Chapter 21
TWENTY-ONE
Ella
After Kingston finished in my mouth, his hand thick and heavy in my hair, I had just enough time to take a very fast shower and grab a change of clothes for Gianna’s house. I figure it would be extremely tacky to arrive smelling like sex and come.
The ride over to Gianna and Tommy’s complex in Old Thirty-Three goes by quickly and quietly. Cora and a new guy are my guards tonight, although Cora explained they’ll have to switch shifts midway through the night.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t think about what a sleepover would do for you guys. Once I’m safely tucked in, couldn’t you take off?”
“That’s not how this works,” she says, sending me a reassuring grin as Keith, the new guy, winds us through the city streets. “This is our job, and you’re paying Ironwood good money for us to do it. Don’t feel bad for living your life.”
Words to live by. I’m finding it easier not to feel bad, the longer I stay with Kingston and Sebastian. Those two make me feel like I deserve more than I’d been getting.
They’ve been giving me so much—not only of their hearts, but of their bodies, as well. I’m glad I cleaned up before leaving the penthouse, or I’d be blushing at that thought, worried about whether the bodyguards and Gianna would be able to tell what my guys and I had gotten up to.
When we arrive at the apartment and Gianna opens the door for me, though, she just laughs. “You’re positively glowing. I don’t want to know what you were doing before you came over.”
“I won’t kiss and tell,” I say primly.
“Come on in,” she says.
Keith holds up a hand. “We just need to check the premises first.”
“Oh, right, sorry.” Gianna fiddles with the black tunic dress she’s wearing. It’s barely doing the job of covering her thighs, so she has it paired with light gray leggings. “Where are you two going to stay? I don’t have an extra room…”
“We have folding chairs,” Cora says with an easy smile. “We’ll be right out here until our shift is over in a few hours and we’re relieved.”
“Wow,” Gianna says. “Okay. Well, if you need the bathroom or a glass of water or anything, mi casa es su casa.”
Keith comes back to the door and says, “Everything is clear. Miss, you may want to get a better lock for your balcony door—it looks a little flimsy.”
“Oh, okay,” she says. “Thanks.” She winces slightly.
“Another contraction?” I ask.
With a forced smile, she says, “Yeah.”
“And how do you know it’s false and not the real thing?”
“They’re too far apart, and there’s no real rhythm to them. I think.” She frowns, rubbing her stomach. “Well, let’s go get the movie started. And that ice cream isn’t going to eat itself.”
I’m only somewhat reassured by Gianna’s response. Then again, she knows more about all of this childbirth stuff than I do. I never even got around to looking up tips on how to be a good friend in the delivery room. Tomorrow, first thing.
Gianna gets us each a large bowl of ice cream and shows me a few movie options. Her “shortlist,” she calls it. I pick a spy comedy featuring a female comedian who always makes me laugh, and we settle in to enjoy.
The movie is silly and suspenseful with just a hint of romance.
I know it’s going to end well, and that reassurance has me enjoying myself even more.
It’s what I like about Sammie Starr’s romances, too—everything will turn out well in the end.
I’ve heard people criticize romance for being too predictable.
Heck no, that’s what appeals to me. Predictability means I can enjoy myself while watching the story unfold.
Same with mystery and spy movies like this one. I’ll get the answer in the end, and good will triumph.
Sure enough, it does.
“Are you tired?” I ask Gianna, as the credits roll.
“Not really. Want to start another one?”
It’s nearing midnight. Normally, I’d be winding down for bed around now, but I don’t want to abandon Gianna, so I shrug and say, “Sure, why not?”
Every now and then, Gianna runs her hands over her swollen belly. Her eyes tighten in pain, too. I wonder if there’s some way I can look up “signs you’re in labor” without her knowing that I’m doing it. It’s not that I doubt her maternal instincts, it’s just…she really seems to be in denial.
“I’m getting some water, do you want anything?” I ask Gianna.
“No, thanks, I’m good.”
As I pass the flimsy front door of the apartment, I hear Cora checking in with Ironwood, her voice low. “Yes, everything’s quiet. Landlord knows we’re here, and there shouldn’t be any problems.”
That’s what I like to hear. While I run the tap, I take my phone from my pocket and pull up the internet browser. One-handed, I type in “signs labor is starting.”
Well, most of this stuff I wouldn’t have any idea about.
Does Gianna feel like she has to poop? That’s probably not something she’d volunteer to share with me.
She hasn’t mentioned a backache, but it does seem difficult for her to get comfortable.
Then again, I’m guessing it would be difficult for anyone to be comfortable when they appear to be a thousand months pregnant.
The “false” contractions are what’s concerning me, though.
“Did you find the glasses?” Gianna calls.
“Yep! Be right there,” I say.
The internet has failed me. Maybe I should have asked it “Is Gianna Forrester going into labor right this minute?” Because that’s what I really need to know.
I hurry back into the living room, half-expecting to see Gianna on her back, legs in the air, and pushing out a baby. But she’s simply resting her ice cream bowl on her stomach and watching the show.
“You missed a funny part,” she says. “Want me to rewind it?”
“Nah.” I settle next to her on the couch.
“I’m glad you’re here, Ella,” she says.
“Me, too.”
