Chapter 53 Amara
AMARA
This is not the same as last time.
Braxton-Hicks are fake contractions. They come and go inconsistently. And while they hurt, they’ve got nothing on what I’m feeling right now.
I am in enough pain that I am literally laying on my side on the concrete, my head cocked to the side on the floor. My hands are still bound, zip-tied behind my back, making it hard to move. I can’t even rub my belly, something I always do when I need to soothe myself. When I need to soothe him.
Tears sting my eyes for the first time since all of this started.
I don’t like crying. I’ve always had to be stronger than that.
But right now, I don’t know how much more I can take.
I’m having flashbacks of the last time I was in a warehouse with Tristan Chadovich.
Gianni was the one tied up though, an image I will never forget.
An incident I will never forgive myself for.
And now I will never forgive myself for this either. Because if I die, so does my baby. And it’s all my fault.
“Hey!” Electra yells at Tristan, who is pacing the room on his phone. Most likely texting Ransome about their so-called “negotiation.”
I’m sure he’s planning a trap. That’s what negotiations are in this business—traps.
“Hey!” she snaps again. “You have to call 911.”
“Will you shut up?” he snaps back. “Jesus. You were much more manageable in bed. At least then I could shove something in your mouth to make you shut up.”
“Amara is in labor,” she says, and while I didn’t say it myself, it’s not a lie. Either that or something is very, very wrong.
“And that is my problem, why?”
“Because if Ransome finds out that you let her die instead of getting her to a hospital, you’re not going to be alive to gloat over it!”
God, she is salty. And I love her for it.
“Fuck,” I let out as another timed wave of agony washes over my body.
But even as I wince, I can see Tristan’s face through my blurred vision. He’s smiling. This is all a game to him. And he thinks he’s winning. Honestly, right now, he might be. Because the pain I am having is getting sharper. Longer, with less time between waves.
I am in labor. I am in the middle of God knows where and I am in labor.
“You asshole!” Electra screams as she struggles to break free from the zip tie. “You’re a terrible person and you’re going to get what’s coming to you.”
“If you mean fame, money, respect, power… yeah. Yeah, I think I finally am going to get what’s coming to me.”
The room is getting fuzzy around the edges. My body is taking over, trying to help itself since I’m not able to do anything. The muscles in my belly and my back contract simultaneously and pain radiates up my spine. I’m sweating and nauseous. It feels like I am going to be split in half.
“Take the zip ties off,” I say as boldly as I can, but it comes out like a whisper. I have no strength. “Please. I need to be on my back.”
“I mean, that is a good position for you,” Tristan says with a laugh. “But I’m going to have to go soon. I have a date with the father-to-be.”
“You’re disgusting!” Electra shouts while wriggling against her zip ties. But if I had to guess, she’s just tearing up her hands.
Meanwhile, my insides are tearing up. I joked about it before, but right now, I actually feel like that guy on Alien when the little monster rips through his stomach.
Maybe that’s a little dramatic. But it really is how it feels.
Suddenly hits me: Tristan hasn’t got a shred of humanity in him. He is going to let me and the baby die, all while he goes after Ransome in rage-fueled revenge.
“You won’t get away with this,” Electra says, sounding defeated for the first time. “Ransome is going to destroy you.”
“Not if he doesn’t find out until after the fact,” Tristan says. “And actually, that might ice the cake. I get what I want and he loses everything he loves.”
I look up at Electra, wondering if she will say anything. But she is quiet. Her mouth, which has been all teeth since we got here, slowly closes. Her eyes are locked on something in the distance and I follow them.
At first, I think I am seeing things. Seeing what I want to see. I blink multiple times, doing my best to concentrate despite the pain. But the more I blink, the clearer the image becomes.
Ransome is coming out of the ceiling. He is literally lowering himself from the rafters about ten feet behind Tristan, who is oblivious.
“Think again,” I murmur, and Tristan’s glare zeroes in on me.
“What did you say, bitch?”
Before I can answer, Ransome drops to the ground.
Tristan whips around. It takes a moment for his brain to materialize what he is really looking at, what’s really happening.
But it’s a moment too long. Just as he reaches for his gun, Ransome lunges at him, taking him to the floor.
“Well, look who finally decided to join the party!” Tristan grits out as they roll around, each of them fighting for the higher ground.
Both of them are trying to grab their guns, but neither can get their hands free long enough to reach back.
Even if they could, it would be too messy.
Too close-range. So instead, they fight bare fisted, one punch after another.
Finally, Ransome is able to pull something from his pants—a switchblade.
But before he can even open it, Tristan knocks it from his hands and it slides across the floor. Another wave of pain surges through my body. Electra looks down at me.
Then she scoots towards the knife. She’s able to get hold of it and scoots back over to me, fumbling with it behind her back.
A moment later, her hands are free and so are mine. “We gotta go,” she tells me.
“I don’t know if I can walk,” I cry.
“You have to. We have to.” Electra is insistent and tugs me to my feet. “Let’s go.”
Most of my weight is against her. We almost slip on something wet as we stumble our way back out of the warehouse, taking the path that I somehow manage to remember even through the blinding pain.
It’s then that I realize I am soaked.
I think Electra realizes it too.
“Your water broke,” she says as we get outside. “We have to call someone. We have to get help.”
I lean against the wall as Electra checks Tristan’s car, but it’s locked. Then she moves on to Ransome’s.
By the grace of God, it opens.
“Glove compartment,” I say, my words breathy.
“What?” she asks, looking back at me.
“A cell phone,” I manage to say. It’s the burner that he’s had since I met him. The phone that got me into this whole Ransome Rozanov mess.
My body tenses up again and I start to sob. With the contraction comes a burst of water. My hand slides over my hard belly and down to my thigh.
And that’s when I realize it’s not just water. My hand, and everything else, is covered in blood.
“No…” I murmur, just before everything goes dark.