I hate that it’s come to this.
“You have some terrible enemies,” I whisper.
“They’re lucky they’re dead,” he replies.
Dead. They’re dead. Mindy and her master, and anyone else who was involved. Lyam saw to that, and his brothers helped.
“The Chaberts disowned the ones who attacked us. They attacked without permission from inside their family. And everyone of them is gone now. I saw to that. If I’d known what they actually did to you…”
He doesn’t have to complete the thought. I already know. They would have suffered a painful, slow, and torturous death. I know that. So does he.
“And you didn’t tell me any of this. You allowed us to believe you betrayed us for your own gain.” His brow tightens in anger. “Why?”
Isn’t it obvious?
“Because I’d have to tell you I was pregnant. Your family is dangerous and wealthy, and I didn’t want you to think I was trying to manipulate you. I didn’t know what you’d do, and I didn’t want to make excuses for whatIdid. But that doesn’t matter.” My throat tightens. “I hate myself for what I did. We weren’t exactly a happy couple, Lyam. We weren’t even acouple.”
Were we ever? We weren’t in a committed relationship.
I made sure of that.
I look away.
And how can I tell him I didn’t know if I wanted to raise a baby with a man like him? Fiercely protective but dangerous.
So damn dangerous.
“Of all the things I’ll never understand,” he mutters, almost to himself. “I most definitely will never understand women.”
When his phone vibrates, he glares at it as if it’s his mortal enemy. Shaking his head, he turns away from me. “I have to take this call. Try to eat some more.”
Swiping his finger on the phone as if he wants to obliterate it from Planet Earth, he takes the call.
The tea’s soothed my belly. My mouth waters from looking at the buttered bread and golden croissants, the fragrant tea laced with milk, still steaming. I take a tentative bite of bread. When my belly agrees this is a good idea, I take another bite and chase it with a sip of hot tea. I close my eyes briefly. Finally, some relief.
I’m not the only concern he has. Obviously, something’s troubling him. The Gerard brothers are always restless, always on guard for the next attack. Is this the life I want for my child?
The door flings open. “Up,” he orders. “Get dressed. We have to move.”
I blink. “What?”
“We can’t stay here.”
“Why?”
Instead of answering he makes a phone call. “Everyone’s dismissed. You know where to go. I’ll be in touch.”
I push out of bed, thankful the nausea’s somewhat abated.
“Where are we going?”
“No more questions. Get ready.”
He gets ready in his own way, which in this case means strapping a holster around his waist and sliding guns and ammunition into the fitted sections as if he’s going to war.
I get dressed, freshen up, and in a few short minutes, we’re on our way out. His car sits, purring, waiting for us, when suddenly he curses.
“Motherfucker. They’re almost here.” He shakes his head. “I won’t do it. I fucking won’t let them take us. Buckle your belt,now.”
