Chapter 144 - ONE HUNDRED AND FORTY FIVE

Chapter 144: Chapter ONE HUNDRED AND FORTY FIVE

ANGEL

A loud, broken sob tore from my throat when his hand shot up, fisting in my golden hair and yanking my head back until my neck strained to the breaking point.

He forced me to look up into his intimidating face. His eyes were cloudy pits, empty of everything except raw, venomous rage and something else—something that looked horrifyingly like desperate jealousy.

"How many times did he pump his seed into you? Huh? How many times did you spread your legs for him and let him breed you like a dog in heat while I was looking for you?!"

"I don’t know!" I sobbed out, choking on my own breath. "I don’t—we didn’t—I wasn’t counting, Damien! Please, you’re breaking my neck—!"

He shoved my head forward, releasing my hair with a sound of utter disgust.

The three minutes felt like an eternity.

I sat there shivering in my own skin, trying to remember how to breathe, while Damien practically wore a hole through the tile behind me. The three tests sat side by side on the marble, mocking me with their blank little plastic windows, calmly preparing to decide if my life was over.

And then.

Lines started to form.

They appeared slowly on the first test—faint pink shadows at first that could have been a trick of the fluorescent lighting or a defect in the dye.

But then they darkened. On the second test. Then the third. Bold, thick, bright magenta lines cutting through the windows.

Three tests. Three undeniable, glaring positives.

Two lines on every single one.

Positive.

I was pregnant.

The sob that escaped me wasn’t grief. That’s probably the fucked up part. It wasn’t fear or despair or any of the things it should have been.

It was relief.

Because this baby—this tiny cluster of cells growing inside me—was Daddy’s. Not Damien’s. Not the monster who’d stolen me from my home and used my body like a toy. This was Vincenzo’s child. A piece of the man who’d raised me, who’d loved me.

A piece of us.

My hand moved to my stomach without permission. Pressing against the small swell there, cradling it, protecting it. I couldn’t feel anything yet but I knew. It’s been confirmed that there was life growing inside me.

Daddy’s life.

And something other than despair rushed through me.

Hope.

"NO!" Damien’s snarl shattered the hope like glass.

I looked up to find him staring at the test in my hand. His face had gone rigid. His grey eyes stormy with devastation.

"No," he said again, softer this time. He sounded the way a person might say no to a terminal diagnosis. To the end of the world.

Then he fucking lost it.

He ripped the test from my fingers and hurled it at the wall so hard it exploded into plastic shrapnel. But that wasn’t enough.

"NO!" He swept his arm across the sink, sending soap and toothbrushes and a glass tumbler crashing to the floor, destroying everything nearby.

And I feared I was next.

"Stop, please!" I screamed and scrambled backward, my bare feet slipping on wet tile and broken glass. Pain flared in my heel—I’d cut myself, I was bleeding—but I barely noticed. My back hit the wall and I had nowhere left to go.

"Damien, stop!"

He didn’t stop. He was beyond stopping now, beyond reason, beyond anything except the rage consuming him from the inside out.

His fist connected with the mirror. The glass spiderwebbed around his knuckles, cracking into a thousand fractured reflections of his twisted face. Blood streamed down his fingers, dripping onto the white tile.

He didn’t even flinch. Horror trickled down my spine. He’d lost it. He’d completely lost it.

"Damien, please!" I was sobbing now, ugly and desperate. "You’re scaring me, just stop—"

He whirled on me, strong fingers grabbed my arm, hauling me with enough force to wrench my shoulder half out of its socket.

I cried out in pain and he didn’t care. He didn’t even seem to hear me. I struggled in vain as he dragged me out of the bathroom and threw me onto the bed.

I landed hard, the wind knocked out of me. Before I could recover, he was on top of me. Pinning me down with his weight. His bloody hand closing around my throat like a collar.

"His seed." Damien’s face was inches from mine. Blood dripped from his shattered knuckles onto my cheek, warm and wet. "You’re carrying his fucking seed inside you. The body that belongs to me—the womb that should be carrying my children—and you let him plant his filthy bloodline in it."

"I didn’t—" I choked, his grip tightening. "I didn’t know—please, I can’t breathe—"

He loosened his hold just enough to let me gasp in air. But he didn’t let go. His hips were between my thighs, his weight crushing me into the mattress, his bloody hand still wrapped around my throat like he was deciding whether or not to squeeze.

"You think I’m going to let it grow?"

Damien carried me to the car like a bride.

He settled me on his lap in the back seat, my head tucked under his chin, my body curled against his chest while he stroked my hair like I was a frightened kitten.

"Shh," he murmured against my temple. "It’s okay, baby girl. Daddy’s got you."

A sob caught in my throat.

His hand moved from my hair to my arm, rubbing slow circles that were probably meant to be soothing. "There’s nothing to be afraid of. I told you—I can’t afford harming you."

"Please," I whispered. "Please don’t do this."

"We talked about this already, Angel." His eyes found mine, grey and filled with warning. "That thing inside you isn’t yours to keep. It belongs to Vincenzo. And nothing of Vincenzo’s gets to stay in my property."

"It’s not a thing. It’s a baby. Our—"

"Don’t." Every trace of gentleness vanished. His gaze hardened further, the fury resurfacing. "Don’t you dare say ’our.’ There is no ’our’ with him. There’s only you and me, baby girl. Everything else is just... clutter."