Page 8 of Forbidden Surrogate

I don’t want to rehash my father’s requests. He wants a grandchild, but he has all these stipulations… I don’t know how he expects me to just produce an heir out of thin air. But that’s what he wants. I can’t get married and have a family, so I need to find a woman willing to enter an arrangement according tomyspecifications.

“We’re not doing this,” I grumble, preferring to sort through the issue on my own rather than involving my excessively nosy sister in my personal affairs.

“You were at the bar the entire night and you didn’t talk to a single woman,” Angela says, rubbing it in my face that this is arequirementnow. If I want continued financial support from my father and a greater leadership role within the mob… he needs me stable.

I can’t imaginethatwith the tramps I saw downtown.

“I prefernaturalblondes.”

Angela chuckles, clearly enjoying every last bit of my misery. It’s as if she couldn’t wait for it to be my turn to fall beneath our family’s harsh and strict requirements.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing. I’ll go unlock the house. Have fun with my surprise.”

“Yes,” I respond through gritted teeth, eager to get Angela out of my sight so we don’t have to force any deep sibling talks between the two of us. There’s still an eight year age gap, plenty for me to think of her as more of a kid than she really is. “I’ll have fun cleaning up your mess.”

“See you inside.”

She hops out of the SUV, and pulls out a key I didn’t even know she had for the lakehouse. I bite down the surge of frustration again. I can’t let this drag on. I watch my sister let herself into the house and glance over my shoulder again at the pile of blankets. I swear I saw them move again and since I saw it twice…

I leap out of the car like it’s about to explode and rush to the back of the Suburban to open it up. Did my crazy ass sister adopt astray dogfrom outside the club? The back door beeps as it opens up slowly, making me seriously regret getting a new carwith all these ridiculous features just because I had to whack a guy with…nevermind.

I don’t smell vomit. Or maraschino cherries. I smell… coconut oil. Fresh cream. Coffee liqueur. And feet caked with beer. If you’ve ever been to a sports bar in Buffalo during football season, you know the smell.

What the fuck? I touch the large pile of blankets and the blankets don’t just move.

They come to life. A large figure launches itself out of the back of the Suburban and flies straight at me. If I hadn’t been the starting tight end in high school… I would have been knocked over. Instead, I muscle the moving lump back into the Suburban, letting it land with a loud thud – and then a scream.

Chapter Four

Delphine

Iscream bloody murder because if I'm going to go out like this, I won't make it easy on my killer. It's crazy how my True Crime obsession didn't pay off in the slightest. I claw my way through the blankets screaming like a coyote, absolutely desperate to free myself since this idiot kidnapper didn't even get my wrists and ankles bound up.

"What the fuck?" a deep male voice from the other side of the blankets says, heightening my fear. I scream and rip at the fabric until moonlight spills through, giving me a direction to fight in. Just when I catch that first breath of cool evening air, large arms wrap around my waist, trapping me in the blanket again.

My next scream is ungodly, but unfortunately knocks all the damn air out of my lungs. OH hell no! I gasp and nothing comes in. No air. Nothing. I kick my legs and hit a solid wall of person.

"Stop fighting. Fighting won't help," the deep voice says again.

Has this kidnapper lost his damn mind? Why the hell would I stop fighting when it's clear -- I'm cooked. This man is going to kill me. Slaughter me. I'm going to bleed out in a nasty ass basement and–

"HELP!" I scream. "HELP!"

A large hand finds my mouth way too easily under the blankets and now I really can't breathe. I make muffled, desperate sounds for a few seconds and then either lack of oxygen or pure terror knocks me out again. Fuck.

I wake up to that loud deep voice again.

"YOU KIDNAPPED SOMEONE? HAVE YOU LOST YOUR MIND?!"

"I haven't lost my mind," a familiar woman's voice pierces through the dark foggy unconscious. Pretty voice... Who is that, again?

"I solved your problem."

"I'm supposed to getherpregnant?"

The tone of voice behind that 'her' is objectively offensive. Though, I can't imagine the alternative would be any better considering the line of conversation.

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