My hands and feet had gone numb, I could barely move, and couldn't string two thoughts together. Me, the man who always has an answer to every question. I couldn't do anything but hold her in my arms... And pray.
Fuck! I've never been religious, never been to a church in my life. But if there is a power larger than all of us, then I had appealed to it for help. I had sworn that if she was okay, I'd contribute a good chunk of my assets to FOK media—that's short for Full of Kindness, nope I kid you not—the non-profit that the Seven of us had founded. I'll use the money to do good... In my own way.
I'd held her hand all the way to the hospital in the ambulance. She'd regained consciousness en route and had cried. She'd been out of her head with panic that she was losing the baby—our baby, fuck! The little being whose presence was only beginning to take shape in my life... Had it been snatched away before it had materialized?
I hadn't wanted the baby... But if anything happens to either of them, I'll never forgive myself... My heart begins to race and a hollow sensation roils in the pit of my stomach. Bile laces my tongue and I swallow it back. No, I am not going to lose her or the child. I want both of them. I need them in my life—to anchor me, to love, and to be loved. Is this what it means to love and to be loved? To rip out my guts, expose myself to the world, to share my deepest weaknesses and invite the possibility that I'll never recover from the sucker punch?
I jump up from the chair and begin to pace. One foot in front of the other, don't lose it. You owe it to her to keep it together. You need to be strong.
But if I had been better at taking care of her, she wouldn't have landed here in the first place.
If I hadn't taken her up on the offer in the beginning, it would have never come to this. I ball my fingers at my sides. I couldn’t have resisted her. No way, would I have turned her away. The thought of her with any other man...having anyone else's child? I dig my fingernails into the palms of my hands with such force that pain shoots up my arm. She is mine. This child is mine. Everything I want is in that room, waiting for me to acknowledge it, to accept it. Am I too late? Have I missed what was right in front of me all along? I want this child, need her in my life more than anything else in this world.
If something were to happen to her or to the child, I'd... I drag in a sharp breath.
Footsteps sound.
I swivel around as Weston walks in the door. He pauses inside, leans his shoulder against the door frame. Whiskers darken his cheeks and his eyes are bloodshot.
He hadn't been in there long...maybe an hour or less. Had he given up hope so quickly? Was there nothing that could be done?
His gaze meets mine; he shakes his head.
"No," my knees buckle.
Sinclair grips my shoulder, "Steady, ol' chap." He turns to Weston, "Stop dicking around, you prick. What's the prognosis?"
Weston looks me up and down, "Now you understand how it feels."
"What... ?" my voice cracks. My vision tunnels as specks of black pull at my subconscious mind.
He tilts his head, "Do you see how it could be if you lost her?"
"You...you bastard." I stalk forward, covering the distance between us. "How dare you play with my feelings?" I roar.
"Thought you didn't have any..."
"Shut your trap, motherfucker. Tell me how she is."
"You sure you want to know?"
I grab my wanker of a friend by his collar, yank him to his toes.
"Hey," he winces, "I'm already wounded."
"Your hand won't be the only thing you can't use, if you don't answer my question."
"They are fine." He breaks into a wide grin, "Mother and baby are doing fine."
Adrenaline laces my blood. A pulse pound at my temples. I pull back my fist and let it fly at him.
52
Victoria
"It may only be given, not taken or bought. It's what the sinner desires, but the saint does not. What is it?" Saint pauses inside the doorway of the room.
I peer up at him from the bed.
He prowls inside, drops into the chair next to me, then takes my hand, "That was the question I was asked, by my kidnapper."
"The one you couldn't answer?"
He nods, weaves his fingers with mine. "I'd answered each of his riddles until then, but this one... It evaded me. Perhaps it was because I was exhausted by then. Maybe I had given up hope somewhere inside. Each time he took me out of the room where I was being held with the other boys, I was sure I would never return.
Each time, he would hang me upside down and throw questions at me. Anytime I couldn't answer, I was flogged on my feet until I managed to come up with the right answer. That day, I knew I was close to my breaking point. My brain was fogged. I had used up all of my reserves of energy. When he asked me the question, I barely heard it." His throat moves as he swallows.
"What happened then?"
"He whipped my feet. Every time he stopped and asked me
