Page 69 of StoryTeller's Tale

She’s nice, friendly, and there’s no reason for me to keep anything secret. As I haven’t been able to discuss my situation with anyone else, I decide to tell her everything, starting from the beginning—how I was kidnapped, and what led Jake to me. When I’ve finished, her mouth has dropped open.

“That’s so damn romantic. A book? He wanted to give it back and ended up rescuing you from a trafficker?” She fans herself. “Girl, stuff like that darn near burns my panties off. No wonder you stayed with him.”

I lean back, then jerk forward. My back is certainly sore. Jasmine notices. “Here.” She takes something out of her pocket. “Strider said you might need painkillers.”

I eye what she’s holding cautiously. “What is it?”

She shrugs and grins. “The good stuff, baby. Oxy.”

Holding up my hands, I ward her off. “I can’t take anything.”

Her sharp eyes land on me, and the side of her mouth turns up. “No alcohol, no drugs. Is there something you’re not telling me?”

She’s easy to talk to, so I find myself opening up. “Yeah, I’m pregnant.”

Clapping her hands together, she says, “Congratulations. I’m so happy for you.” Then, seeing my expression, tempers her words. “Or isn’t it something you want?”

“I don’t know,” I admit. It’s the truth. I don’t know how I feel, but something has driven me to refuse a strong drink or painkillers. Is my brain doing my thinking for me? Acting practically when my emotions haven’t caught up yet? If I really was going tosort itas my father had instructed, surely, I wouldn’t be worried about causing harm to what I know is just a simple clump of cells.

The way I’m thinking is scary. How the hell could I cope with a baby? I don’t earn enough to keep myself alive, let alone have another depending on me.

Jasmine must be able to read some of the thoughts going through my head as she pats my hand, and leans in, speaking confidentially, even though there’s no one within hearing.

“If you don’t want it, I can get that shit to sort you out.” When I turn to her sharply, she admits, “I’ve been where you are. Strider got the tablets for me, and I know he got extra in case it was needed again.”

She’s aborted a baby?She took the sensible way out. Maybe that’s really the choice for me. “How did it make you feel?”

“You’re asking me if I regret it?” She grimaces. “Hard to say. It was Strider’s, and I was pretty damn sure the last thing he wanted was a baby.” I think she’s got more she wants to say, so I wait. “I don’t know. It was quick, easy. One day, the test showed two little lines, a few days later, it was as if it had never been. Only…”

As her voice trails off, her eyes seem to glaze. After a moment, I prompt, “Only?”

Her shoulders rise, then fall. “Strider’s been different with me.”

“Is he worried about the same thing happening again?”

She gives a half-grin. “No, we made sure. He gloves up and I’m on the pill. But…” Again, she leans in, saying quietly, “Though he didn’t say anything, I do wonder whether some part of him wanted the baby.” She seems to shake herself. “But that’s crazy, yeah? Wretched Soulz prezes don’t want kids, or not with anyone but their old lady.”

StoryTeller is very much a Wretched Soul. The chances of him wanting to be lumbered with a child are probably below zero. And now I’ve been offered an easy way out.

I don’t have time to contemplate further as the meeting room door opens and the men file out.

I come quickly to realise I’m in the middle of a biker club, surrounded by tough-looking men I don’t know. Anxiously, I look for Jake, but he seems to be the only one who hasn’t come out. I try to tell myself these are Soulz and not Dominators, but still my adrenaline spikes.

What if they think I’m a sweet butt Jake’s brought along to share?

At least I’ve got… No. Even Jasmine has abandoned me, getting to her feet and disappearing behind the bar, leaving me sitting alone on the couch. Trying to shrink back, I pray no one pays me any attention. But almost before that thought runs through my head, a tall bald-headed man is approaching me. I recognise him. He was one of those outside when Jake and I rode in.

My mouth goes dry as he looms over me, wondering how to reply if he demands I service him. But when he speaks, his words aren’t at all threatening.

“How are you, sweetheart? You got over your shock yet?”

What do I say? Anxiously licking my lips, I politely respond, “I’m getting there.”

“How’s your back?”

It feels bruised, but it’s the least of my worries. Perhaps if I say I’m in tons of pain, he won’t try to take advantage of me.

“I’m Shotgun,” he tells me, pleasantly. “Your man is just having a chat with the prez. He’ll be out shortly.” Having given me the explanation, he seems to lose interest in me, his eyes flicking around the room. When he spies the door opening and a couple of scantily dressed but well-proportioned and very attractive women walking in, he grins. “Ah. You’ll have to excuse me.”

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