Page 80 of Freeing Denver
I nod enthusiastically. “Yes.”
“And you’ll be good?”
“Yes, I promise.”
His smile widens, his light eyes sparkling. I return the smile and start planning.
I could ask the doctor doing the scan for help, but they’re probably on Spider’s payroll. I’ll need to escape before. At a traffic light, or in the parking lot. If I scream, people will notice. They won’t forget a woman screaming in broad daylight.
I barely notice Eli standing until he’s kissing my head and says, “We get to see our baby.”
The words are like a bolt under my skin.
What the fuck did he just say?
My head snaps up. “It’s Colt’s baby, not yours.” His smile vanishes, and it’s like I’m doused with the coldest water. I stand quickly. “I didn’t mean that.”
He slaps me so hard that I hit the table, my plate sliding onto the floor and breaking. I pant, my hands braced either side of me, my cheek stinging.
“Whose baby is it, Robin?”
I curl my fingers into my hands. Anger heats my blood.
Fuck this guy to hell and back.
“It’sColt’s.” I snatch up my knife and spin, lunging. Eli jerks back, narrowly missing the weapon, and I back away from the table. “Not yours, you fuckingcreep.”
He wastes no time striding toward me, and I thrust the knife out, catching his palm before he seizes my wrist and yanks my chest to his. I cry out as he twists, pain ribboning up my arm, my fingers twitching until I drop the knife. It clatters to the ground, the sound loud in the quiet room.
“I won’t go down as easily as Vince Capelli,” he says, and my heart stutters to a halt. “Kitrick!”
Kitrick enters, looking between us with total calm. “Sir?”
“Three days in the room.”
My eyes widen as fear blasts through my blood. “No, Eli, please?—”
He shoves me in Kitrick’s direction. I try to back away, but Kitrick is already striding over and taking my wrist.
“Eli, please! I’m sorry!” I scream as I’m dragged away.
“Four days.”
“Please—”
“Five.”
I let out a strangled sob, trying to fight Kitrick’s hold, hot tears streaking my cheeks as I war between fighting and giving in.
I swore I’d never go back to that room. The last time I was in there for eight days, eight agonizing days. I can’t do it again.
I yank free of Kitrick’s grip and drop to my knees, pressing my palms together as I stare up at Eli. “I’m begging you, don’t do this, don’t send me there. I’m so sorry, I won’t misbehave again, I promise.”
His cold gaze chills the heated panic of my blood, setting me trembling as I debase myself for freedom.
But that place … it’s hardly a room. It’s closer to a windowless cubical, with barely enough space to have my elbows touch either wall, the leather padded walls scratched from the nails of other occupants. The cement floor is bitterly cold, too cold to sit on, but painful to have your bare feet on.
And the quiet. The unbearable pressure of the silence is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. My first stint was two days and I’d come out covered in my own filth, screaming that if Eli ever put me in there again, I’d kill him.
