I don’t care what she wants. This isn’t about her. It’s about the deal she made, her place in my house.
I’m just making sure what’s mine stays mine.
“Get up. We’re leaving. Now.”
For a long moment, she doesn’t move. Then she rises, stiff, her face shuttered. Every line of her body is tight with bitterness. The sight makes something twist inside me, but I crush it. I don’t care. I can’t.
I tell myself it doesn’t matter that I’ve made her unhappy. All I need is her back where she belongs. That’s all this is.
But when she walks out by my side, I still feel like a monster.
4
SIMA
I walk out the door with Petyr at my heels.
I feel like I’m walking straight to the gallows. The air outside is warm and sticky, but it doesn’t stop the chill running down my spine.
I know exactly what’s waiting for me if I fall under his control again, and it isn’t freedom.
It’s a prison.
And it sure as hell isn’t the kind of life I want for my baby.
I can picture it already: the mansion’s walls closing in, the weight of his gaze following me from room to room, Anya and Kira cutting me glares the second I step into their view, reminding me every second that I don’t belong, but I’m still not allowed to make a home anywhere else.
That’s the kind of place Petyr would have my baby grow up in. The dark, oppressive air he’d have her breathe.
The same air I suffocated on growing up.
Heart in my throat, I turn my attention back to Petyr. His eyes are cold, hard. He’s only looked at me this angry once before, and that was enough to last a lifetime.
Six months apart didn’t soften him. If anything, he looks harder, sharper.
I think about what that means if I go with him. He’ll have someone else raise the baby, some hired help who won’t care about her as a person. Only as a means to a paycheck.
I think about diapers I didn’t buy stacked neatly in drawers I didn’t choose, bottles I didn’t pick lined up on counters I’ll never touch. A nursery mural painted by someone else’s hand.
Petyr will decide when I get to feed my baby, if I get to rest, or breathe fresh air. I’ll be sitting in silence while his men guard the door. Every second, my skin will itch with the urge to leave.
That’s not motherhood. It’s a life sentence.
I need to run.
It’s all I can think about.
I did it twice already. If I get the opening I need, I’m sure I can do it again. Even like this. Being pregnant and penniless beats being a prisoner, after all.
And it definitely beats seeing my daughter grow up like I did.
But right now, there is no opening in sight. Petyr is shadowing me, close enough for his body heat to emanate even through the Florida humidity. He guides me down the porch steps and out into the night.
Parked at the curb is a black SUV. The engine is already running, headlights bright in the dark. My cage on wheels, just waiting to snap shut.
My eyes are fixed on the SUV when movement to the side makes me flinch.
“Boss.”
