Something is wrong. Something beyond the stress and fear and sleepless nights.
I don't know what it is yet.
But I'm going to find out.
I set the crackers and water on the nightstand and lower myself into the chair beside the bed.
I should sleep too—I've had maybe four hours in the last two days, and I'm going to need my strength for whatever's coming.
But I can't make myself close my eyes.
Can't make myself look away from her.
Solveig is out there.
Watching. Waiting. Planning her revenge.
And the woman I love is her target.
I reach out and take Dalla's hand, feeling her fingers curl around mine even in sleep.
Whatever it takes. Whoever I have to kill. Whatever lines I have to cross.
I will not let them take her from me.
I will not fail.
Not this time.
CHAPTER TEN
Dalla
I wake up and barely make it to the bathroom before I'm sick.
This is the fourth morning in a row.
Fourth morning of my stomach revolting against me, my body rejecting everything I try to put in it.
I've blamed stress, fear, lack of sleep.
I've blamed the fight with RJ, the situation with Solveig, the constant low-grade terror that's become my new normal.
But as I kneel on the cold tile floor, forehead pressed against the porcelain, a thought surfaces that I've been trying very hard not to think.
I'm late.
Not just a little late.
Over a week late, maybe closer to two.
I do the math in my head, counting backward.
The timeline clicks into place with terrifying precision.
The first time RJ and I were together—in the bathroom, desperate and explosive—that was almost three weeks ago.
We haven't exactly been careful since then.
