun onto the counter so he can wrangle Gabe back to the chair. Once he finishes, I regard my longtime friend who looks so different from the boy I once knew. He’s still every bit as ripped as the last time I saw him. But now, as he dons only a pair of jeans and no shirt on his chest, I can see some things have changed. His once pure flesh has been inked up in a gigantic dragon tattoo that covers his shoulder and part of one pec. Fire pours from its mouth surrounding where his heart is. Inside the fire is a name.

  My name.

  Baylee.

  His dark green eyes almost glow with the rage that ripples from him. With each angry breath he takes, his muscles tighten and twitch making his dragon seem alive. The fire looks as though it’s licking and twisting on his flesh, charring the boy from my past and revealing the demon from within.

  Gabe’s lying.

  I think.

  Brandon stalks toward me and I flinch. I don’t miss the scowl on Gabe’s face as he watches Brandon’s every move. Nor do I miss the furious glare of disgust as Brandon notices my small retreat away from him.

  But then, as if suddenly someone doused the demon with holy water, he returns. Green eyes glitter to life and a smile quirks up on his lips as he flashes me a flirtatious grin.

  “Like what you see, babe?”

  It alarms me how quickly he was able to change moods. As if he could sense my unease and wanted to calm me.

  Forcing a laugh, I wave at the chicken. “Feed him that, will you? I’m going to take a quick shower.”

  Without waiting for an answer, I leave his confusing presence and hurry to the bathroom. Once inside, I lock the door and sit down on the lid of the toilet.

  Gabe’s words won’t stop replaying in my head, despite my desire to discount them as his own lunatic evaluations.

  There’s something going on with Brandon, though. And I don’t like it one bit.

  I’ve got to figure out a way to get away from him. From both of them.

  And soon.

  THEY KEEP ME drowning and lost in a sea of prescribed darkness. Each time I find clarity, the icy chill of calming bliss wraps its tentacles around my mind and drags me back under. Oftentimes I fight. I fight for her. My sun and moon. The only light inside my goddamned head.

  But each time, she’s gone.

  I promise myself as I begin to wake up that I won’t let them steal her from me. As each and every memory of my girl comes back to me, I greedily horde all of her smiles, frowns, and peaceful stares into my memory bank. My goal is to put them into a place in my mind so that if I’m pushed back into the darkness, I can find her burning bright somewhere in the fucking abyss.

  “War.”

  Dad’s voice has spoken to me intermittently, a constant lifeline in my dark hell. Sometimes I’m able to grasp onto it and pull myself out. Other times, no matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to latch on and free myself.

  The nurses and doctors think they’re helping me by sedating me but the medications don’t help. They thrust me right back into the nightmares I’ve grown so accustomed to. But this time, it’s harder to break free of them. This time, I feel more lost than ever before.

  The few moments of clarity I’ve had were spent obsessing. Being stuck in a hospital, it has nearly driven me to the brink of ultimate madness, knowing the entire building is crawling with toxins and germs.

  “War.”

  I hear my father again. This time, I reach for him. His warm hand envelops my own and it pulls me from the darkness. Not long ago, I’d have been horrified to touch him but now I crave his comfort. With several slow blinks, I see my worried father keeping vigil at my bedside.

  Baylee.

  I try to say her name but I’m still unable to speak. I’m not sure what this means but I’m completely unaware of what’s going on with my body. I feel as though I’m a hurricane of thoughts trapped in an unmoving corpse.

  “You have to get better, son,” Dad tells me with tears in his eyes. “You’re living in your head. I need you out here with me, boy.”

  My throat aches with emotion but no tears come. I know I’m not paralyzed because I can feel his grief all the way down to my toes. But, I can’t move or speak.

  Just blink.

  “Baylee needs you.” His words cause my eyes to burn. I wish I could cry for my girl. To show any signs of improvement so I can get her back.

  But the moment I blink, the threat of tears disappears.

  “Do you have any idea where he could have taken her? The police have gone to her house but she’s not there.”

  I close my eyes and her pretty blue orbs blink back at me. Perfect, small nose tinged in pink from the sun. Pouty, peachy lips ripe for tasting. God, I want to touch her.

  Reopening my eyes, I try to scan my body to find exactly what’s wrong with me. What it is that seems to be sitting on my chest holding me pressed against the bed. But when my eyes peruse over the blanket, I don’t see any weights. Just a thin hospital gown.

  “You were shot,” Dad says softly and points to my chest. “Do you remember?”

  My eyes meet his and I nod. It’s difficult with the drugs in my system but he sees.

  “The bullet went through your shoulder. It hit one of your ribs on the way and cracked it but didn’t break it. The bullet punctured your left lung, which collapsed during surgery. You’re intubated until your lungs heal a bit more. Eventually you’ll be able to start some pu
lmonary therapies to regain usage of that lung.”

  I close my eyes again and wonder if the bullet had been infected with anything. Had Gabe touched it or not handled it properly before loading it into that chamber? What if he’d been in contact with something toxic? Does that mean it could potentially poison my bloodstream?

  The heart monitor begins racing which only causes me to panic more. Each time I awake and my mind gets out of control with my obsessions, the nurses come back in to “calm” me down.

  But it doesn’t calm me down. It sends me hurtling right back into the dangerous depths of my mind.

  Warren, chill the fuck out.

  Dad squeezes my hand and I pop my eyes back open. He’s frowning and keeps glancing at the heart monitor.

  “Relax. I need you here with me. We need you to get better so we can find where he took her,” he says firmly, his voice the stern one he’d use whenever I was in trouble as a boy.

  I nod again and this time the tears do well in my eyes. He’s right. I need to pull my shit together so I can get well and help the police find my girl. She’s out there in his clutches as we speak. The motherfucker is most likely doing unspeakable things as I sit here fading in and out of black.

  “Is everything okay in here?” a nurse questions as she comes into my room.

  I nod at her and she flashes me a sweet smile. “Good to see you alert and awake today, Mr. McPherson. Dr. Watson is hoping to be able to extubate you today. Get you off that ventilator. He’s also sending in Dr. Daniels for a psych evaluation later. But first, I’m going to grab some supplies and I’ll come drain the blood from your chest tube.”

  She scurries off and I dart my widened eyes to my dad.

  “Listen, War. You have got to be strong. Stay strong for her and get yourself well. Dr. Watson was able to repair your lung but you’re not in the clear. You’re going to have to fight harder against these episodes or they’ll keep pumping you with that mind-numbing shit. I need you to do whatever it takes to get yourself through this.”