Page 117 of His to Save

I crank the engine and slip my gun into the center console before tearing down the driveway like the devil himself is after me. But that’s not right—it’s me who’s after the devil, and I’m going to send that miserable son of a bitch back to hell permanently.

I’m coming, Pip…

CHAPTER 39

NORA

Oh my God, my head.I lift my arm, only to find I can’t move it. I try again, jerking harder this time, but it’s no use.

Why can’t I move my arms?

My breathing grows ragged, each inhale like sucking in needles, as I try to take stock of my body. I’m upright—mostly—on something solid. A chair, maybe, and my arms seem to be bound behind me.

Question after question floods my brain.Where am I?Why am I restrained? Why does my head feel like someone beat me with a bowling ball? Is my baby okay?

I wince as I try to open my eyes, but it’s no use. Between the ringing in my ears, the excruciating pain radiating from my forehead, the discomfort pulsing through my shoulders, and the bright light overhead, I can’t seem to get my bearings.

Think, Nora! I was with Scarlet… hair, nails, barbecue, and—Rand!

Panic unlike anything I’ve ever felt before flares to life inside of me as reality sinks in, rendering me completely motionless as the memory of Rand taking me flashes behind the back of my eyelids like a highlight reel of horrors.

Just stay still and maybe he won’t realize you’re awake.I strain to listen out for him, but the only thing I hear is the faint dripping of a faucet.

How did this happen? What do I do? What do I do?

When I finally manage to pry my eyes open, my vision swims. I blink once… twice… three times before the small room I’m in comes into focus. It’s sparsely furnished, with no windows that I can see. Most importantly, there’s no sign of Rand.

I escaped this hell once already. I can do it again.

Footsteps sound behind me, and my entire body stiffens as I squeeze my eyes shut. Maybe if I’m still enough and quiet enough, he’ll leave me be for a little longer.

“Wake up, little bitch,” the voice from my nightmares growls moments before ice-cold water sprays me in the face. A scream lodges in my throat as the liquid fills my nose and mouth, making it impossible to breathe, much less speak.

Instinctively, I try to cover my face, but all I manage to do is send myself crashing to the floor. “Stop, please,” I whimper, my wet hair clinging to my face.

Please let my son be okay. Please, please, please.I silently pray, my tears mingling with the water droplets already coating my cheeks, as I try my hardest to twist my body in such a way that offers my belly some protection.

“That's right,” he snarls, the toes of his worn boots coming into view. “Keep begging. Scream, cry,plead, and maybe I'll let you hold the little bastard before I bleed you dry.”

I wish I was strong enough not to give in to him, but I do exactly as he says—I scream and I cry, I beg and I plead. The noises spilling out of my mouth are far more animal than human. “Don't you touch my baby!”

“I believe you meanourbaby.” He nudges me gently with his boot before cocking his leg back and delivering a brutal kick to my ribs.

A guttural scream tears past my trembling lips, my eyes involuntarily pinching closed as seemingly endless pain steals the air from my lungs.

“Look at me,” Rand demands, dragging his knuckles over my cheek, in a move so mockingly tender it sends shivers down my spine.

I peel my eyes open to find him kneeling before me, his lips curled in a malicious grin as he reaches toward my belly.

I try to stop him, but the only sound that comes out is a rasping, high-pitched wheeze as I struggle to inhale past the agonizing pain in my chest.

Please, please, please.

Tremors rack my body as I flail and kick, desperate to keep his hands away from my stomach but he presses forward completely undeterred.

“Stop fucking moving,” he snaps, grabbing me by the hair with one hand, slamming my head into the floor, while cradling my belly with the other.

The juxtaposition between the two points of contact—his punishing grip on my hair and the gentle way he palms my bump—is sickening.

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