Stolen Fate (9 page)

Drayden is true to his word. He has a doctor make a house call, draw blood work and confirm I am indeed pregnant. Now, all I have to do is wait until I’m about ten weeks along so he can confirm he’s truly the father. I know he is, but of course he isn’t going to take
my
word for it.

I’m going stir-crazy with each passing day. I have nothing to occupy my time in this God-forsaken room except television and the few books and magazines I was given. I’m beyond bored and tired of thinking about what is going to happen next. Worrying about each day as it creeps up on me is quite nerve-wracking. I have nothing but time to reflect on my situation; a situation I had a hand in creating, even though I don’t like to admit that to myself. Couldn’t he have just threatened my life to get his hands on the evidence like a normal person? No. What does this jackass do instead? He kidnaps me and keeps me hidden away until he decides what he wants to do with me.              

Talk about taking things to the extreme.

The more time I have to think, the worse off I become. I’m actually starting to think of ways to surprise and overpower him just to be able to escape. But no scenario I come up with will work; he is way too strong and I’m sure way too clever. I can’t underestimate him. Not anymore. Look what happened the last time I thought he was just another chump.

Finally, after two days, Drayden makes an appearance. By this point, I am utterly desperate for some human conversation, even if he’s going to act like a jerk.

It must be late because my stomach is trying to eat right through me. I haven’t eaten in quite some time, lunch being served hours ago. You would think he would bring me food more often because I am, after all, eating for two now.
Oh, my God, I can’t even believe that thought came to mind.
Most days I forget I’m pregnant, mainly because I don’t feel any different. The only times I’m truly reminded is when certain smells set me off, instantly making me nauseous. That, and the minor shifts in my moods which take over without warning. But is that really due to being pregnant? Or is it because I’m being held against my will?

He briefly makes eye contact with me before setting my food down on the bedside table. He looks like he’s going to say something then decides against it, but after a brief moment, he speaks. “The doctor told me to give you these. Take one a day.” He throws the bottle on the bed. What a jerk! He can’t even hand them to me like a civilized person.

When I pick it up, I realize that what he so callously threw was a bottle of prenatal vitamins.

“Are there any side effects? Do I take them with food or on an empty stomach?” I’m trying to determine what the label says but my frustration has clouded my vision and I can’t read it as quickly as I want to.

“He said to take one a day. So just do it without asking me all these damn questions.” Jeez, he’s in a sour mood today, more so than usual.

“What crawled up your ass and died?” I walk around him, trying my best to ignore his outburst while I make my way over to grab a sweater. I’m a bit chilly, and I don’t feel like having my nipples on display in front of him.

He stops me before I make it to the closet, his fingers laced around my wrist. “Don’t give me any of your attitude, Essie. I’m in no mood for your crap today.” He releases me and makes his way to the bathroom. I didn’t even notice he brought in another bag with him. I guess I’m too focused on the fact he actually showed up.

When I follow him, I see he’s putting some toiletries away. Standing so close to him is a mistake. When he tries to move past me, our bodies make brief contact. I’m instantly aroused but make a face of disgust, trying not to appear anything but annoyed with his presence.

He chuckles. What the hell is so funny? And how can he switch moods like that? I thought I was the one who was experiencing hormonal changes at the drop of a hat.

“What are you laughing at?”

“Are you cold, Essie? Or are you just happy to see me?” I instantly look down and see what he’s referring to. My nipples are at full attention, staring at him in all their glory.

I cross my hands over my chest, trying to conceal the tight buds. “I’m cold, so don’t flatter yourself.”

“Uh-huh,” he mumbles before making his way to leave. I run over to him, putting my hand on his arm. He turns around and looks at me, waiting for me to explain what it is I think I’m doing.

“Can you please bring me a book about pregnancy? I have no idea what to expect here and I’m kind of freaking out.”

“I find it hard to believe no one has ever had the displeasure of creating an offspring with you before. You know, the type of girl you are and everything.” He smirks, cocking up his eyebrow in victory. Even his arrogance adds to his beautiful face, making me forget for a split second he just insulted me. Again.

