Page 13 of Twins for the Enemy

I look back out the window. Kieran is gone.

I pull the sheets back inside and slam the window shut. I plop down in one of the armchairs. Hunched over, I start untying the knots in my makeshift rope, cursing myself and that man with every movement.

I thought I was a person who would do whatever it took to survive, but having these babies changes the direction of the compass needle. North isn't survival. It's ensuring the best thing for my children. Maybe that's escaping. Maybe it's giving all of myself over to a heartless man who wants me to suffer because I turned him into a one-night stand.

As I work on the last knot in my pile of sheets and curtains, I hear footsteps that are brief but heavy. Someone who isn't small, but isn't careless or lazy with their movements. I consider running to the door andslamming it shut, but after getting caught already, it wouldn't surprise me at all if he beat me to the door.

Then, what would happen? I'm not under any delusion of how much power he has over me right now. If he wanted to assault me, he could. I couldn't run to the police. I could run to Neal, but while Neal would make a big show of protecting me, Kieran could break Neal faster than he could break me. It's not that I'm more resilient than Neal, but Kieran evidently cares about our children. As long as I'm pregnant, I have some level of protection.

After that, I have no idea what he'll do to me. I don't plan to find out.

He steps on the threshold, leaning against the doorway. The intensity of his expression makes me feel like he can see all the pieces of myself that I've hidden away. But if that's true, then he'd know what happened during the fire, and I can't allow that to happen. I look down, pulling the last knot free.

I flinch at a loud thud. I look up to see he's thrown a hammer and an array of nails between the two of us.

"You're going to nail shut the windows," he says.

I feel my lip curl up in a snarl. "And what will you do if I don't?"

He strides over, easily sidestepping the hammer and nails, and kneels down in front of me. For most people, kneeling in front of someone would be an act of subservience, but with the way he looks at me, there is no doubt that I'm not the one in control. His hand rests on my knee. I think of jerking it away, but I don't know what he'll do next. I don't know if I'm intimidated by the thought or excited by it. My thudding heart doesn't seem certain either.

"If you don't, I have another room in mind that doesn't have any windows at all and is only large enough to hold a small cot," he says, his voice eerily calm. "It also doesn't have a thermostat in it. I gave you this room because I wanted the mother of my children to be comfortable. But if she's a threat to those children, I'll choose their safety over her comfort."

I glare at him. "I'm not a threat to them. I would never hurt them."

"Prove it." He swivels around, grabbing the hammer and two nails in one quick movement, and places them on my lap. "Prioritize them."

I could use the hammer to bash against his head. I could run out of here. I glance down at his legs. I can't see them under his pants, but from our night together, I'm fairly certain he could outrun me, even if I had a head start. But if I hit him hard enough...

"I should tell you that I know the Chicago Superintendent of Police. The police buy tactical gear from one of my companies, so whenever we're at the same charity events, he reminds me that if I ever need a favor, he'll gladly do it for me. If I tell him that some woman stole from me—say, an expensive compass—I’d have the whole police force to track that woman down."

"Do you think he'd still feel that way if he knew you were holding a woman captive?" I ask.

He smirks. "You must not be familiar with our justice system if you think a billionaire philanthropist wouldbe questioned over a fugitive who tried to commit murder."

I lurch forward, so our faces are barely an inch apart.

"I didn't try to commit murder," I bite out. "What kind of man tries to flaunt how his wealth makes him seem more innocent than he is?"

"This isn't a question of innocence, but you aren't winning that battle either."

His eyes flick up and down my body. "No matter how naive and harmless you appear."

His eyes linger on my lips longer than the rest of my body. When he looks back into my eyes, my breaths are so shallow that I feel lightheaded. He picks up the hammer, still settled on my lap, and his thumb brushes against my thigh. My hands jerk slightly, almost ready to press his hand closer, but I grab onto the hammer, enclosing his hand under mine.

Our eyes are locked and my thoughts slip away like small wisps of air. I want his mouth on my mouth. I want to feel the strength of his tongue against mytongue. I don’t care about right or smart. I just want what makes me feel alive.

His expression darkens, and he slowly pulls his hand away. The hammer almost falls, but I snatch it before it can. The nails still scatter on the floor. Our heads nearly hit as I scramble to pick them up. As soon as I've gathered two, I turn my back to him and head to the window furthest away from him. I use the hammer carefully, unfamiliar with the mechanics of how to not smash my own thumb.

As I'm distracted, I hear hammering. I turn to see him quickly nailing a different window shut. I try to work faster, but by the time I'm done, he's finished the other nine windows.

"I have something else for you too," he says, moving back toward the door.

I expect him to slam it shut—some sick joke about giving me privacy or a room—but instead, he picks up some folded clothes from outside the door and places them on my bed.

"They're my clothes, so they'll be too big for you, but it's better than nothing. The cleaning staff changes the hamper in your bathroom once a week."

He grabs the hammer and heads back to the door, grabbing onto it to close it.

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