Page 25 of Wicked Sinner
"No!" Bridget's voice cracks as she realizes what's happening. "No, please! This is my home! My father's shop! I can't leave! I don’t want to?—"
Something in her voice—the raw pain, the genuine fear—makes me pause for just a moment. But then I think about the child she's carrying, about my heir growing inside her, about all the ways this could go wrong if I let her stay here alone and unprotected. About how she could run, try to hide from me, try to keep me from the future that she’s opened up for us both.
She’s mine. I should have known it the moment I touched her. Some part of medid, or I never would have fucked her bare. I’ve never failed to be careful before. This was meant to be. Iknewit should be her, and now it’s all coming together.
"You'll be safe," I tell her, and I mean it. "I'll keep you safe."
"I don't want to be safe!" she screams. "I want to be free! Free ofyou, to start?—"
"That’s a luxury you can't afford anymore." I back up, turning the car out of the parking lot. "Not when you're carrying my child." I glance at her. “Seatbelt. I’m not taking any chances. Not with your safety.”
The drive back to the city passes in tense silence. Bridget stares out the window, her hands pressed protectively over her still-flat stomach, tears sliding down her cheeks. I want to comfort her, to tell her that everything will be okay, but I know she won't believe me. Not yet.
She'll understand eventually. When she sees how well I can take care of her, how much I can give her and our child, she'll realize that this was the right choice. The only choice.
I can see her wheels turning as we pull up to the high-rise, see her considering whether to scream, how to run, but I’m not going to give her a chance. I pull into the underground parking garage, and I can see her face fall as we drive down, as I park in the large concrete space.
She’s already scrambling out of the car when I come around to open her door, and I catch her easily, one arm around her waist as I scoop her up into my arms. She claws for my eyes, letting out a shriek that echoes, but I grab her wrists easily, pinning her against my chest as I head for the door that will let us in.
I keep her in my arms until we get to the elevator, where I set her down. Bridget’s lips are pressed together, her eyes glaring daggers at me as I slide the keycard in for the penthouse. She rolls her eyes as she sees it.
“Of course you have a fucking penthouse.”
“Of course I do,” I agree. “And a Ferrari, and enough money to blow ten grand on a cheap fuse job. Money is no object for me, Bridget.”
“So you think nothing else should be, either.” She looks away from me, and I can feel the distance between us. The electricity that was there that first night, that searing connection, is buried under layers of ice.
She hates me right now, and I can’t blame her. I haven’t exactly handled this the best way. But I couldn’t give her a chance to escape. A chance to run away and keep this from me—our child, herself, everything we could have together.
The elevator opens, and I see Bridget poised to run. “Don’t bother,” I tell her calmly. “There are stairs at the far end, but I’ll catch you before you make it there. Just come inside with me. This doesn’t have to be so difficult?—”
She bolts. Quick enough that I have to run after her, catching her for the third time tonight. I want to throw her over myshoulder, but I’m mindful that I need to be careful with her, and I carry her bridal-style again, trapping her hands as I walk to the door of my penthouse.
It’s dark inside, the city lights twinkling beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows. I don’t bother putting her down, instead heading up the stairs to the guest bedroom on the second floor. I carry her inside, closing the door behind me, and finally set her on her feet, making sure to block the exit.
The moment her hands are free again, she slaps me across the face. Hard.
I don’t flinch. I’d expected it, sooner rather than later. Instead, I stare her down, and I see her wilt the tiniest bit.
That’s not what I want. I like her fire and her stubbornness, the fact that she stands up to me and isn’t afraid of me. But I also want her to use her common sense. To understand that I can make her life better, just as she already has mine.
“This is where you’ll be staying.” I gesture around the large, luxurious room. It's spacious and comfortable, with its own bathroom and a fantastic view of the city. "You'll have everything you need. I’ll bring you meals, and you’ll be taken care of. There’s a bathroom there—" I gesture to the ensuite. “If you need anything at all, just let me know.”
She turns to look at me, and the expression on her face is one I've never seen before. Not fear, not anger, but something colder. Something that looks almost like hatred.
"You're going to lock me in here," she says. It's not a question.
"Until you calm down," I confirm. "Until you realize that I'm not your enemy."
"You kidnapped me," she says flatly. "You dragged me away from my home, my life, my work. How are you not my enemy?" Her lip quivers, the tiniest bit. “I’m going to lose the shop.”
“You won’t. If there’s a mortgage, I’ll pay it.”
“You can’t keep the customers,” she snaps. “When I’m not there, they’ll go elsewhere.”
“We’ll find a solution.” I let out a breath. “I wouldn’t have to take you if I could trust that you’d come home.”
“This isn’t my home,” she hisses. “You stole me from my home. You’re a fucking asshole?—”