It takes me another second for my brain to process what he said to me. And as soon as it penetrates, I’m livid.

Beyond livid, actually.

“Fuck you!” I shout in his face. “I’ve never been pregnant. Ever! And contrary to what you think about me, I’m not a whore. I can count how many people I’ve had sex with on one hand,
including
you.” I turn away so he can’t see I’m about to cry. “And that includes the ones who forced themselves on me.” I say this last part under my breath, not really wanting him to know more about me than is necessary.

“What? What did you just say?” I can sense he’s getting closer to me.

“Nothing.” I try to take a few steps further away from him but it’s no good. Before I can escape, he turns me around and holds me steady, his hands resting roughly on my hips. I make the mistake of looking into his piercing eyes and that’s when I see it. He’s itching for a fight, but this is one I don’t want to have. Not right now.

“Come on. Did you say something about someone forcing you to do something? Because that’s probably what you wanted. Were you trying to trick them, too?” He shakes me a little to drive home his question, as if I’m not already attuned to what he just asked me.

It’s as if time stands still for me in that moment. My brain is trying to catch up with my body and before I know it, I break his hold on me and fly at him, pummeling him with my small fists. My sudden outburst catches him off-guard and he stumbles back a few steps before righting himself. The look of pure surprise would have been amusing if I wasn’t set on killing him in that very moment. How dare he trivialize the tragedy I endured, sometimes fearing my insignificant life was going to come to an end!

“Essie, what the hell? Calm down!” he roars at me, before gripping me back up, bringing my face closer to his so I can see how serious he is. But I don’t care. Everything which has been building up since the day he brought me here all comes to a head. I don’t care what happens; I have to let it out before it makes me rot from the inside out.

Then, I do something which, surprisingly, I’ve never done to another living person. Ever.

I spit in his face.

I’m enraged. At him. At myself. At this whole damn situation. And that act is the only thing I can think of to show him how infuriated and sickened he just made me feel.

His eyes go wide, making the most terrifying face I have ever seen on any man. And I’ve been mixed up with the worst of the worst during my life, so that’s saying a lot. I did one of the worst, most degrading things you could do to another human being. I regret it almost immediately, but I can’t let him know it. I can’t let him see me falter, in any way.

“You want to spit at me like a wild fucking animal? Huh?” he yells in my face. “Then that’s exactly what I’ll treat you like. Like nothing more than a Goddamn dog.” He lifts up his shirt and wipes my saliva from his face, shivering in his own indignation.

I clearly went too far but I can’t take it back, not now.

He moves toward me and I instinctually take a step back. He reaches out and at first, I think he’s going to strike me, so I cower. But instead, he swipes the food tray, sending everything flying all about the room, glass crashing against the nearest wall and shattering into tiny pieces all over the floor.

Great. Now what am I going to do? I’m fucking starving.
Well, you should have thought about that before you spit in the man’s face.

Drayden looks truly psychotic with the way he’s ranting and raving all over the place, chest expanding faster and faster as the seconds tick past us. He grabs the nearest lamp and flings it against the wall, adding to the already-destructive nature of my room. With all that’s happening, I didn’t even notice the bedroom door slightly open. When he reaches for the vase on the dresser, I make a mad dash for escape. I fly past him, almost tripping over the mess on the floor. Thank God I’m wearing slippers or I would have cut up my feet. Grabbing the door handle, I fling the barrier open and run down the hallway, trying to make out ten feet in front of me. This house is so fucking dark.
Where the hell are all the lights?

But before I can even make it around the corner, I’m hoisted in the air by strong arms and carried literally kicking and screaming back to my solitary confinement. When he’s close enough, he tosses me on the bed, pinning me down with his own weight.              

“Get off me!” I howl.

“Stop acting like a lunatic, Essie. Right now!” His hold on me is fierce, bruising my skin instantly, but I don’t stop. I’m really not making any headway, but I keep trying just the same. “Knock it off!” he shouts again.

