Giving Eagle time to process everything I’d told him so he could make a decision had seemed like a good idea at the time, but now I regretted not sticking around and talking it out with him. Storming out of his room like a starving prima donna with a bladder problem hadn’t been my best moment. Now, I had no idea where we stood, and that was kind of killing me. If I got out of this alive, I planned to pin Eagle down and make him tell me what he wanted.
WhenI got out of this alive.
My head was spinning.
Everything felt fuzzy and uncertain.
Except for the ache in my chest when I thought about Eagle. The truth was, I missed him. And if I was being honest with myself, I’d missed him since that first night we played pool and talked and flirted before I snuck into his room and enjoyed the best sex of my life. I missed the man who saw through my lies and made me tell him about being ambushed. I missed the fierce desire to protect me I saw in his eyes when he told me not to go back.
I didn’t know if Eagle loved me, but I knew he cared and wanted me safe. We could build on that. Hell, regardless of what he wanted, the instant I saw him I planned to jump into his arms and pepper his face with kisses like the heroine of one of those old books in his drawer.
Did any of the heroines in those old books do that? I really should read more classics. Maybe Eagle would read them to me and our kid.
My brain felt like it was floating in Jell-O.
Lying down in the corner and passing out seemed like a great idea, but I was at least seventy-five percent sure I had a concussion, so I didn’t. My stomach kept cramping, but I was trying not to notice the pain. In one of the pregnancy books I’d been reading, they listed cramps as one of the signs of a miscarriage. Cramps, bleeding, nausea, lower back pain. I was experiencing at least three of those four, and as I thought about it a strangled sob ripped from my throat and fear spiked my heart rate. If I lost the baby…
No! I can’t think that way.
Besides, I hadn’t eaten all day and I’d thrown that up long ago. Nausea was a sign of pregnancy, too, and the cramps were probably just hunger pains. The baby had to be all right. I had to be all right. I just needed to chill the fuck out, stop worrying, and hold on until Eagle and or Link found us. Then I’d go get checked out by a doctor and be reassured that everything was fine.
After all, I was carrying the baby of a Marine and CSAR pilot. Our child would be a hell of a lot tougher than whatever they’d put in that syringe.
Taking a deep, calming breath, I reverted to my training. Knowing I needed to mentally and physically prepare for whatever the next few hours would bring, I jogged in place to warm up. After I’d burned off enough nervous energy to clear my mind and focus on strengthening my body, I busted out reps of squats and lunges. Normally I would have done sit-ups, planks, and push-ups as well, but I couldn’t exactly do those exercises with my hands behind my back. No way was I going to get caught with my hands in front of me when Joe and Brass returned. One concussion was plenty.
Once my glutes, hamstrings, and quads were burning, I broke into stretches and limbered up. My mind kept trying to wander as worry churned at my gut, but I focused on breathing. After a while, I was exhausted, starving, and sore, so I sat down, propping myself up in the corner. At some point, I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I knew, Joe was squeezing the shit out of my arm and yanking me to my feet. I’d lost feeling in my hands, so I fisted then released my fingers a few times, trying to get it back as I tucked my feet under me and stood on shaky legs.
Joe fisted my shirt in one hand and pulled me against him so our faces were inches apart. The stench coming from his mouth was horrible, like a bean burrito wrapped in cigarette butts had crawled into someone’s ass and died. Holding my breath, I tried not to gag and demurely dropped my gaze from his hate-filled eyes. To protect myself and my child, I played subservient and let him think he’d demoralized and beaten me.
“Your old man, your brother, and the rest of the Dead Presidents think they’re real hot shit. Bunch of prissy little pussies. Actin’ like they’re so good their shit don’t stink. Like they don’t wipe their asses on the scum of this city, same as everyone else. Think they’re too good for the likes of my family and our club. But in my club, we know how to keep our bitches… in our beds, in our kitchens, and at our feet where they belong. Brass here tells me you’re some kind of hotshot Air Force pilot.”
He paused, and I got the feeling he was waiting for me to respond. But since I had nothing to say that wouldn’t piss him off even more, I kept my mouth shut.
Joe hauled back and punched me in the stomach with his free hand. Pain radiated from the impact, making my eyes water and my entire body want to curl up on itself. Fear for my child immobilized me for a split second before it burned away with anger.
The motherfucker had punched me in the stomach.
I opened my mouth to tell him what a mistake he’d made, but immediately shut it again. I did not know if my baby was okay. I did not know if I was going to live through this exchange. A strange calm consumed me as I realized the one thing I did know.
I was going to kill this asshole.
I would not provoke him. I would not give him a reason to hit me again.
But I would kill him.
Even if I had to hunt him to the ends of the earth.
“Got your attention now, don’t I, bitch?”
Oh, yes, he did. And if he hurt my baby, not only would I kill him, but I’d find a way to bring him back from the dead so I could kill him again. It was my duty to my country, to myself, and to my unborn child to wipe this asshole off the face of the earth. He would never do this to another woman. I’d rise up from any bed, any kitchen, any feet he tried to shove me under and slit his fucking throat.
“Not such a big, bad pilot bitch now, are you?” Joe asked with a sneer. “They teach you how to take a beating in the service?”
He landed another punch, this one to my side. Gritting my teeth, I fed the pain to my anger, forcing it to make me stronger and more determined to survive so I could get revenge.
“Come on, Joe,” Brass said, sounding strained. Probably reliving his own beating from the asshole. “Let’s go call Link and get this shit over with.”
“Nah, man, I’m just getting warmed up.”
