“Get it away!” I cry, turning my head.
“You need to eat. Nourish that baby of ours.” He pushes the spoon in my face. “Don’t think you’re gonna starve yourself to death.”
“It’s not that.” I hold my breath, trying to cut off the nauseating smell.
“Then what the fuck is it?” He continues to fight me.
“It’s the morning sickness. I can’t eat. Get it away. I’m gonna hurl.”
“Morning sickness?” He doesn’t buy it. “It’s five o’clock at night.”
“It’s just called morning sickness. I have it all the damn time. I can only tolerate crackers and ginger ale right now. And in small fucking amounts.”
Baz drops the spoon into the soup bowl, pissed. “You better not be fucking with me, Stevie.” He pauses. “Is that even your real name?”
“Yes, it’s my real name. I wasn’t lying when I told you.”
“No, you were just lying about everything else.” His tone is so bitter. So harsh. So pained.
“You never gave me a chance to explain.”
“It wouldn’t have changed a damn thing.” He shoots up off the bed and grabs the tray.
“Baz!” I plead before he leaves the room. “I have to pee. Bad.”
He regards me like he knew this was coming then walks out. Shit, he is out to make me suffer. I’m going to end up sleeping in a puddle of my own piss, and he’s going to gloat while I do.
I cross my legs, doing my damnedest to ignore the prickly sensation trying to escape out of my bladder. A few minutes later, Baz returns with a key in one hand and a gun in another.
“Don’t make me shoot you, Stevie. Don’t turn this into a tragedy.” He unlocks one of the cuffs, releasing my hands.
As much as I want to kick the living shit out of him, the nausea is getting worse. I feel really weak and just collectively like crap. I’m definitely not one of those women who glows during pregnancy.
“Walk.” Baz nudges me with the barrel of the gun. I steal a quick glance to see if the safety is off. To confirm if he’s serious about shooting me. It is, and he is.
Obediently, I walk out of the room, clenching my jaw the whole time. An unwelcome reminder of the power of his fist ghosting across my sore face.
I get my first glimpse of the house as I walk out into the hallway. Big, spacious, the entryway sweeping, providing an unobstructed view of the open living area below. The log cabin is warm with golden tones, maroon leather couches, and fur throw rugs in front of a crackling, stone fireplace.
We walk a few steps down the hall until we come to a door. “In there.”
I swing open the door to the bathroom and step inside. It’s not huge by any means, but it does house a shower, a toilet, and a dual vanity. There’s also a six-point deer head on the wall. That’s an interesting place to mount a trophy.
As I go to shut the door, Baz blocks it with his arm. I stare at him, annoyed. “You gonna watch me?”
“Yeah, I’m gonna watch you,” he spits.
Geez, we didn’t even get this intimate in his cabin in Colorado.
With a resigned huff, I march over to the toilet and pull my underwear down. I do it in such a way that when I bend over, my bare ass is on full display.
I hear a low, guttural groan come from behind me. I smile. I have many methods of torture.
I sit down on the toilet and do my business, Baz watching me the whole time. Not awkward at all. He’s lucky my bladder doesn’t get stage fright.
Once I’m done, I flush and wash my hands, stalling as long as I can to devise some kind of plan of escape. I could take him by surprise, but I need something big and hard to hit him over the head with. The deer head would work if I could lift it off the damn wall. Baz is large, tall, and broad. If I could take him down, I could probably suffocate him with a submission hold, but I know he won’t go easy. Not without a fight. Especially with the green fury churning in his eyes.
And with my precious cargo, I’m not as reckless as I’d usually be. No, now I need to be smart. Especially since I’m practically naked and exiled in the middle of a winter wonderland.
