Rage

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Safe

Sarah

“ M y raven,” Zaiden croons in my ear as I remain hunched over the toilet seat, dots filling my vision. Closing my eyes and inhaling deeply, I remind myself that I wanted this, to experience every high and low of pregnancy.

Sariel .

My forehead presses into the forearm balanced on the lip of the seat.

Three IVFs. Two failures and one early miscarriage. Tears sting my closed eyes. I wanted to name her Sariel as soon as I’d heard the heartbeat on the monitor at seven weeks.

Cramping woke me up three weeks later, blood coating my thighs.

I sniffle and strong hands pry me off the toilet. Zaiden turns me around and pulls me onto his lap, chin resting on top of my head. He hums, rocking me a little.

I didn’t used to be a big crier. Pregnancy made a mockery of that little badge of honor. I worked NICU for a little while and held my tears in when receiving orders to cease care. Now, I cry at watching those pet commercials urging people to adopt.

“How can I make it better?” my fiancé asks, voice coming out rough, like my pain is infecting him, too.

“It’ll pass. It’s just nausea,” I lie. Vomiting doesn’t explain my red nose and watery eyes.

This baby is everything and each moment, I’m reminded of how precarious my life and it is.

It. Am I a coward for refusing to think of them as a her or him until they’re in my arms?

At seven months, we definitely should know the gender, but I’d urged Dr. Morigan to keep it a secret. Ever the supportive partner, Zaiden agreed to wait as well.

When I’m not puking, groaning from back aches or complaining about my swelling feet, we have fun bouncing around names.

Zade remains his first pick, and it’s growing on me.

A dark brow climbs his forehead, and his disbelieving expression speaks volumes. I flush. I would’ve bet money I know him better than he knows me, but maybe my arrogance is a little premature.

“Let’s get you into bed, then. Maybe lying down will help. I’ll heat up some soup—” I laugh, shaking my head at him.

“That’s not necessary. And women go to work while pregnant all the time. I need to get dressed, not lie down. Help me?” I ask, blinking coquettishly up at him.

Full lips turn down in a frown, pulling at the corners of his scars.

We are not having this argument again. Yes, I have vacation days saved up, but I’m not using them to go on maternity leave early.

Besides, as an expecting mother myself, who better to relate to my patients?

“Zaiden—”

“Fine,” he growls, rising suddenly, strong arms securing me to his chest and the precious cargo I’m carrying.

“But the minute you feel unwell, you’ll come home,” he states. It’s a demand, not a question. I sigh, letting my head rest against his bare chest and inhaling his woodsy scent. Nearly gone is the frightfully insecure male I brought home all those months ago.

He’s settled into his new skin like the reptiles he’s fond of, balancing firmness and gentleness, as if he’s always been this way. My lips fight a smile, already envisioning the amazing parent he’ll be to our child.

“Yes, sir,” I mock grumble, letting the smile spread across my face. He snorts, but his lips twitch as well.

We both know I’ll always do what’s best for our child, a job be damned. I enjoy what I do and the lives I improve and occasionally save, but the hospital would have my replacement within twenty-four hours if I died from pregnancy complications.

My family, this family we’re building, will always be my priority.

Zaiden

Fingernails bite into my palms, harsh breaths leaving my lips.

“Something isn’t right.”

“Go after her.”

I ignore the voices, but dammit! They sound right. They sound real.

Sarah won’t hear of me encouraging her to quit going to work months before she’s due. She insists on going to the hospital and being what those women need, women in the same boat as herself.

Fuck!

She’s seven months pregnant, waddling around the house and exhaustion tugging at her whenever I look her way. She shouldn’t be at work.

But unless I “kidnap” her, again, she’ll continue going into work Monday through Friday.

Buzzing from my pocket draws me from the anxieties plaguing my mind ever since I looked online at all the potential things that could go wrong. I had no clue.

But, she did.

This makes her happy? The possibility that she could die, leaving me alone?

The buzzing starts up again and I pull my phone out, frowning at my twin’s name across the screen. Zachary. Only my future sister-in-law is allowed to call him Dalton.

My finger slides across the screen before I think better of it. Out of the two brothers I have in the country, he’s the one who unnerves me the most. Schizophrenia doesn’t lend its sheen to the maniacal gleam in his eyes, eyes a similar shade to my own.

It’s something else, something darker, that lurks in my twin’s mind.

“Hello,” I say, wincing at the whimpers sounding out in the background.

“Sup, bro? Whatcha doin’?” he asks with mock jovialness. My eyes narrow, jaw clenching. My cousin, Xander, told me Zac is like Xavier, needling people around him for a reaction. Except, I’m not most people and he should fucking cut it out.

“What do you want?” I barely hold back the snarl in my voice, providing him with exactly what he wants.

“To hangout. You know, Zaine told me what you did,” he coos. My fingers tighten around the phone. “We’re the same, bro. Come over, come have fun with me.”

“Zac, I don’t?—”

“He’s not an innocent,” he says, voice losing all pretense of cheer. There it is, that lethal steel I’d expect from my serial killer twin.

“Explain,” I say, glancing around the empty living room. I’m off today, no psychiatric appointments scheduled, and Dr. Shaw and I aren’t due for our walk until next week.

What the hell else would I do with my free-time other than spending it upstairs, listening to the sliding of scales and flutter of wings?

Sarah says I should get out more, interact with people outside of the house. Zachary is outside of the house.

“You know I took Zaine’s advice and my Nat doesn’t feel sorry for the trash I’m cleaning up. He’s a predator. Well, I’m a bigger predator. So, are you in?”

Am I?

“What did he do?” I ask, but I already suspect I know the answer to both his question and my own. Zaine urged Zachary to quit killing indiscriminately, to go after criminals, like men who prey on women.

Unlike him, I don’t possess that same urge to kill. I struggle with my schizophrenia and medication has helped, but it never drove me to murder. A different beast–a different facet of mental wellness–drove me to that. Grief. Months later, I can see how it drove me to do those things, to take Sarah, to listen to the words of a dying woman because I had nothing left to cling to. My mother demanded I find my brothers and a large part of me took joy in hurting other doctors to accomplish that. In my mind, they’d failed both of us.

But Dr. Shaw and Sarah have brought me more clarity than I could’ve hoped for.

I miss you, Mama.

Unbidden, Sarah’s tearful face flashes in my mind. What if we’re having a daughter and not a boy like my illness has convinced me we are?

My nostrils flare, waiting for Zac’s answer. I’ll make this city safe, safe for my Sarah and any potential children we have after this one.

Me, a father to a daughter? My twin won’t be the only predator cleaning out the trash.

“I didn’t hunt this one with Nat like I usually do. I was minding my own business, leaving Rhys’ bar, when I heard crying.” He lets out a sigh, and it’s so un-Zachary like. He doesn’t care about other people’s tears, just Natalia’s.

I’ve told Dr. Shaw about my twin and he says it’s probably difficult for him to experience things like sympathy and compassion, that he has an illness, too, but it’s different from mine.

“I called the cops. I know, I’m a real good Samaritan, right? But she got him good. He left a bloody little trail and you know what? I keep chloroform on hand for situations like this. So, are you going to bond with me over teaching this piece of meat the error of his ways?” Zac’s voice wavers slightly and I wonder if there’s more to it.

Does he genuinely want my company, maybe?

“I’m in,” I say with finality. Sarah doesn’t have to know. She just needs to feel safer. And we’ll make it safe for her, for our children.