Revenge of the Pregnant Captive (Before the Due Date #6)

1. No Way Out

Chapter one

No Way Out

Istepped through the heavy glass doors of the luxury boutique and onto the paved valet driveway.

A biting October wind whipped across my face, stealing the manufactured heat of the store.

I shifted my stance against the chill, sliding my right hand beneath the firm, third-trimester curve of my stomach.

The rigid fabric of my maternity dress strained against the swell of my stomach.

Behind me, the boutique attendant pushed a gilded brass luggage cart through the threshold. The rubber wheels rolled over the concrete, clicking a steady rhythm against the seams of the pavement.

“Watch the step on the curb, ladies,” the attendant called over the traffic. “The breeze is picking up out here.”

My mother closed the distance between us before I could reply.

Lavinia linked her arm through mine, pulling me to her side.

The suffocating, floral scent of her signature perfume cut through the crisp winter air.

She reached over with her free hand, her manicured fingers adjusting the lapels of my cashmere overcoat.

“Keep that coat pulled tight, darling,” Lavinia instructed. “You are going to catch a chill standing out here.”

I let go of my collar and leaned my weight into her shoulder.

The freezing air stung my cheeks, but the firm pressure of her arm anchoring mine radiated an undeniable warmth.

I smiled, letting her fuss over the fabric of my coat.

Preparing for this baby was an exhausting process.

I had no idea how I would manage the endless shopping without her constant, hovering presence.

A brief, cynical memory of my late father surfaced.

Pieter had been a ruthless, suspicious man who trusted no one.

He spent his final years expecting betrayal from every corner, isolating himself behind the ironclad defenses of his wealth.

He structured my trust fund with draconian rules, convinced Lavinia would siphon it dry.

But standing on this curb, Lavinia proved his paranoia wrong with every action. She never asked about the accounts or the dividends. She cared about her grandchild. She was the perfect, loving parent he never managed to be.

The attendant parked the loaded cart near the edge of the sidewalk.

She adjusted a precarious stack of silver-wrapped boxes, shielding them from the gusts of wind.

Dozens of shopping bags filled with infant clothes, plush toys, and nursery decor teetered on the brass racks.

We had spent the last three hours clearing the boutique of its premium inventory.

“I must say, Mrs. Vandeveer, the cashmere nursery blankets you selected are exquisite,” the attendant said, smoothing her hands down her apron. “Your daughter’s little one is going to be surrounded by the very best.”

Lavinia beamed, tilting her chin up to accept the compliment. She patted the back of my hand where it rested against her sleeve.

“Only the best for my first grandchild,” Lavinia announced, her voice projecting over the dull roar of the city traffic. “Cecilia has been working so hard growing this precious angel. The least we can do is make sure the nursery is perfect.”

I laughed, shaking my head at the towering pile of bags loaded on the cart. The sheer volume of baby items we purchased bordered on the absurd. I tightened my grip on her arm, soaking in the maternal pride radiating from her smile.

“You’ve spoiled us rotten today, Mom,” I said. “Tobias is going to have a heart attack when he sees how many boxes we are bringing home.”

The boutique attendant offered a final polite nod and retreated through the front doors. I huddled closer to my mother beneath the shadow of the store awning. A harsh blast from an impatient car horn echoed off the glass front of the nearby high-rises.

A young valet jogged away from the cold metal of his ticket podium. He stopped in front of us, out of breath, and gestured toward the crowded entrance of the underground parking garage down the street.

“I am so sorry for the delay, ladies,” the valet said, wiping his brow. “There is a delivery truck blocking the lower ramp. We are bringing your sedan around the side entrance right now.”

My mother did not sigh or complain about the inconvenience.

Instead, Lavinia offered the stressed worker a warm, understanding smile.

She reached over, stroking the sleeve of my coat.

The chaotic noise of the city traffic faded into the background, eclipsed by the reassuring pressure of her hand on my arm.

“Take your time, young man,” Lavinia said. “My daughter needs to rest her feet anyway, and we are in no rush to get back.”

I watched her dismiss the valet. Tobias had offered to hire a private driver for us today to avoid this exact hassle. I declined his offer, wanting this quiet, uninterrupted afternoon alone with my mother.

Standing here, watching her treat a stranger with such effortless grace, I felt the resentment for my father flare.

