Chapter 145 - ONE HUNDRED AND FORTY FIVE

Chapter 145: Chapter ONE HUNDRED AND FORTY FIVE

ANGEL

I closed my eyes, tears leaking down my cheeks and soaking into his shirt.

His grip around me loosened. The fingers stroking my hair resumed like he hadn’t just threatened to murder my child in the same breath he called me baby girl.

"I know you’re scared," he said softly. "I know this feels like the end of the world. But it’s not. It’s a beginning. Once we clean you out, we can start fresh. Fill you up with something that actually belongs inside you."

His hand slid down to my stomach, pressing against the small swell through my dress.

"My child," he breathed against my hair. His thumb traced slow circles over my belly. "Growing right here. Where his mistake used to be. You have no idea how long I’ve dreamed about this, Angel. Watching you swell with something that’s mine. Something that came from us."

I wanted to vomit. Die even. Anywhere but here, trapped in this car with this man and his horrible promises.

The car entered the main road, and I watched through blurred eyes, realizing that we barely passed by any houses.

Trees rose up on either side of the road. We were heading somewhere isolated.

I inhaled deeply. Exhaled. Tried to think past the panic clawing at my chest.

This was the first time he’d taken me out of the house. The first time I’d been anywhere except those four walls since he’d dragged me back. Maybe—just maybe—a chance would come.

The car stopped.

"We’re here," Damien said.

I looked up and saw it through the windshield.

The place wasn’t the horror movie asylum I’d been expecting. This was a modern building—all glass and steel—nestled among the trees like a luxury resort.

"This is where I recovered, you know." He nuzzled into my hair, inhaling deep. "No one can find you here, so don’t get your hopes up." He studied my face thoroughly. "There’s no escape. Now, come."

The hospital room was almost nice. If you ignored why you were in it.

We’d been led to a private suite. Soft lighting. A vase of white lilies on the side table. Even the bed was queen sized.

I guess Damien was providing luxury accommodations for a murder. How thoughtful.

I sat on the edge of the bed in a thin paper gown, bare feet cold against the floor. My hand kept drifting to my stomach. I couldn’t stop touching it.

Daddy’s baby.

Think, Angel. Fucking think.

I was alone now. Damien had left about five minutes ago to get his hand looked at—the one he’d split open punching the mirror like a goddamn lunatic. He’d kissed my forehead before he went, gentle as a lover, terrifying as a nightmare.

"Be good for Daddy. Don’t give the nurse any trouble as we wait for the results." Maybe he still didn’t believe my pregnancy, because the moment we stepped in, Damien had demanded for another test to be conducted.

The nurse in question stood six feet from my bed. Mid-thirties, pinched face with her hair scraped back into a bun so tight it looked painful. She hadn’t looked at me once since Damien left. As if I wasn’t even worth acknowledging.

I cleared my throat. "Excuse me."

Nothing. She kept looking at her stupid tablet, her fingers swiping across the screen.

"Hey." I spoke a little louder. "I’m talking to you."

She glanced up at me, her eyes narrowed with irritation. "What."

I should be asking that. What the hell was her problem?

"I need to use the bathroom."

"Hold it."

"I’m pregnant. I can’t just—"

"Oh, I know you’re pregnant." She snorted, a mean little sound, going back to her clipboard. "That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? Another young girl who couldn’t keep her legs closed, and now someone else has to clean up the mess."

I stared at her—this woman who didn’t know a single fucking thing about me, about what I’d been through—and felt something hot and vicious curl in my chest.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me." She didn’t even look up. "Young girls like you are all the same. Spread your legs for any man who looks at you twice, then act surprised when consequences show up. At least this one’s paying to fix his mistake instead of leaving you to deal with it alone."

For a second, I was too angry and disbelieving to respond. My hands were shaking. "You don’t know anything about me," I said, my voice trembling with barely contained rage. "You don’t know why I’m here or what he’s done to me—"

"Sweetie, I don’t care." She finally met my eyes, and the contempt in her gaze made my stomach turn. "I’ve seen a hundred girls like you enter a clinic. Crying about how it’s not fair, how they didn’t have a choice, how the big bad man made them do it." She shrugged, "At the end of the day, you’re all the same. Legs open, brain closed."

What was this bitch rambling about? I wasn’t the most likable person, but I hadn’t even done anything to deserve her hateful judgement of me.

I wanted to launch myself at her and make her choke on every word she’d just said. I bet she wouldn’t be so smug then. But I didn’t. Because beneath the rage, my mind was working.

Damien leaving me alone with just one guard felt too easy. Too generous. Like a trap I couldn’t see the teeth of yet. But this bitch clearly didn’t see me as a threat. To her, I was just another dumb slut who’d gotten herself knocked up.

It worked to my advantage that she underestimated me.

"Can I at least use the bathroom? Please? I feel like throwing up," I said meekly, making my voice small.

The nurse rolled her eyes so hard I’m surprised they didn’t get stuck. "Fine." She slapped her clipboard down on the counter with a loud clatter. "Two minutes. And if you try anything stupid, your sugar daddy will hear of it. Understand?"