Page 29 of Pastel Kisses

I can’t respond.

The drugs are pulling me under,paralyzingme.

Sarah’s breath heaves, nostrils flaring. Her fingers tremble as they dig into my exposed stomach.

Sheshakesher head. “When the fuck did this happen?”

Panic grips me.

Istillcan’t move.

Can’tspeak.

Sarah closes her eyes, inhaling deeply—calming herself.

When she opens them, something dark lurks behind them.

“The new drug probably has you feeling numb,” she murmurs. “Moving or talking won’t be possible.”

She tilts her head, a slow, eerie grin spreading across her face—the very embodiment of unhinged malevolence. Her eyes gleam with a twisted satisfaction, a predator reveling in the helplessness of its prey.

“Luckily for you, the drugs and treatments I’ve been giving you are safe for the baby.”

Baby?

What the fuck is she talking about?

Sarah’s plastic smile stretches smugly across her face as she repositions me on the bed, pulling the covers up and tucking me in like a goddamn child.

“You didn’t know, did you?” she coos, stroking my hair back and tucking it behind my ears like a twisted version of a caring friend.

I can’t respond—won’t respond. My lips won’t move, my body still numb from whatever she injected into me.

“There, there,” she sighs dramatically. “This is probably my fault.”

My heartbeat pounds like a war drum.

“I knew that if I got pregnant, Jaxton and the guys would stay with me, go through with the wedding, never leave. So…” She shrugs, like she didn’t just rock the foundation of my world. “I poked holes in all of his condoms when we hooked up a few months back.”

Her words slam into me, one by one, like a wrecking ball.

“But it only happened once,” she continues, pouting like a spoiled child. “He must’ve used the rest of the pack with you. And since you didn’t know about the pregnancy, that means he doesn’t either. Yet.”

She pats my head like I’m a goddamn pet before cackling like a hyena.

“This can still work in my favor.” She mostly mutters it to herself, but it sends a deep, cutting chill down my spine.

Then she straightens, clasping her hands together in mock excitement. “Enjoy the show tonight,” she giggles. “I’ll come down later, and we’ll figure out how far along we are.”

How far alongweare?

What the fuck does she mean by that?

True to her word, when she exits, she leaves the door cracked. The bottom step of the stairs is visible, the only piece of the outside world I’ve seen in what feels like a lifetime.

I try to move. I try so fucking hard. But my limbs are bricks, my veins filled with cement. I part my lips to call out, but the words never form—just useless gasps of breath.

Fuck!

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