Page 152 of SINS & Riley
RILEY
You know how you can tell the person next to you is certifiably insane?
When she’s giggling hysterically at her own reflection in the window.
I don’t interrupt.
I’m too busy sawing at the zip tie with its jagged edge, carving into my own thumb until flesh gives way.
And fuck me, it feels so good.
I dig deeper than I probably should. I’d love to say I’ve had enough practice with twisted thrills to know where the line is.
But I don’t.
I’m just carving in as far and deep as I can, trying to hold it together—for me, for my baby.
That sharp bite of pain, the way it sinks in, has always shoved the fear back. Grounded me. Forced my brain into a detached, focused state.
And right now, I need to focus.
My gaze fixes on the blood, dripping down my fingers, trailing across my palm. I watch it slide, slow and steady, before I smear it up and down my thigh, staining my skirt.
The van’s been driving so long I’m not even sure we’re still in Illinois. I work methodically, drip after drip, until the sting flares past pain, to control.
And when it tips from delicious pain to full-blown agony—when I think I can’t peel off another shred of skin—I snap.
Hysterics rip out of me. “Oh my God! Help! I need a doctor, now!”
Elena twists in her seat, red lipstick smeared into a grin that dies fast. Her eyes sharpen, astonishment curdling into something truly bizarre. Curiosity. “Are you… having your period?”
Psychosis and idiocy. Like bread and jam with her.
“No. I’m pregnant. Remember?” My voice climbs, brittle and raw. “I could be losing my baby. Please—you have to take me to a doctor. Now.”
“That’s not on the agenda.”
“Well, I’m pretty sure money won’t be on the agenda when you hand Andre a broken toy instead of Zver’s baby.”
Her smile falters. Steam practically pours from her ears as she thinks it over.
Tick-tock, crazy. Any day now. Work with me.
Finally, she huffs out a breath and dials. Not on speaker, so I only get her half.
“She says she needs a doctor.” A pause. Her voice drops into a whine. “I don’t know. She could lose the baby, I guess.”
Silence. Heavy. Silence.
She glances back at me, eyes sharp, calculating. I let my body slump, every ounce of fight draining out of me, playing weak.
Inside, I am a mama bear to my sweet little cinnamon bun. Hang on. Just hang on. It’s gonna be okay.
“Yeah. I can take her there.” Her tone flips, casual, as she snaps the phone shut. She leans toward the driver. “Head to the doc.”
No acknowledgment, no wasted words. Just a hard right at the next light.
I don’t know how long this detour will last, but in my head I start running contingencies.
