1. GEORGIE #2
My thoughts feel sluggish, struggling to push through the fog of exhaustion and shock. This information should devastate me—should cut deep that Mom got married and divorced without bothering to mention either event to her only child.
But honestly? The wound barely registers. Just another disappointment in a long line of maternal letdowns. Another reminder that I've never been Ellen's priority.
Meanwhile, my traitorous brain continues cataloging every detail about the man standing before me. The dangerous man. The notorious crime boss. The person probably responsible for violence and death and things that would make me sick if I knew the specifics.
The way his jacket fits suggests custom tailoring, expensive fabric that drapes perfectly across those impossibly broad shoulders. His hands are large, scarred across the knuckles—evidence of fights won, damage inflicted.
God, he's gorgeous.
The thought arrives completely uninvited and thoroughly inappropriate given literally everything about this situation. Heat creeps up my neck.
And weirdly—so weirdly it makes absolutely no sense given everything I know about Gavin Gates and everything I should be feeling right now—fear doesn't touch me.
Concerned? Absolutely. My heart still hammers against my ribs, adrenaline singing through my veins.
Confused? That doesn't even begin to cover the tangle of questions ricocheting through my skull.
But afraid? No. Not of him.
Which might make me the stupidest person alive.
The pain strikes again—sudden, vicious, impossible to hide. A gasp tears from my throat as I double over, arms crossing instinctively over my chest. The pressure has built to a point where even breathing feels like dragging broken glass across raw skin.
Each heartbeat sends fresh waves of agony radiating outward, sharp enough to make my vision blur at the edges.
How long has it been? Six hours? Seven? Time dissolved after those arms grabbed me, hauled me into darkness.
"What's wrong?" His voice shifts, that flat, detached quality fracturing. Something sharper breaks through—almost like concern, though that seems impossible. And also pretty funny because he literally kidnapped me.
"Nothing." The lie comes out strangled. "I'm fine."
"You're not fine."
"It's nothing," I try again, blinking hard against the sting behind my eyes. Not here. Not now. I won't cry in front of him.
He moves closer. Just one step, but it feels significant in this cavernous space. "Tell me."
"It's personal."
"Tell me anyway."
The command in those three words makes my spine straighten despite the agony lancing through my chest. This is a man who doesn't ask twice. A man who expects obedience the way normal people expect air.
"My chest hurts, okay?" The words snap out, defensive and raw. "Happy now?"
Those dark gray eyes narrow. "Why?"
"Because—" My face goes up in flames. This cannot be happening. I cannot be standing in some nightmare warehouse, kidnapped by my stepfather, and abandoned by my own mother, having this conversation with the most dangerous man in the city. "It just does."
"Georgie." My name sounds strange in his mouth—familiar somehow, though that's impossible. He's never met me before today. Never knew I existed. "Why does your chest hurt?"
The tears spill over despite my best efforts. Pain mingles with humiliation, with the sheer absurdity of everything that's led to this moment. "Because I'm lactating, alright? My breasts hurt because I'm producing milk and I haven't been able to pump in hours and it hurts."
Something in his expression transforms. Fury—raw and terrifying—hardens every line of his face. His jaw goes rigid. His hands curl into fists, knuckles going white. When he speaks again, his voice drops to a growl that sends ice crystallizing in my veins.
"Are you fucking pregnant?"
Terror—pure and absolute—crashes through my chest like a wrecking ball. My heart hammers so hard I can feel it in my throat, taste copper on my tongue.
Oh God. Oh God, no.
"No!" The word tears from somewhere deep in my lungs.
"No, I'm not pregnant. I can't be pregnant because—" My voice splinters into jagged pieces.
More tears burn tracks down my cheeks, hot and humiliating.
"Because I'm a twenty-year-old virgin who's been spontaneously lactating for five weeks because stress triggered it before my exams and I'm taking medication and pumping whenever I can but it's not enough and I?—"
The sob steals the rest. Crying—really crying now—because this is the most humiliating moment of my entire life. Standing in a warehouse that smells like motor oil and rust, confessing my most mortifying secret to a crime boss who could snap me in half without breaking a sweat.
My shoulders heave. The ache in my chest intensifies with each shuddering breath. Everything hurts—my breasts, my pride, my heart.
When blurred vision finally clears enough to see through the tears, the fury has vanished from his face.
Something else sits in its place. Something that makes the air between us feel charged, electric.
His eyes have darkened to storm clouds before a lightning strike.
The way he's looking at me—hungry and possessive and utterly focused—sends awareness skittering down my spine. My breath catches. Holds.
His voice drops lower. Softer. Dangerous in an entirely new way that makes my skin prickle.
"What do you need?"
Swallowing feels like dragging sandpaper down my throat. "My breast pump. It's in my backpack. In my car. Probably still in the parking lot unless whoever grabbed me took it."
"What does it do?"
The question seems obvious—absurdly so—but something in his tone demands an answer. "It suctions the milk. Relieves the pressure."
Silence stretches taut between us. A rubber band pulled to its breaking point. Gavin doesn't move. Doesn't even blink. Just watches me with those storm-gray eyes that feel like they're cataloguing every freckle, every tremor, every rapid rise and fall of my chest.
Then his lips curve into something that might be a smile if smiles could promise sin.
"I can do that."
The words float in the space between us, not quite landing. They circle my head like confused birds. When comprehension finally slams home, shock detonates through every nerve ending.
"What?!"