When he looks at me, he notices my arms are still behind me. He turns me a little to look at the bonds.
“Don’t pull against them,” he says. “You just tighten them when you do that.”
“What?”
His gaze falls to my stomach as if he’s searching for signs of the pregnancy, and I find myself taking a step backward, suddenly wishing I hadn’t told him about it. I want to wrap my arms around my middle and protect my baby.
“Abel?” My stomach tenses. “Cut the ties off.” Because why hasn’t he already? Why am I bound?
He shifts his gaze back to mine. “Not yet.”
“I thought you were helping me.”
“I am. Believe it or not, I am.”
“Those men, your…friends…they did this to me.” I turn my head to make him look at the bruise.
He presses his lips together at least like maybe he doesn’t like it either. “And I warned you not to give them a hard time, Ivy.”
“They carried me off, put a sack over my head. I thought…I thought you were sending men to help me.”
“Like I already told you, I am helping you,” he repeats, sounding irritated while he checks his phone again.
“Then why can’t you untie me?”
He gestures to the men at the door. “I don’t want trouble with them. Not for you, not for me. So you’re just going to have to deal with the zip ties a little longer. Don’t struggle. It’ll be easier.”
“A little longer? How much longer?”
“Few hours.”
“Why?”
He shifts his attention to his phone, typing something in, not answering me.
“I want to go home, Abel,” I find myself saying the words before I can stop myself. This is wrong. This is all so wrong.
He tucks his phone away and tilts his head questioningly when he looks at me. “Home? Where exactly is that?” he spits. “That bastard’s house?”
It’s me who doesn’t speak this time. He is so angry, angrier than I’ve ever seen him. My throat works as I swallow, as I struggle to stand my ground and not back away.
“I have worked my ass off to get this done,” he starts, stepping toward me, dark eyes full of malice. I remember what I’d thought at the hospital. That even though Abel hates me, he hates Santiago more. But is he capable of hurting me to hurt him?
“Do you have any fucking clue what it takes to organize something like this? Getting you out of that hospital. Giving you the location of the safe house. Making the arrangement for the fucking doctor. Do you have any—”
“What doctor?” I ask, the room feeling icy suddenly.
His glance shifts again to my stomach, and he seems calmer when he looks back at me again. “I’m doing what you want, Ivy. For you.”
“What doctor, Abel?” I push, panic rising.
“I’m going to get that monster’s baby out of you.”
“What?” My voice trembles even as I hear my own words repeated with so much venom.
“Isn’t that what you said? What you wanted?”
“No. God, not like—”
“It’ll be another two hours before the doctor gets here.”
“I don’t want any doctor.”
“You just stay put,” he says, ignoring me, refusing to hear me. “Stay in this room, and do not go out there. It’s safer for you. Do you hear me?”
“I don’t want a doctor.” I’m shaking my head, my entire body beginning to shudder. “I’m not…” My voice cracks as I try to speak the next words. “Abel…it’s a baby.” I square my shoulders. “And I’m not going to hurt my baby.”
He’s on me so quickly I just have time to let out a scream before his hand squeezes around my throat and he has my back pressed to the wall.
“You need to learn to be fucking grateful, Ivy.” Spittle lands on my face when he says my name. “I could have one of those men beat it out of you, but I’m not doing that, am I?” He cracks his neck, eyes strange, the look inside them unhinged.
I try not to struggle, try to stay perfectly still and breathe.
“Fuck!” He squeezes hard once before he releases me, and I wonder about the rage inside him. The violence. I remain where I am as he walks to the door.
But I can't let this happen. I can’t let him do what he’s planning.
“It’s my baby too. Not just his.”
He spins back so fast, right arm raised, his hand a fist, and all I can do is drop to the floor. Turning away from him, I try to protect my baby before he does what he warned. Before he beats the child out of me.
“And you just spread your legs for that bastard like a whore! Fuck you, Ivy. This isn’t how this was supposed to go, but you just keep fucking things up!”
I jump when he kicks the wall beside me, and I see the effort it takes him to stop. To force in an audible breath. He’s angry, so angry, and out of control.
He mutters a curse as he walks to the door and opens it.
“Abel?” I call out once because I have to know.
He doesn’t stop.
“Was it you? The poison?”
That makes him stop. And I know it’s stupid to ask. I shouldn’t ask it. Not now. But I can't help myself.
I shudder when he turns slowly, face expressionless, eyes dead. And I know the answer. I knew it at the safe house too. As soon as I found that lipstick, I knew.
A moment later, without a word, he’s gone.
I don’t get up when I hear the front door open and close. I don’t get up when the motion detector goes on outside of my window and I hear the engine start, the car whining as he reverses too fast off the driveway. I remain where I am,