I don’t.

So he waits me out until I become too tired to continue my antics. Exhaustion sets in rather quickly. Reality’s hands creep up around my body, feeling and penetrating me, evoking sadness and pain.

I can’t keep the tears at bay anymore.

I release everything I have inside me.

I bawl. I need to free this toxic poison from my system in order to heal, in order to think again.

I haven’t cried since I was a child, and I guess everyone has their breaking point. This is mine. Never mind the raging hormones coursing through my system.

Drayden edges away from me, clearly not sure what to do. One minute I’m attacking him, spitting in his face then I try to escape, bawling like a mad woman when I have no more fight left in me. He must think I’m possessed, pregnant with the spawn of Satan or something.

He’s still dripping with disdain as he makes his way toward the door, stepping over the massive mess he created not five minutes ago.

“I hate you!” I cry out as he leaves.

“Ditto, sweetheart,” he tosses back at me as he slams and locks my door.

Karma is a cruel bitch.

I brought this all on myself. I have no one to blame but me. The sooner I accept it, the sooner I can begin to deal with my situation.

When I wake up a little while later, the disaster is cleaned up and there is fresh food waiting for me by my bed.

I guess he doesn’t hate me as much as he says.

Clearly, my actions were enough to warrant the absence of the man holding me hostage. It’s a full week before Drayden makes his way into my room again; at this point, I’m not sure how I feel about it.

A weird part of me misses the physical joining which brims between us, smothered in our obvious hatred for one another. But it’s the only thing I have to look forward to. Something which makes me feel alive, like a human being reaching for some kind of connection, on whatever level it may come.

In his absence, crew-cut guy brought me my food. He was also good about bringing me fresh clothes each time he visited, taking away my dirty ones. I tried to talk to him, to ask him questions, but the only answer he gave me was his name. Hedge. That’s it; just Hedge. And while he doesn’t talk to me, I can see a small sign of compassion and sympathy etched into his otherwise-hard features. Clearly, he is a man of all business, but there is a more gentle soul underneath it all; I just have to dig deeper to bring him over to my side.

When Drayden
does
make his appearance, he’s dressed in casual wear, consisting of jeans and a red button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows, exposing those damn-sexy forearms again. Once he looks in my direction and we lock eyes, a hot tremor shoots through me, ricocheting through every sensitive cell in my wound-up body.

I’ve seen the error of my ways, and I now have to somehow convince
him
of that. I know he’s attracted to me--it’s obvious every time I see him steal a glance in my direction--so I decide to play with him a bit. I’m wearing black, low-slung yoga pants, a white camisole and a fitted sweatshirt. I take off the sweatshirt. I’m not wearing a bra simply because, why would I? I’m all alone in this room with no one to be appropriate in front of.

My movements catch his attention. This is good. All I need out of him is to fix the ache which keeps throbbing between my legs. I don’t need him to pretend to like me. Hell, I think it will be better if the sex is angry. It will be more fulfilling at this point.

He’s in the middle of putting my food tray on the appointed table when I walk past him, brushing my chest against his arm. His inhale is sudden and short, making him still instantly. I smile to myself.

I’ve got him.

“Sorry about that,” I say, lowering my head and quickly batting my eyelashes.

He is still frozen in place. “How are you feeling?” he asks me while slowly regaining his composure. He’s still turned away from me and focusing on the food. For this to work, I need him to look at me, so I move into his line of vision. I pull my camisole up a bit and expose my temporarily-flat stomach.

“I get warm sometimes. Like now. I can’t stand having clothes on most days, but I know I must, in case someone comes in here.” I walk away from him, making his eyes follow me. Throwing my head over my shoulder, I ask, “Do you mind if I take my clothes off while you’re in here with me, Drayden?”

He looks stunned for a second, as if he can’t believe I’ve asked him such an off-the-wall question. But soon, a slow, devious smile makes his lips turn up at the corners, making him look super-sexy. “Do whatever you want, Essie. It’s your room.”

