Cold as Hell (Haven’s Rock #3)

Chapter Thirty-Three

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

I bite my tongue against saying the ice is too thin for me to lie down safely. As he said, that’s the point.

“You’re clever enough,” he says. “You can figure out how to lie so you don’t fall through. Spread your weight. Even distribution, that’s the key. Except… Well, I guess you can’t fix that huge center of gravity, can you? But you’ll do your best. You’ll want to be on your back, obviously.”

He moves toward the hole. “Once you’re out there, I’m going to shoot holes in the ice. That will bring Will—and hopefully your husband—running. By the time they get here, I’ll have taken cover to watch the show. I don’t need to go far, though. They’ll be too focused on your predicament. If you get up, you’ll crash through the ice. If they step close enough to grab you, you’ll both go through the ice. And if you really are having that baby?” He grins. “That adds a whole new layer of fun, doesn’t it? Because there’s no way in hell you’re going to be able to do that and stay still. One false move and… Crash.”

I snort.

He startles. Then his eyes narrow. “What’s that for?”

“Nothing.”

His jaw works. He has just outlined a horrifying scenario that should have me begging for mercy. And my reaction? A derisive snort.

Finally, my body’s exceptionally bad timing works in my favor, because it lets me hide what I’m really feeling. I can act calm, as if my sweaty red face and quick breathing are entirely due to the fact that I’m in active labor.

He peers at me, and I think I’ve overplayed. Then he laughs. “Oh, you really are a confident bitch, aren’t you? You think you’ll get out of this. That I’ll make a mistake, and between you and your hubby and Will Anders, you’ll figure out a way to get off that ice.”

He waves. “Fine. You just keep thinking that. Now get undressed.”

“You’re going to need to take off my boots.”

He laughs again, louder now. “Oh, am I? I need to get down on the ice and pull off your boots, using both my hands, which means setting the gun aside.”

“I don’t care how you do it. But I can’t reach my boots.” I demonstrate, stretching over, and my body shouts for joy. I’m moving. I’m getting into some kind of position that will help birth this baby and—

I straighten. “I haven’t been able to take them off myself for the past month. You know that. You’ve seen Eric do it for me.”

His mouth tightens. “Fine,” he snaps. “Start with your coat.”

I take off my coat. He orders my hat and gloves to follow, and my body sighs in relief as cold air rushes over my sweating body.

“Shirt,” he says.

I glare at him, but I don’t argue. I hike the oversized sweatshirt over my belly and then I stand as I wrestle with it, cursing when it gets stuck going over my head. I have it off one arm and my head before he hisses in frustration and bends down to pull it off my other arm.

I wrench the shirt as hard as I can, and the surprise of that pulls him off-balance. He still has the gun in his right hand, but it’s lowered, and when he loses his balance, I start to run. There’s a massive spruce right there. I just need to get behind it—

A contraction hits, so hard I gasp. My right boot slides. It shoots over the edge of that divot and through the ice. The contraction doubles me over before I can right myself, and my right leg plunges into the freezing water as I fall to my left knee.

Jerome grabs me by the hair and drags me away from the hole. I’m gasping, the pain of the contraction and the icy water making me want to scream. I bite it back—

No.

I let the scream out. I scream as long and hard as I can, doubling over and grabbing my stomach.

Something hits me in the cheek. There’s a crack, and I see stars as I fall. Then I’m on the ice, lying on my back, staring up at Jerome. He pulls back the gun as if to strike me again. Then he grabs my right leg. Pain crashes through me and I can’t even tell if it’s my leg or the contractions. I howl. He yanks off my one wet boot and sock and then the dry ones.

“There,” he snarls. “Problem solved. Now take off the rest.”

I can barely process his words. My head is ringing from the blow. My leg feels as if it’s on fire. I’m shivering convulsively. And all that is swept away by a sensation I can’t quite identify.

Instinct. The overwhelming need to bear down. Something almost like relief flutters through me. It’s almost over. The baby is coming, and all I need to do is bear down and the pain will end.

Jerome grabs my legs. He heaves them into the air, holding the fabric of my sweatpants and pulling, his face twisted.

I scream again, doubling over as if in pain, but I no longer feel pain. Just need. I need to have this baby, and I am not going to be able to do it like this.

That instinct takes charge, laser focused on what is standing between me and giving birth. I continue to double over, screaming and feigning agony. Jerome lifts the gun, but he seems to know a threat won’t help. I’m writhing on the ice, as if blinded and mad with the pain of labor.

He jams the gun into his waistband, grabs my pant legs again, heaves and—

I kick with my left leg, the foot slamming into his jaw. He staggers back, and I push up, ignoring the pain and shock of the ice against my bare feet. I take one step, the foot that went into the water numb. Then I hit him with both hands. He stumbles. I hit him again, falling onto him for the extra weight. When I feel him topple, I drop sideways fast, letting my entire body fall as he goes over backward.

He grunts in annoyance. That’s it. Not fear. Not concern. Just annoyance. I’ve knocked him over. Big deal. I couldn’t even manage to stay upright afterward.

