Chapter 26 Annie
ANNIE
The test sits on the bathroom counter, face down, while I count to sixty, my hands shaking.
They’ve been shaking since I pulled the box out of the bag that Diane brought me. She'd been discreet about it, tucking it into a grocery bag with other supplies so that the other guards wouldn’t notice. But I'd seen the concern in her eyes when I'd asked her to pick it up.
I’m glad I didn’t have to ask one of the men, at least.
Sixty.
I reach for the test with trembling fingers and flip it over.
Diane got me two of the expensive ones. The ones that say pregnant in the window instead of making you decipher lines while you’re undergoing one of the most insane moments of your life.
And I’m both so fucking grateful that she did, and ready to throw up again when I see the single word in the tiny window.
Clear as day. Unmistakable.
I'm pregnant.
The test slips from my fingers and clatters into the sink. I grip the edge of the counter, my knees suddenly weak, my breath coming in short gasps. I feel briefly dizzy, as if I’m going to pass out.
I'm pregnant.
With Elio's baby.
The man I’ve loved since I was sixteen. The man I ran to when I didn’t know where else to go. The man I married.
The man who left and told me that there’s no way for us to be together that doesn’t end in blood and ruin for us both.
A sob catches in my throat, and I press my hand to my mouth to hold it back. This can't be happening. He came inside me once. Just once.
I guess that Catholic school health class wasn’t lying when they said once was all it takes.
A hysterical, sobbing laugh bursts from my lips as I press my hand to my mouth, thinking back to when my last period was. I’m barely pregnant. Less than two weeks. Early. So early that if I wanted to—
No.
The thought crystallizes immediately, instinctively. I press my hand to my still-flat stomach, and despite everything—despite the fear and uncertainty and heartbreak—something fierce and protective surges through me.
This is my baby. Mine and Elio's.
And I'm keeping it.
But what does that mean? It’s not going to fix any of the problems that Elio and I have gone over until they’re beaten to death. It doesn’t change what he said when he left. He said we have to end this, get a divorce, go back to our separate lives. He said there's no future for us.
How do I tell him he's going to be a father?
How do I tell Ronan he's going to be an uncle—by the man he considers a brother, the man who's been lying to him for days?
How the fuck are we going to hide this now? Get a divorce? End all of this without telling Ronan? Without him killing Elio for lying to him and marrying me without permission?
The magnitude of it all crashes over me, and I sink down onto the closed toilet lid, burying my face in my hands. Everything is such a mess. Everything I've touched has turned into disaster.
If I'd gone to Ronan from the start instead of running to Elio, we could have figured out another solution. If I hadn’t tried to protect him. If I’d just gone home.
None of this would have happened.
But I wouldn’t have had those days with Elio.
I wouldn’t have gotten back what we lost so long ago.
And I don’t think any of it was fake, no matter what he might want me to believe to make this “easier.” The way he looked at me, touched me, held me—that wasn't fake.
His feelings were real, even if the situation made them impossible.
But impossible doesn't make me any less pregnant.
I stand up on shaky legs and look at myself in the mirror. I look like hell—pale, red-eyed from crying, hair a mess. But I stare at my reflection, and I make a decision.
This is my baby. My life. My choice.
And I'm going to fight for it.
If Elio wants to walk away when all this is said and done, fine. He can do that. But I’m not going to let fear keep us from having a life together, from having our child. If he loves me, he’ll fight for me. And I’ll fight for him.
Ronan will have to listen. He fought for his wife, for Leila. Surely he’ll understand. Surely he’ll forgive Elio if I ask for it.
I wash my face, pull my hair back into a ponytail. I start to turn to leave the bathroom, and I hear a dim sound from what seems to be downstairs. Out in the hall, maybe. Shouting?
I think I hear the sound of heavy thudding. Not footsteps, but something heavier. I freeze in place, my heart pounding in my chest suddenly. A chill runs down my spine. "Diane? Diego?"
No answer.
I take a hesitant step out into my bedroom. “Diane? Is anyone there?”
There’s silence. Not the usual kind—it feels heavy, tense, like the calm before a storm. And then I hear the sound of wood breaking, a door slamming inward from downstairs.
I clap my hands over my mouth, stifling a scream as I back toward the closet. Toward somewhere, anywhere to hide, to—
I've barely made it three steps when a figure appears in the doorway of the bedroom.