I take that as my cue. There is no way in Hell he’ll be able to resist a beautiful, naked woman standing right in front of him. No way.

He leans against the side of the wall with his arms crossed over his chiseled chest. He looks the part of the relaxed man, feet crossed at the ankles and his eyes zoned in on my every movement. I slowly peel off my top and when it clears my mass of thick, dark hair, I go to work on my pants, deliberately taking my time so he can enjoy the show. Once I’m in my full birthday suit, I move past him and head toward the bed, sitting on the edge with my eyes focused solely on him.

He is still staring at me, raking his eyes all over my naked form. But he doesn’t utter a single word. And he doesn’t move from his spot, although he’s still sporting that cocky smile.
What is he thinking? Is he going to make a move, or is he going to make me do it?
At this point, with all of these uncontrollable hormones running around, I’m not beneath advancing toward him first.

After another minute passes of us just staring at each other, I get up from the bed and slowly walk toward him. He’s following my every gesture with his eyes but is still not giving anything away. He’s doing a great job at playing cool. Then I see him move his leg and shift his weight a bit, all the while keeping his hands crossed over his chest. I’m gifted with the sight of his arousal hardening beneath the fabric of his jeans, giving me a clear outline of the one thing I want more than anything right now.

I need him to fill me up and throw me into another universe. The one time we
did
have sex, it was fantastic. He knew how to move his body, gifting me with an orgasm almost immediately. I want to feel his hands on me, squeezing my needy flesh. I want to feel his mouth on me, claiming me as we ride our own shooting star into the heavens.

I’m wanton. I’m shameless. But I don’t care. All I care about is rocking his body until he shouts out his own release.

I stand directly in front of him, running my hand down his chest, attempting to unbutton his shirt as my fingers trail along the seam of the fabric. The first button undone gives me hope this is going to happen. The second button has me smiling, anticipating feeling his naked flesh beneath my fingertips. But the third button undone sends me reeling over the edge with all the naughty thoughts dancing around in my sex-hazed brain.

But then he stops me, grabs my wrist and pushes me away from him.

My smile falls.

His smile increases.

“What are you doing? Why did you stop me?” I can’t hide the disappointment on my face.

Now it’s his turn to step toward me. “If I wanted to fuck you, you would have been on your back already.” His body is so close to mine, his scent making my need reach an even higher level. This is pure torture. “I’m calling all the shots here, so you would be wise to not forget that.”

I’m so confused, but I’m also pissed off. “So, you’re not going to do anything?”

“Nope,” he casually says, taking a step back. “I don’t make it a habit of sleeping with women I can’t stand, nor trust.”

I can’t stop myself. “I’m sure you don’t have any such boundaries, Drayden. I’m sure you fuck just about anyone. Actually, I
know
you do. As long as they have a pussy and a pair of tits, you’re game. I’m not asking for you to like me, because it’s obvious you don’t. Shit, I don’t like you, either. But we both have needs, so why not do it?” He looks shocked that I’m actually verbalizing my needs. “Besides, this child of yours is wreaking havoc on my hormones, and I’m so horny right now, I can’t see straight.”

I don’t know if it’s my crassness or the mention of his baby which makes him shake his head and take another step away from me. Clearly, I fucked up. I thought he would have appreciated my pure need for sex and nothing more. I’m not asking him to fawn all over me and treat me nicely. I’m not even asking him to engage me in meaningless conversation. I just want him to bury himself inside me. That’s it.

“I’m late,” he simply says before making a move to exit the bedroom.

“Wait!” I cry out, beyond frustrated. “Where are you going?” I’m desperate, and I’m not afraid to let him witness it.

“I’m going to have sex with a woman who hasn’t deceived me. One who is probably just as ready to go as you are right now. The only difference being, I’ll be burying myself inside
her
sweet body until we’re both so tired neither one of us can move.” And with that declaration, he makes his exit, locking my bedroom door from the outside as usual.

I’m left standing there, naked and baffled, thinking of ways to pay him back for this.