Then he hits the ice—the thin ice that I’d already broken through. It crashes beneath him, and his eyes widen as he goes under.

His head and torso fall through the fishing hole, but his feet are still on the side, and as he splashes down, he manages to twist and grab the edge. He’s caught himself there, with his calves still on solid ice, and one hand holding fast, head out of the water. The hole might have been huge for ice fishing, but it’s only three feet across, and Jerome is over six feet tall.

He’d told me I could stretch over the hole, and that’s what he’s doing as he pulls his other hand out of the water. He’s trying to get a grip, but he can’t, because his hand—like my foot—is numb.

I crawl over. My body has gone quiet now, as if it knows I’m doing my best to have this baby.

I keep crawling until I reach the hand gripping the ice. Then I kneel. At first Jerome doesn’t see me. He’s too focused on getting a grip with those numb fingers. When he does, he blinks. Then he sees what’s in my hands and his eyes widen with horror, and I drink it in… before I bash the rock down onto his hand.

He screams, and the ice under his hand breaks. His torso drops under the surface. I crawl down to his feet, and with a calm that I’m sure will haunt me later, I take hold of his boots and push. He manages to flail, but it’s a weak effort, his arms barely breaking the surface. Then his feet are over the edge, and he drops fully into the water.

A contraction hits, the strongest yet, and I fall back as the world dips to black.

When the world returns, I’m lying on the ice. I manage to crawl to my coat and drag it to shore. Blood pounds in my ears. Pain fogs my vision. I can’t seem to find the energy or the will to stand. I barely make it to land and tuck in behind a sheltering rock. Then I drop the coat on the ground and fall backward onto it and scream.

I let myself scream, and it feels so damned good. Then I’m panting and shaking and the urge to bear down takes over. I struggle out of my soaked sweatpants and underwear.

Am I going to do this?

Really do it?

Alone? Beside a frozen lake?

Do I have any choice? My body says no.

Time moves slowly, me locked in this bubble of pain and instinct. Groggily, I look around. There’s a partially buried boulder behind me. I inch backward with the coat until I’m half propped on it. That feels better. Use gravity. It’s the only birth partner I’m getting.

I try to find a position there, secure but half squatting. I brace myself to push—

“Casey!”

It’s Anders.

“Here!” I manage to shout. “Fishing hole!”

Follow the trail of discarded clothing. That’s what I want to say, but it’s far too many words.

“Over here!” Anders shouts.

Is Anders telling me to come to him? Can’t really manage that right now.

I grit my teeth and focus on pushing, which is the only important thing right now. When someone runs around the bend, it’s not Anders. It’s the person he must have been shouting to.

Dalton races over, red-faced and wild-eyed. Then he sees me and stops so short, it’d be comical if I weren’t really focused on giving birth.

“Baby’s coming,” I manage. “Now.”

He just stares, unable even to muster a curse, apparently. Then Anders shoves past him and says, “Holy shit!”

“Having a baby,” I grunt.

“I see that.”

He runs over, and Dalton snaps from his shock and runs toward me.

“Position?” I get out.

“You’re in a good one,” Anders says. “Squatting. Taking advantage of gravity.”

“Meant the baby.”

He gives a short laugh. “Right. Eric? Can you get behind her? Give her something more comfortable to lean against? Give her your hands, too.”

Dalton nods. “To squeeze.”

“Or break,” Anders says as he crouches in front of me. “Depends on how much she blames you for her current predicament. Case? You’re going to need to excuse me sticking my head between your legs.”

“Absolutely my last concern right now.”

Dalton moves me forward gently as he gets in behind me and helps support me by holding my hands. Anders peers up from the ground.

“In position?” I grunt.

“Either the baby is in perfect position or your kid has a very hairy ass.”

I let out a whooping laugh of relief.

“I see a little head,” Anders says. “Covered in black hair. Though it might not feel so little right now.”

“It does not,” I say.

“Remember this is the toughest part, and it’s already well underway. Also, from the looks of that hole in the ice, you just drowned a serial killer while giving birth. This part’s a piece of cake.”

No, it’s not a piece of cake. But it’s easier than I expected, and I presume that’s the endorphin rush from escaping Jerome, coupled with the relief of having both Dalton and Anders here. I’m not alone, and the baby is in position, and I can do this. I can really do this.

There’s a lot of screaming. Anders helps me time the pushes and reminds me to use my abs to push out and away. Dalton just holds me and tells me how much he loves me and that it’ll all be over soon. That last part is what I really want to hear at this moment. It will be over soon. I can feel that. The baby is right there, and I just need to push harder and—

“We have a head!” Anders says. “Just a little more and… She’s out!”

“Clear her airways,” I croak. “You need to—”

“Got it. April made us all go through the basics last month, remember? Cut the cord. Clear her—”

The baby’s howl swallows his last words, and then Dalton’s helping me to the ground, atop my coat, as Anders holds out a tiny screaming baby with a shock of black hair.

“A girl,” I say. “It’s a girl.”

“And I will not say I told you so,” Dalton says.

My eyes fill as I turn to him, and his arms go around me and he hugs us both, as tight as he can.