Page 102 of Wicked Sinner
“I know. I’d feel the same if it was Simone. But charging in will do nothing. Wait for the hackers. We’ll get what backup we can. And we’ll get her back, Caesar.”
My jaw clenches. I want to believe that he’s being straight with me, but I don’t trust him. Not entirely. Not yet.
But if it was Slakov, and he has Bridget, I can’t turn down help.
We head up to the penthouse, waiting on word from the hacker. Two restless hours pass before she sends over the footage from the street cameras, a license plate, and a blurry shot of a man in the passenger seat of an SUV. There are two vehicles, and we get coordinates of where they’re headed—what looks like down toward the docks.
“Do you think Torrino’s behind it?” I look at Tristan. “On account of my jilting Isabella for Bridget?”
“Maybe,” Tristan allows. “The location points to that being a possibility. We need men, if so. He’ll be well-guarded and well-armed.”
I nod. “I’ll get my security together.”
“I’m coming with you,” Tristan says firmly. “I’ll get some of my men. We’ll go and get her back, Caesar. And I’ll prove to you that this wasn’t me. That whatever personal problems we have, I wouldn’t do this.”
I look at him for a long moment, and then nod. “Alright.”
Whoever has taken my wife has made a grave mistake.
And now they’re going to pay for it.
25
BRIDGET
The doctor's appointment goes better than expected. Everything looks good with the baby, and the doctor is someone I’m much more comfortable with than the woman I saw the first time, someone I looked up and researched and chose myself. For the first time in weeks, I feel like I can breathe normally again when it comes to thinking about the baby.
I'm actually smiling as I walk out of the medical building, my hand resting protectively over my still-flat stomach. Caesar will be pleased when I tell him. I realize, too, that I’m looking forward to sharing the news with him. To talking to him about our baby and everything the doctor told me.
The feeling is new. I’m afraid to look at it too closely, in case it shatters. It feels fragile. I don’t trust that we can make something out of this, especially when I don’t know for sure how he feels about me—only that he wants to try.
Because of the baby? Because of his heir? Because he wants to continue to thumb his nose at Konstantin and everyone who didn’t want us married? Because the sex we have is the best either of us has ever experienced—at least, I know it is, and he says it is.
Or because he feels what I’m feeling… what I’m afraid to put a name to?
Why am I even thinking about this?I told Caesar that I wanted to try, but in the bright light of day, away from the little bubble we made for ourselves yesterday, I’m still not sure how that could ever work.
Yesterday made me wish things were different. It made me feel like Caesar was telling the truth—that he wantsme, not some idealized version of me that fits in with the other women of his world. That he’d rather have me—messy, imperfect, a little rough around the edges—than a polished diamond of a wife like Isabella.
But that doesn’t account for all the challenges we’d face. The danger that exists. The fact that his child would be raised in a world where crime and violence are the currency of everything that happens here.
I don’t know how to square that away with how much I want him.
The four security guards who came with me follow me out of the building to the black SUV parked at the curb. I’m slowly becoming accustomed to the routine of having them here, even if I don’t know how I could ever be entirely comfortable with needing protection everywhere I go. Another issue with ever making things work between Caesar and me—the fact that I’ll never have complete privacy again outside of our home. I’ll never go anywhere alone again if we stay together.
Maybe even if we don’t. I wouldn’t put it past Caesar to have security watching me for the rest of my life, even without my knowledge.
I slide into the back seat of the SUV in the center row, two men behind me and two up front. I try not to think about how claustrophobic it makes me feel, or how, every time I get into acar with security now, I remember Marco’s bloody face and the crumpled car from the first attack.
I should probably get a therapist. One more thing to add to the list of things I need now that I never thought I did before Caesar came into my life.
I let out a breath, leaning back against the seat. At least we’ll be back to the penthouse soon. I’m tired from the appointment, and?—
The van comes out of nowhere, ramming into the side of our SUV with enough force to send us spinning. My seatbelt cuts into my chest as we slam into a parked car, and I taste blood where I've bitten my tongue.
"What the hell—" the driver starts to say, but his words are cut off by the sound of gunfire.
The man in the passenger seat is already reaching for his weapon, but there are too many of them. Men in black clothing pour out of the van and two other vehicles that have boxed us in, vehicles I didn’t see until right now, as my eyes refocus and I shake my head to clear the dizziness. The windows of our SUV spiderweb as bullets hit the reinforced glass. I duck down, a scream escaping my lips as I slide off the seat and into the well between it and the driver’s side.
