Page 159 of Bleed with Me

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Nina

Icouldn’t tell what pissed me off more: the fact that a six-year-old girl had turned my entire world upside down, or my irrational reaction when Dorian touched me.

I had to leave. That one was for sure. Otherwise I risked saying things I’d regret later. Still, he didn’t deserve it. I believed him when he said he'd forgotten to tell me. Our lives were a freaking mess. I just couldn’t process the bomb he dropped on me.

A child?

A little girl?

What the actual fuck!

I stopped Dorian’s car. Because, yes, I took his flashy red Jaguar, parked it at the side of the road, and pressed my forehead against the steering wheel. My breathing came out in shallow gasps when the argument replayed in my head. But then, the real reason behind my reaction resurfaced.

A thirteen-year-old girl, dressed in dirty clothes, with long, dark, braided hair, frightened brown eyes, and clutching a small plastic bag containing all her belongings, stared at me from the darkness, reminding me where I would be if my father hadn’t accepted me.

Well, I knew exactly how my life would turn out. My mother would sell my body to everyone willing to pay until there was nothing left but an empty vessel bringing her money. She never cared for me, and if Dorian’s little girl’s story was the same, who was I to stop her from having a better life?

“Shit,” I mumbled, running my hands over my face. “I don’t even know her name.”

Leaning my head against the backrest of the comfortable car seat, I glanced at my reflection in the windshield. I wasn’t that scared teenager anymore, with no idea what a TV remote controller was. I grew up to be a strong, powerful woman who knew how to fight her battles and kick asses if necessary—but being a mother? Where in hell should I apply for that course?

My own mom signed away her parental rights for ten thousand dollars. Without a fight. Without a goodbye. She just came to the court, said that she couldn’t provide for me, and left. When I contacted her four years later, because my psychiatrist believed it was a good idea, I met a malnourished drug addict who tried to manipulate me. Dad found out about it, arranged for my shrink to lose his license, and my mother vanished from the continent.

So, the only motherly figure in my life was a catastrophe that allowed her filthy clients to rape me and then abandoned me. I had no one to teach me how to become one. No woman in my life cared enough to love me.

My father’s temporary partners were just that, temporary. None of them stayed longer than a few weeks, and his sister pretended I didn’t exist because I was an obstacle she had to eliminate to get the Valentino throne. But then karma did its job, and her hopes dissipated along with her ability to have children.

My whole life was full of women who didn’t give a fuck about me. My mother, teachers, my grandmother, who was terribly sick when we met, so it didn’t count, or basically anyone I ever encountered. I had no predisposition to become a good role model.

I killed a woman who touched my husband, for fuck’s sake! Why the hell did I even consider going back to Dorian and having dinner with him and the girl? It was absurd!

“I can’t be her mother,” I groaned, slamming the steering wheel. “I just can’t!” My teeth sank into my lower lip as my eyes stung with pain I thought I had forgotten. “What if I ruin her the same way my mother ruined me?”

No answer came. The trees outside swayed gently in the breeze. Moonlight washed over the empty road, the quiet night standing in cruel contrast to the chaos inside my head.

Desperately needing fresh air, I stepped out of the car. The wind lifted strands of my hair and cooled my burning skin. A plane crossed the night sky overhead. Manhattan rose in the distance, its illuminated skyscrapers almost touching the darkness above. Everything looked so peaceful, blissfully unaware that my world was about to change forever.

With a heavy exhale, I sat on the car hood and leaned on my elbows, tilting my head back. The stars shone brightly, creating stunning constellations. But no matter how much I stared at the beauty, I didn’t find the answers I was looking for. The moon, the stars, the sun—they couldn’t tell me if creating a family with Dorian was a good idea. No one could tell me if being a mother was for me.

Was I willing to risk it? To influence a young life without knowing I'd lead her down the right path? How could someone consciously choose that?

I never dreamed about having children. Not when my father tried to marry me off. Not after I kidnapped Dorian. Not even after I started imagining a future with him. Kids simply weren’t part of the picture. I finally had something that belonged only to me. A husband who looked at me as though I hung the moon. Was I supposed to share all of that with someone else?

It sounded horrible. Selfish. Childish, even. But it was the truth. I didn’t want to share Dorian with anyone. He already had his precious work. Why did he need… this?

“Fuck!” I yelled, jumping off the hood. Furiously, I kicked the front tire so hard that pain shot through my toes.

“Great,” I hissed, hopping on one foot. “That helped.”

Limping into the car, my eyes landed on my buzzing phone. For more than a week, my father didn’t stop calling and texting, and the same went for Sonny.

I blocked them both, so now they were calling me from burner phones. How fucking creative.

Lucas kept telling me to show Dorian the messages. I couldn’t. With Malin’s life on the line, he already carried enough. I refused to become another burden. Instead, I planned my own revenge after Lucas finally dug some dirt on the Carlile family. But it was taking too long, and my patience was running out.

“What?” I shouted into the phone when it just didn’t stop buzzing. The more numbers I blocked, the more showed up.