The officer’s grip loosens, but they still put me in cuffs as they read me my rights.
As I’m hauled away, Toxic calls, “I’ll meet you at the station.”
I don’t have the heart to tell him that if my father wants to teach me a lesson, there’s nothing he can do.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Toxic
I raceto the police station, determined to figure out why the hell Samantha was thrown in jail. She said it was her father’s doing, but what man would do that to his daughter?
I’m reminded of Samantha’s trickery and the games she plays. How she engineered the Natasha-Slay debacle, almost costing them their relationship.
I need to get to the bottom of this because it’s become clear that I know nothing about the woman I’ve been sleeping next to each night.
I think back to the times we’ve had together, and how she made me feel. Like I finally belonged to someone. In a way, she filled the space left behind by my father.
But how do I know what’s in her heart?
I still don’t understand her motives. She’s beautiful, has an amazing job, and has family wealth enough to see that she’ll always live comfortably. She had no reason to be cruel to Bianca or Natasha.
It’s possible she does this purely for her own enjoyment, which is terrifying because I’m pretty sure that could put her in the spectrum of being a psychopath.
I’ve read they can fit seamlessly into society as your neighbor, doctor, or son’s little league coach. Samantha comes from a family of lawyers, which is a job psychopaths excel at. Maybe it’s in their genes.
What could this mean for our baby?
Nothing. It means nothing. Our baby will be perfect because they’ll be born to two loving parents that will do anything for them.
I can’t believe the thoughts racing through my brain. What the hell is wrong with me?
I pull into the police department, kill the engine, and try to gather my thoughts.
Samantha is a lot of confusing things, but she’s not a psychopath. Or at least I refuse to assume so without concrete proof.
What if she’s on the run? Someone important may have gotten her pregnant, and she could have used me to hide.
That thought hurts more than the rest, because my love for that child pales every feeling that’s come before it, and my feelings for Samantha are just as strong.
No amount of crazy changes that.
I will never not want Samantha Weston. My blood burns for her. I’d follow her anywhere, off a cliff, through a desert, to the very gates of hell.
Whatever she is, she’s mine.
But this isn’t a game, and I need to know what I’m getting myself into.
I enter into Natasha’s text box, hoping to get some answers.
Toxic:Could you reconcile with Samantha?
Natasha:Reconcile? Impossible. We were never friends.
Toxic:Could you be friends, though?
Natasha:No—she’s evil! She’s making my life aboard the bus hell.
Toxic:What do you mean?
