Fae #2
A low laugh cuts through my sentence and I freeze. The chain slips from my hands as I slowly lift my gaze, the frantic rush of hope draining out of my chest as I take in the expression spreading across his wrinkled face.
“Oh, Fae,” he murmurs as he steps further into the room, closing the door behind him. “You always did have such a vivid imagination.”
Confusion roots me to the spot.
My mind struggles to reconcile what I’m hearing with what I’m seeing. The fog from the drugs still clings to my thoughts. It slows everything down until the unease arrives before the understanding does.
I shake my head, as my brow pulls tight and I take in his posture properly for the first time.
This isn’t the stance of someone rushing in to save me.
His hands are steady, balancing a silver tray laid neatly with breakfast and drinks.
His body is loose and composed. The dark suit he wears is cut perfectly to his body and the fabric sits flawlessly against his six-foot-two frame.
There isn’t a single sign of urgency in him.
His blue eyes meet mine and they gleam back with quiet amusement.
The sight of it makes my stomach drop.
“No,” I whisper as realisation hits me like ice water. “No… no, no!”
He turns before setting the tray down on the bedside table with a soft clink. He doesn’t rush. He doesn’t look concerned. If anything, he looks perfectly calm, like a father checking on a sick child.
“It’s you, isn’t it?” I whisper before clearing my throat. “You’re the fucking boss?”
“Eh,” he waves a hand as he turns back to me, “I’m a boss of many things, sweet girl.”
“Where’s Roman?” I demand as tears blur my vision.
Was Roman in on this too? Is he the reason Fisher has been raping me for weeks?
Horror rips through my chest as the chain around my ankle clanks against the floor when I stumble backwards.
My brain can’t comprehend that the man I fell in love with is the same reason I’ve been living through this nightmare.
“Roman is exactly where I need him to be. Doing exactly what I trained him to do,” Mr Longstaff sighs.
Nausea slams into me so suddenly it steals the strength from my legs. The room tilts and I have to fight the urge to fold in on myself. I shake my head, forcing my knees to stay locked, as my nails bite into my palms and I hold myself upright through sheer stubbornness.
“And what exactly is that?” I ask, steeling my shoulders, even though my thoughts are already spiralling ahead of the answer.
This whole time I believed Roman was looking for me.
That he would find me. That he was tearing the world apart trying to get me back.
Was I wrong to trust him? To love him? Does he even care?
A tear slips free before I can stop it and I swipe angrily at my cheek.
Mr Longstaff must see it because he steps closer.
When he reaches toward my face I instinctively pull back, but he’s faster.
His fingers slide through my hair with quiet familiarity, tucking a loose strand behind my ear before brushing away another tear that escapes.
The gesture is so eerily similar to Roman that I let out a choked sob and my hand flies to my mouth, pressing hard against my lips to stop any more from escaping.
“Aww, sweetheart, did you think he was looking for you?” Mr Longstaff asks, his tone coated in artificial sweetness.
I whimper.
Mr Longstaff’s smile shifts. His hand moves suddenly, fingers clamping around my jaw and forcing my face upward. His grip is hard enough that pain sparks along my cheekbones.
“He was,” he hisses. “Foolish really. No matter how much I led him away, he kept crawling back to you.” He tilts his head and studies me. “I still do not know what he sees in you.”
Longstaff sighs. “Alas, he is looking for your father now. I made sure of that. It’s much easier to lead a dog when you give him a scent to follow.”
There is a flicker of relief that Roman is not part of this before it is swallowed by confusion. “Wait, what do you mean my father?”
“That’s irrelevant,” he shrugs again. “You can thank Roman for being alive though. You’ve caused me many issues, Fae.”
“Not enough,” I spit through gritted teeth.
“Roman will kill you when he finds out,” I say although deep down I don’t know how true that is.
“Stupid girl,” he tuts, soft with irritation. “I am his blood, and when I save his heir, you become irrelevant.”
My mind blanks. The words refuse to arrange themselves into anything that makes sense. His gaze drifts slowly down my body, deliberate and unhurried, until it settles on my stomach.
“What?” I blink.
“Once the doctor comes in to confirm, we can plan accordingly. I hope for your sake you’re pregnant, because if you’re not… you won’t have very long to live.”
His hand moves before I can react, settling against my stomach with a slow, affectionate caress that makes my skin crawl. My mind begins racing as thoughts collide so fast they barely make sense. Is he implying I’m pregnant? With Roman’s child?
I try to calculate backwards through the fog in my head, grasping for any sign I might have missed.
I know I haven’t had a period since I was taken.
I remember the nausea, the exhaustion, but I thought it was stress.
Then the darker thought pushes in; Fisher never used protection and I certainly didn’t take my pills.
Bile rises in the back of my throat. But if that’s true…
why would Roman’s dad believe the child is his?
Before I can find the words to ask, his hand closes around the cuff at my wrist. The chain jerks as he pulls me away from the bathroom doorway.
I stumble forward, barely catching my footing as he drags me across the carpet toward the small table set beside the bed.
The metal rattles behind me with every step.
He stops when we reach the chair and presses a firm hand down on my shoulder, forcing me into it before I can resist.
Only then does he turn his attention to the tray waiting on the table beside us. He slides it neatly into place in front of me. The plates shift with a quiet clink as he arranges them with deliberate care.
“But first,” he says softly, and his eyes drift down to my stomach again. “You need to eat.”
A pause follows before his gaze lifts back to mine.
“For my grandson.”
I just stare at him. My stomach twists as the possibilities crash into each other. Roman’s child. Fisher’s child. I don’t know which answer would destroy me faster. My hand lifts without thinking, hovering just above my stomach, and his eyes follow the movement as he flashes me a cruel smile.
Then it clicks.
The silk sheets. The clean clothes. The locked door.
I’m not just his prisoner.
I’m his incubator.