Page 66 of Hawk's Cry

Because he hadn’t quantified the danger I’d be in.

Damn Dad and his club business. I’m involved through no fault of my own except for ignorance.

Baby, please stop moving so much. He or she is jumping around on my bladder. A need I’d successfully ignored while Archangel was distracting me is returning with vengeance now.

I look around. The room I’ve been left in is some kind of living room, it’s got just the one door. I hadn’t heard a key turning. Perhaps it’s unlocked?

I don’t want to anger the man who killed his wife and unborn baby, but if he’s left the door open, maybe there is a way for me to escape? Or, at least, find a bathroom which, at the moment, is at the top of my priorities.

I stand and walk across the room. Gingerly I reach out and turn the doorknob. It moves easily, but the door doesn’t budge. It’s locked. As I expected.

It would serve him right if I wet myself right on his sofa. Doesn’t he know pregnant women have needs?

“Hey.” I bang on the door and cry out, “Hey. I need a bathroom.”

Perhaps he doesn’t care, if he’s going to kill me, anyway?

“Help!” I shout louder, not expecting my cries to be heard, let alone answered.

But the door opens as if the person behind had been waiting outside. He’s a man with military bearing hair shorn short, shoulders pulled back and, what gives it away, is the rifle slung over his shoulder. Is that a swastika on his front pocket? I cringe, expecting no mercy from him.

“What do you want?” he asks, leering at my body as though he’s got a thing for pregnant women.

I shift uncomfortably, from the way he’s examining me, and from my body’s needs. “I need a bathroom.”

He sighs, then jerks his head with an expression of distaste. “This way.”

I’m conscious of his armed presence behind me as he points out where I should be heading. Would he shoot me if I ran? Well, I’m not going to put that to the test. Or, at least, not until I’ve used the facilities.

He opens the door, then with another movement of his head, indicates that I should go inside. I do. As I throw the bolt, I realise the lock is one of the kind you can open from the outside in case a child shuts themselves in.

Wasting no time, I relieve myself and take the time to look around me. There is a window with frosted glass, but even if it opened, it’s not big enough for a woman with a belly the size of mine to squeeze out of.

I’ve no other option but to wash my hands, then open the door. The guard is standing outside in a sentry pose.

I decide it’s worth a try. Putting my hands on my stomach to emphasise my condition, I ask, pleadingly, “Will you help me find a way out? I’m pregnant.”

“I can see that.” He leers again. “A nice big target to aim for if you try to run.”

Meekly, with no other option, I let myself be escorted back to the room I’d recently left.

Alone, with no pressing bodily function to focus on, I admit the dire situation that I’m in. The thought I might never see my baby born or my husband or family again, overwhelms me.

The need to cry engulfs me, but I won’t give in. Crying would mean letting my guard down, weeping would mean giving up.

It might be hard for me to escape, overpowering my guard or Archangel an impossibility. But I won’t give up. The only weapon at hand is in my head. The only way out is to keep my wits about me. I’ll just have to think how best I can use it.

It’s hard, but I know once the tears start, I won’t be able to stop.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Eli…

Immediately after I speak to Archangel, I take out the burner phone Mouse had given to me and place a call to Wizard. I can’t call him Prez, he’s not that anymore. But for now it’s enough that he’s a friend.

“It’s Eli,” I tell him, knowing he won’t recognise the number. “I’ve spoken to the motherfucker.”

“And?”

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