But they made one crucial mistake: they underestimated how far I'd go to protect what's mine.
"We already have," I tell Hannah. "They just don't know it yet."
And I swear to God I’m going to make them regret their betrayal.
But first, I need to make sure Hannah and our child are truly safe. And then, once I know they're okay, I'm going to do what I should have done weeks ago.
I'm going to end this threat permanently.
Because they came after mine. And in my world, that's a death sentence.
26
HANNAH
The shower water runs pink with blood that isn't mine. I stare down, watching it swirl down the drain. The violence of the afternoon slowly washes away. Except it doesn't really wash away. It clings to me, settles into my bones, changes me in ways I'm only beginning to understand.
Blood.
There had been so much blood.
I killed someone today. Or at least tried to. Shot at human beings with the intent to harm them before they could harm me.
And I don't feel guilty about it.
That should terrify me more than it does.
They wanted to kill me. My unborn child.
Fuck them.
They got what they deserved. I can’t feel guilt. It will destroy me if I allow it.
By the time I emerge from the bathroom wrapped in a towel, my skin scrubbed raw, I feel marginally better. I’m in Dante’s suite. He was not about to let me go anywhere else, which I love. It’s what I needed whether I wanted to admit it or not.
Yes, I was leaving him, but my heart wasn’t.
Couldn’t.
I’m stuck with the insufferable man and that’s that. There’s no point in fighting the inevitable.
I’m his.
It’s a strange feeling to belong to someone. Especially somebody like Dante. In all my little girl fantasies, he was never the man of my dreams.
But I didn’t know love back then. I didn’t know about the real world and the many monsters that lived in it. I didn’t need a prince or a knight in shining armor; I needed a man like him.
Fierce. Dominant. Dangerous.
I see one of his shirts tossed on the bed and immediately pull it on. I need him. I need that connection. Need that comfort more than I need my independence right now.
The bedroom door opens and Dante enters carrying a tray. Tea, I realize. Ginger tea, because of course he's noticed what I've been drinking every morning. There's also toast and honey, simple foods that won't upset my rebellious stomach.
"You didn't have to," I start, but he shakes his head.
"Sit."
I obey, settling onto the bed while he places the tray on the nightstand. He doesn't ask if I'm okay, doesn't interrogate me about what happened or how I'm feeling. Just hands me the tea and sits beside me. His thick, strong thigh pushes against mine. The touch calms me. Grounds me.