Desmond Connelly.
He's smiling, a victorious expression stretched across his face—a face that once, I somehow thought was handsome. "Hello, Annie."
I freeze, every muscle locking up with terror. There's a gun in his hand, I realize, pointed casually in my direction.
"Stay right there," he says pleasantly, like we're meeting for coffee. "We need to have a little chat."
"How did you—" My voice comes out as a whisper. "The guards—"
"Dead." He says it so matter-of-factly that it takes a moment to process.
"All of them. It wasn't even difficult, really.
Your precious Elio should have posted more if he wanted to keep you safe.
But then again, I paid to make sure I had more men at my disposal than he could have planned for.
Money has been no object when it comes to making sure I found you, Annie. "
Dead. Diane, Vince, maybe, possibly Diego… all of them. The people who've been protecting me, dead because I was here.
"Don't look so upset." Desmond steps into the room, and I back away instinctively. "They were soldiers. They knew what they signed up for. Besides, we both know this is really your fault."
"My fault?" The words come out as a gasp.
"Of course." He's still smiling, still moving closer. "If you'd just accepted everything I had to offer you in the first place, none of this would have been necessary. But no—you had to run. Had to throw yourself at Elio and let him play hero. Had to ruin everything."
"I didn't—"
"Didn't what? Didn't marry him?" He laughs, and the sound makes my blood run cold. "Oh, I know all about that, sweetheart. Did you really think I wouldn't find out? What a little whore. Almost marrying me and then saying I do to someone else minutes later. You think I’d stop just because he fucked you. You ruined my plan, sure. But now I’m not going to try to make you my wife. I’m just going to go to plan B. "
I can't breathe. Can't think. Fear crashes through me, making me feel as if I’m drowning.
"Here's what's going to happen," Desmond continues conversationally. "You're going to come with me. Nice and quiet. No screaming, no fighting. If you cooperate, I might let you live long enough to see what I have planned for your brother and your lover."
"I'm not going anywhere with you." I try to sound brave, but my voice shakes.
"Oh, I think you will." He raises the gun, pointing it directly at my chest. "Because the alternative is I shoot you right here, right now. And I don’t think you want to die."
I glance toward the nightstand, looking for my phone. If I could get to it, if I could somehow call Elio—
Desmond follows my gaze and laughs. "Looking for this?"
He pulls the phone from his pocket with his free hand and tosses it to the floor. Then he brings his boot down on it, crushing it into pieces. I close my eyes. I must have left it downstairs. Fuck.
"Elio's not going to save you, sweetheart. Neither is your brother. You're all alone now. Just you and me."
"They'll find me." I force the words out. "They'll come for me."
"I'm counting on it." His smile widens. "That's the whole point.
You see, I've been thinking a lot about revenge lately. About how to hurt the people who've hurt me. And I realized—I want them to suffer. Really suffer. I’m not mad about the marriage. Really. I think my new plan is much better, actually.”
He takes another step closer, and I press back against the wall.
"I'm going to take you somewhere safe," he continues. "And then I'm going to let them know exactly who has you. I'm going to make them come for you, make them desperate and reckless. And when they arrive—" He makes a gun gesture with his free hand. "Bang. I'll kill them both while you watch."
"No." The word comes out as a sob. "Please—"
"Please what?" He smiles cruelly. "Please don't hurt the man who stole what was going to be mine?
Please don't kill the brother who's responsible for neglecting my sister? For her death? Why should I show them mercy when they've shown me none? When they haven’t given a single shit about what I’ve been through.”
"This isn't about them." I'm crying now, tears streaming down my face. "This is about me. If you want revenge, take it out on me. Let them go."
"But that wouldn't hurt enough." He rocks back on his heels, the gun still trained on me. "See, if I just killed you, they'd be sad. They'd mourn. But they'd move on eventually. But if I make them watch you suffer, make them try and fail to save you, make them live with the knowledge that they got you killed—that's going to hurt so much more before they die. I think you’re right, actually. I’ll make them watch while I enjoy you. I’ll hurt you while I do it. And then I’ll let you bleed out, just on the edge of death, before I kill them. I’ll make sure they know they failed and make sure you watch them die. That you watch each other die.”
"You're insane,” I whisper, my face pale. I feel cold, shaking all over.