Just as the spies on the screen rappel down a building and smash into one of the windows, the loud sound of glass breaking behind us makes us both jump in our seats.
“What was that?” I whisper.
“It sounded like a window breaking,” Gianna says, her green-blue eyes wide with fear.
I could just be paranoid, but my gut is telling me to get to my bodyguards immediately, because that sound wasn’t the neighbor’s apartment or something else—it came from Gianna and Tommy’s bedroom.
Jumping up, I run for the front door.
At the same moment, two large men appear in the hallway, guns drawn.
“Cora! Keith!” I scream.
The front door bangs open, nearly hitting me in the face. Keith stands there. Cora’s lying on the ground behind him, her eyes closed, head tilted at an unnatural angle, her short braids askew.
“Keith, help,” I say, pointing.
He shakes his head. “Do you know how long we’ve waited for an opportunity like this one?”
Gianna’s picking up her phone, but one of the guys from the hallway advances, his mouth twisted in a sneer. “Drop the phone.”
Gianna drops the phone.
Mine is on the coffee table next to Gianna’s. Shit. Is Cora okay? This can’t be happening. This is why I have bodyguards, so shit like this can’t happen.
But one of those bodyguards is a…a fake? How’d he even get through Ironwood’s background check? Damn, this doesn’t make any sense.
“We were just going to grab the girlfriend tonight,” one of the guys says, poking his gun into my back. “Imagine our delight when we found out we could get the sister, too.”
Yes, I’m just fucking filled with delight.
“You may as well let us go,” I say. “It’s only a matter of time before the rest of Ironwood comes down on you.”
“They’ll bring your boyfriends too, right?” one of the guys says. “Yeah, we’ve been watching. We know you’re fucking them both. Tell me, do they fuck each other, too? I bet they do. I’d pay to see them fucking you, but why pay them to do it when we have plenty of guys here?”
This is disgusting.
“Get out,” I say. “Just get the fuck out of here while you still can.”
“You talk big,” Keith says, still blocking the door. “But you’re just a little girl, aren’t you.”
My stomach turns. Did he hear Kingston call me that? Probably. Sick fuck. He probably gets off on watching and listening.
“You know what?” I say. “I am so fucking over assholes like you trying to make ‘little girl’ sound like a bad thing. It is not . My men treat me like a queen, so fuck you.”
He just laughs, and so do the other two guys. The two men go to the couch and roughly grab Gianna by the arms, hauling her up to standing.
I lock eyes with Gianna. She looks really scared, and I suspect I look the same way. I grip the doorframe. My knuckles are white with the effort of keeping myself together.
Just beyond the door, Cora’s still lying on the ground, unmoving.
“Did you kill her?” I whisper.
“Come downstairs,” Keith says, not answering my question. “You make one fucking sound, and I shoot her in the stomach.”
He points to Gianna’s pregnant belly with his gun. She pales and nearly falls down in fear, but the guys hoist her upright once more.
“Please,” she whispers. “Please, please don’t hurt my baby.”
Keith and the other two guys bring us out of the apartment.
I try to bend over to check Cora’s pulse, but Keith yanks my arm so hard, it wrenches me away.
I hold in my cry of pain, not wanting to endanger Gianna’s baby.
He said he’d shoot her in the stomach. From the cold, calculating look in his eyes, I fully believe he’d do it.
The men usher us down the open corridor. I pray for someone to look out their windows or doors, but it’s late at night and most of the windows are dark. The few apartments with their lights on have thick blinds or curtains covering the view.
We go down the stairs to the ground level. I’m in front with Keith. The men aren’t slowing down. We need to go slower for Gianna. I turn around to look behind me and see she’s rushing along, her eyes wide with fear, sweat gathering on her forehead and temples.
“Please slow down for her,” I say.
Keith doesn’t even turn around. “Shut up. She’s fine.”
They bring us to the parking lot, where a huge black SUV is idling by the curb.
The back door opens.
Never get into a car with a kidnapper , my dad said. Fight like hell .
So I fight like hell. I kick back with my heel, ignoring the sharp pain I get when it makes contact with one of the guys’ knees.
I use my elbow against Keith’s gut. Unfortunately, the guy’s made of pure muscle and it doesn’t even faze him.
He tries to wrestle me into the car, but I kick and flail.
He hits me in the face. I try to dodge, which makes his punch catch me in the eye instead of the jaw, where I think he intended.
I open my mouth to scream and he hits me again. I taste blood as my lip splits under the impact.
“Help me get her in there,” Keith growls to someone in the van.
Rough hands pull me back by my shoulders. I twist and reach back, trying to get someone’s face with my fingernails.
“Enough,” Keith says, holding up his gun.
He isn’t pointing it at me, though. He’s pointing it at Gianna’s temple.
She pees herself in fear, the liquid darkening her light gray leggings and puddling beneath her on the curb.
“Disgusting,” the guys say, stepping away from her while holding tight to her arm. He doesn’t have to hold her too tightly—it’s not like she’s about to run anywhere, not in her condition.
“Get in the car, or I shoot her,” Keith says.
I give up. I can handle being hit, but I won’t risk the baby or Gianna.
My dad said to fight like hell.
I fought…and I lost.