I breathe deeply so I don’t say something hateful to my father. “The answer is no. I’m not doing it.”
“Youwilldo it,” he grits out. “If you want the two million dollars, you’ll do as I say, child.”
My mind reels at his words. A shudder ripples through me. I realize now my rape was worth two million dollars. That didn’t even make a dent in Beau’s checking account. But, to Dad, it seemed sufficient to keep his silence.
“That’s blood money,” I hiss. “I don’t want it.”
“For fuck’s sake, Abigail. Don’t be such a toddler. I know you attempted to use my card at that diner months ago which meant you ran out of money and were hungry. You’ve thrown your tantrum long enough. Come back home. We’ll get you into rehab, give you your car back, you’ll be two million dollars richer. Where shall I pick you up?”
“Don’t call me again,” I rasp out before ending the call.
It only takes Dad thirty-seven minutes to have my phone disconnected.
Asshole.
Boom!
I sit up in bed, terror clawing at my chest. Slowly, I ease out of bed and stumble for the door. Heavy footsteps thud up the steps, and for a second, I don’t recognize them. Too heavy. Too angry. Too fast.
Turning on my heel, I hurry past my bed to the closet where I’ve stashed my mace. I’m not sure I can get to it in time, but I have to try. I scramble in the dark, knocking things off shelves until I grasp the cool metal. Someone grabs me from behind, though, and I drop the mace at my feet.
A bloodcurdling scream escapes me until a deep familiar voice rumbles through my veins.
“Calm down, honey, it’s me.”
I twist around in his arms and fling myself into them. He grabs my ass, picking me up. My legs hook around his waist and I squeeze his neck.
“I didn’t expect this reaction,” he grumbles. “I came here expecting a fight.”
A laugh bursts out of me. One of the cats meows his displeasure.
“A fight? In the middle of the night? I’m crazy but not that crazy.”
One of his hands slides up my back and into my hair. His fingers tangle in the strands. He tugs just hard enough to tilt my head back. When his lips ghost over my neck, I let out a shameful moan.
“You don’t make any sense.” He kisses my neck and then sighs. “Why were you avoiding me then?”
“Avoiding you? I’ve been here the whole time.”
“I texted you like thirty times, Abs. Called you almost as many. What the fuck? I thought you or the baby were hurt.”
I relax in his arms, toying with his hair in the dark, wishing I could see his handsome face. “Dad called. When I said I wouldn’tbe the maid-of-honor at your wedding, he took me off his phone plan, apparently.”
“Asshole,” Rhett murmurs. “I’ll get you on my plan ASAP.”
“Don’t you get tired of taking care of me?”
“Never.”
He carries me over to the bed and gently places me on the mattress. I can hear him shuffling as he removes his clothes. Then, he slides into bed with me. Too much of our bare skin touches to be normal, but I don’t care. I love every sensation—how he smells, how he feels, how he sounds, how he tastes.
“How’s my son?” he asks, palming my stomach. “Is he moving?”
“Nope. He’s asleep like a normal person should be in the middle of the night.”
Rhett’s palm caresses my stomach and then he moves it back up to cup my breast like it’s the most natural thing to do. I love having him this way, but it also upsets me.
Why can’t we have this all the time?
