Chapter 152 - ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY TWO

Chapter 152: Chapter ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY TWO

ANGEL

I woke up screaming.

Or maybe that was just in my head. My mouth was open but no sound came out—just a dry, cracked wheeze that scraped against my raw throat.

I was in a bed. A familiar bed. Soft sheets that smelled like his cologne.

Damien’s house. Damien’s bedroom. Damien’s fucking prison.

For a moment I just lay there, staring at the ceiling, trying to piece together how I got here. The last thing I recalled was the world going black. Damien had been pulling me toward the examination room. His hand on my waist. The instruments waiting inside. The doctor preparing everything. The—

My hand flew to my stomach.

I pressed down and felt the soft give of flesh beneath my fingers. My frantic fingers searched for something, anything—a swell, a hardness, proof that my baby was still there.

I couldn’t tell. I couldn’t exactly feel anything different. My stomach was flat. Or was it? Had it always been this flat? Was there supposed to be more? Less? I didn’t know what I was looking for. I’d barely gotten used to the idea of being pregnant before Damien decided to tear it out of me.

The grief hit me like a train.

The impact was sudden and all-consuming. This horrible, yawning void opening up in my chest, swallowing everything else. Hope. Fight. The will to keep breathing. All of it, gone. Devoured by the emptiness where my baby used to be.

Because I already knew. Didn’t I? I already knew what happened.

Damien doesn’t keep promises. He doesn’t spare things just because you beg and I was a fucking idiot for thinking one desperate blowjob would change that.

I was too weak to prevent him from hurting Daddy’s baby.

Our child was gone.

"It’s all my fault."

Once the tears started, I couldn’t stop them.

If only I hadn’t gone out that day. If only I’d done what Daddy told me to do. I’d regret that day for the rest of my life.

Everything that happened after that was because I was too stubborn to listen to Daddy.

"I’m s-sorry, it’s all my fault!"

This shouldn’t have happened. It was all because of me.

Then I was screaming it, tearing at my stomach like I could somehow reach inside and find what they’d taken, and put my baby back where it belonged.

"NO! NO, please don’t be gone."

I allowed myself to wallow in self-pity, sobbing my grief into the empty room while tears poured down my face. I never felt broken until now. I guess I never fully understood the meaning of the word. The feeling of being utterly shattered, beyond any hope of putting back together. Like someone had taken a hammer to my soul and scattered the pieces so far apart they could never be found again.

My baby. My baby was gone.

Daddy’s baby.

Gone.

I don’t know how long I cried out my heart. Long enough that my voice gave out and my eyes dried up, too exhausted to keep functioning.

When the door opened, I didn’t hear it at first.

When I finally looked up, Damien was standing in the doorway.

He was dressed casually. Dark jeans, grey henley rolled up at the sleeves. Hair slightly damp like he’d just showered. He looked well-rested. Calm. Peaceful..

Like he hadn’t just murdered my child.

Something inside me snapped.

"You BASTARD!" I launched myself off the bed with a scream that didn’t sound like my voice.

The new bed side lamp was in my hands before I knew I’d grabbed it—it had to be new because Damien had broke the previous one this morning. I hurled it at his head with every ounce of grief and hatred burning through my veins.

He sidestepped. The lamp shattered against the wall behind him, exploding into a thousand pieces.

Book. I grabbed it off the nightstand, threw it hard enough to tear something in my shoulder.

The demon tilted his head and it sailed past his ear much to my rage.

Pillow. Glass of water that exploded against the door frame, showering him with droplets and shards.

"MONSTER!" I screamed, my voice cracking on the word. "YOU FUCKING MONSTER! YOU PROMISED! YOU PROMISED ME!"

Nothing hit him. He just stood there watching my rampage with an expression of mild amusement.

"You killed my baby!" I grabbed a cologne bottle—heavy, glass—and hurled it with a scream that tore my throat raw. "You fucking killed my baby, you piece of shit, you monster, you worthless fucking bastard!"

He caught the bottle.

Midair.

My eyes zeroed his hand with outrage as he set it gently on the dresser beside him without breaking eye contact.

"That one’s my favorite," he said mildly. "I’d prefer if you didn’t smash it."

I wanted to tear his face off. What wouldn’t I give to rip out his eyes and shove them down his throat? To claw that calm expression off his face and make him feel even a fraction of this agony?

I rushed at him, fingers curved into claws, aiming for his eyes.

He caught my wrists and then spun me around so fast the room blurred, my feet leaving the ground for a sickening moment before his arms locked around me from behind.

"Put me down! You devil!" I hissed, thrashing against his grip. My fists pounded against his rock-solid shoulder, his chest, anything I could reach. It was like hitting concrete. He didn’t even grunt.

He lifted me off my feet completely, carrying me like a ragdoll despite my kicking and screaming, and tossed me onto the bed.

Before I could scramble away, he was on top of me.

His weight slammed down, pinning me to the mattress. His hands found my wrists and forced them above my head, crossing them, holding them there with one hand while the other pressed against my shoulder, keeping me flat. His hips settled between my thighs, his legs tangling with mine, making it impossible to do anything except lie there and feel how completely he had me trapped.

The dark dominance radiating off him was suffocating. It wasn’t just his body pinning me down—it was everything. The way he looked at me, calm and controlled while I was falling apart. The way his grip on my wrists was firm but not painful, like he was so confident in his power he didn’t even need to hurt me to prove it. The way his breath came slow and steady while mine was ragged, desperate, broken.

"Are you done?" He asked.