Chapter 1 #4
But without any money, what good will that do?
Babies need clothes. I need food so I can produce milk.
And who would take in someone who looks like me?
Someone with a torn buckskin dress and reeking with the stench of sex.
No one respectable, that’s who. I’d wind up back in the same situation—having to whore myself out in addition to protecting my baby from being molested.
Is this really the best that life has to offer us?
Just like that, every last bit of hope dries up. Christ, I’m such a fool for thinking things would be better if I could get away. There’s no one waiting for me. No one to hold me tight and tell me they love me.
Swing low, sweet chariot.
I’m all alone now.
Forgotten.
Cast aside.
Spreading my legs, I shift on my bruised ass in a vain attempt at getting comfortable while I suffer in silence.
Wetness trickles down my thigh again. God, how much of himself did Crowley leave in my ass?
I look down and curl my nose. Huh. The growing circle on my dress makes it look like I pissed myself.
I pass a thumb over the edge of the blade still clenched in my fingers.
A bit dull, but it was still able to cut through rope.
My gaze slips down to my wrist as my baby moves inside me again.
The thin layer of skin shouldn’t be a problem.
“It’s not too late. I can still save us both,” I whisper through harsh breaths.
Just two simple cuts and I could close my eyes and fall asleep in peace.
That’s what I’m going to do. “Don’t worry, baby.
” The knife scrapes my wrist as I bring it closer.
“We’ll be together soon and we’ll be free. ”
Just like Dove and the boy. I can leave this world without the burden of its future on my conscience.
Swing low, sweet chariot, coming for to carry me—
“It’s all safe to get out—whoa, ma’am. Are you okay?”
I jump in surprise at the very male voice, and the knife drops with a clatter as a man’s dark head peeks into the wagon.
His gaze runs over the mess of boxes and then to me, pausing briefly on my pregnant belly before homing in on the knife.
Why is he looking at me like that? He couldn’t possibly know what I had planned.
“Does it look like I’m okay?” I snap on the wave of another cramp, irritated that he interrupted me.
“Don’t you worry. I’m gonna get you all taken care of,” he soothes as if I didn’t bite his head off. “Let me just get Abner’s knife out of your way. Don’t want you having a little mishap with it.”
No. I bite back a cry as he slips my promise of freedom into his pocket. I need that.
“I’m Warren. What’s your name, darlin’?”
“Don’t—agh,” I clutch my belly as the pain swells and then ebbs.
“I’m not your damn darling.” Doesn’t matter that he’s one of the best-looking men I’ve seen in my lifetime with his dark brown hair and chiseled jawline.
He’s still a man, and he still has a cock.
Even men with the faces of angels can hide the cruelest of thoughts behind their beauty.
“Uh, guys?” he calls out over his shoulder to Dove and the man kissing behind him. “That’s all sweet and stuff, but we’ve got a problem back here. I think we’ve got a baby who wants to come into the world in the next little bit.”
“I’ll go with you,” Dove says worriedly. But when her husband growls something, I’m assuming that’s a no. It shouldn’t surprise me, but I can’t stop my cynical smile. Nobody wants to take care of things that aren’t their problem. And why would they?
“Hey, it’s gonna be okay,” Warren says softly.
An approaching hand enters my vision.
A tanned hand as brown as my own.
His hand.
No.
No more unwanted touches. Not now or ever again.
I instinctively jerk back and snarl, “Don’t touch me.”
As if I’d threatened to bite his fingers off, he freezes and stares at me.
Christ, why did I do that? He’s probably going to slap me for it.
Let him. I’ve had worse and definitely prefer it over some of the other things I’ve been punished with.
I stiffen my shoulders and wait defiantly, staring at him with all the hatred I can muster.
But his lips don’t tighten in anger. His hovering fingers don’t clench into a fist. Instead, his face falls with what looks to be sympathy.
That makes me even angrier, though. He doesn’t know the utter hell I’ve been through, but I don’t need a man feeling sorry for me.
“I’m not gonna hurt you.” Soft brown eyes hold my hard blue ones hostage for long seconds, searching deep inside me for something that I don’t understand.
“But I am gonna take care of you whether you like it or not.” His arm drops, but his gaze stays intently fastened on me as he eases away.
“Now you sit tight and let me get you to a doctor. Come on, Abner. Here’s your pocketknife. Must have dropped it.”
I fall back against a crate with a broken sigh of misery. He’s going to take care of me, he says, but what will it cost me in return?
Nothing in life is free.