Pieter Vandeveer would have berated the valet for the delay.

He would have threatened to fire the garage manager.

My father spent his life viewing the world as a hostile negotiation, and he projected that same paranoia onto his marriage.

I wondered how a man could share a home with someone as kind as Lavinia and show her nothing but suspicion. I hated him for it, even though he was dead.

The valet shifted his weight on the concrete, glancing at my stomach.

“Are you sure you don’t mind waiting out in the cold, Madam?” the valet asked. “We could step back inside the lobby. They have the heating lamps running.”

Another gust of October wind swept under the awning. I unlinked my arm from Lavinia’s and pulled the lapels of my coat tighter across my stomach. I buried my bare hands deep into the wool pockets, shivering against the chill.

“Nonsense,” I told the valet. “The fresh air is good for me.”

Lavinia stepped closer, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and pulling me against her side.

“That’s right,” Lavinia said. “Besides, I want to enjoy every single second of having you all to myself before that husband of yours locks you away in the house for the rest of the winter.”

A massive black SUV veered out of the relentless midday traffic, cutting a sharp angle toward the awning.

The tires locked. A high-pitched screech of burning rubber sliced through the ambient noise of the street.

The vehicle jumped the concrete curb, tearing across the pavement and blocking our path.

The chassis rocked on its suspension, the engine roaring with a deep vibration.

A cloud of gray exhaust plumed from the tailpipe, carrying the acrid scent of gasoline and hot brakes. The valet stepped forward, raising his hands in a placating gesture.

“Hey, you can’t pull up—”

The rear passenger doors burst open before the young man could finish his sentence. Two men in unmarked jackets piled out of the backseat. They ignored the valet’s warning, charging across the short stretch of pavement.

One of the men lowered his shoulder and slammed into the valet’s chest. The impact threw the young worker backward. He crashed into the metal ticket podium, sending a heavy ring of car keys clattering to the concrete.

The men crossed the pavement to the awning in three massive strides. I had no time to step back. I had no time to brace myself.

A pair of hands clamped around my upper arms. The grip was brutal. Iron fingers dug straight through the thick wool of my cashmere coat, biting into my biceps. The sheer force of the grab jerked me forward, tearing me away from Lavinia’s side. My boots slipped on the pavement.

The sudden, violent yank threw me off balance. The absolute shock of a daylight ambush paralyzed my thoughts. The men dragged me toward the idling vehicle, their boots scraping against the concrete. I stumbled, my knees buckling under the awkward shift of my pregnancy.

I scrambled for purchase, my hands blindly gripping the abrasive fabric of their sleeves. Lavinia moved. She dropped her designer purse, the leather bag spilling cosmetics and receipts over the curb. She lunged at the man on my left side, throwing her body weight against his shoulder.

Her fingers dug into the collar of his jacket. She twisted the material in her fists, yanking backward in a desperate bid to break his hold on my arm.

“Get your hands off my daughter!” Lavinia screamed, her voice piercing the heavy rumble of the idling engine. “Let her go, take me instead! Please, I’m begging you, take me!”

The man cursed, his grip slipping on my coat. He wrenched his collar free from her grasp. He slammed his hand against Lavinia’s chest, shoving her away with immense force. Her heels caught on the uneven edge of the curb. She went down hard.

A sickening thud echoed against the pavement as her shoulder and the side of her head struck the concrete. She lay motionless on the gray stone, her platinum hair fanned out across the frost.

The sight of my mother crumpled on the ground broke through my paralysis. The men tightened their hold on me, hauling me the final few feet toward the open door of the SUV. The interior of the vehicle loomed ahead, smelling of stale cigarette smoke and damp upholstery.

“Stay down, lady!” the thug yelled at my mother’s unmoving form. He turned his attention back to me, dragging me closer to the running engine. “Get in the car, now! Move, move, move!”

I thrashed against them, twisting my shoulders to break free. I planted the soles of my boots against the pavement, fighting the momentum. I kicked at his shins, desperate to break away.

“Get off me!” I screamed. “Let me go! Mom, run!”

My gaze darted down to the heavy swell of my stomach. The raw fear of a boot catching my abdomen shattered my urge to struggle. I stopped kicking, terrified a stray blow would hit my womb. I had to protect the baby.

“Please, I’m pregnant, don’t hurt the baby!”