Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 75616 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75616 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
I knew they weren’t necessarily errands. Each stop would have Warren, Denny, and one of the men in the back heading out, talking to people. Likely collecting money or issuing threats. Then climbing back in and doing it over again.
I missed the days when my aching, leaking breasts would allow me to force Warren to take me home earlier, insisting that Judah needed to nurse.
But those days were behind me now.
So I sat.
In silence.
For long enough that, apparently, they started to forget I was even there at all.
Because Warren and Denny started to talk.
About the ‘docks’ and something coming in a shipping container. From the sound of things, whatever it was inside of it, it was worth a fortune.
“And those fuckers think I’m sharing it with them,” Warren scoffed, getting a hearty laugh from Denny as I sat there, trying not to decipher the meaning. Because it didn’t matter. I didn’t care. His business was the very thing that had made me run and hide the second the stick turned blue.
The seven sticks, in fact. Because I was horrified at the idea of bearing that bastard’s child, and I kept taking and taking them.
Until, finally, when the digital one printed out the word Pregnant on the screen, I knew there was no more denying it.
I was going to have his baby.
And he would never stop trying to come for him if he knew.
It didn’t take long.
And two and a half years later, we were both still under his thumb.
I was zoning out, lost in my own memories and hopes for a different future, when something Warren said made me suddenly snap back to the present.
“… And then I’m gonna put a bullet in that bastard’s head.”
With that and nothing else, he climbed out of the car, making me realize we were home.
I barely resisted the urge to shove one of Warren’s henchmen out of his door, so I could climb out, and speed walk back into the house, kicking out of my shoes, then rushing into Judah’s room.
To find him red-eyed, and the maid panic-stricken.
Not the older lady who’d taken him, but the new, younger one. One who’d likely never spent any time with a child before, let alone one as attached to his mother as Judah was to me.
But judging from the fear in her eyes, she was told what would happen to her if Warren saw that his son had been crying.
I rushed forward, scooping him up, and plastering him to my chest, holding his head against me, and starting to immediately sing to him.
“He’s sleeping,” I told Warren as he came into the doorway, then swayed faster, hiding any movement on Judah’s part.
“You need to stop holding him all the time,” Warren chided me.
“He’s a baby,” I insisted. “Babies need to be held. It’s important for emotional regulation,” I told him, speaking out of my ass, because I had no idea if that was true or not.
One small perk to Warren was he never seemed to actually think about Judah unless he was actually looking at him. It also meant he never thought to research the things I told him about babies and development.
“He won’t be a baby much longer,” Warren said, shooting the maid a look that made my skin crawl, then walking out, closing the door behind him.
“I’m so sorry!” the maid said in a hushed whisper. “I tried so hard.”
“I know,” I said, nodding, and releasing Judah to shower his face with kisses. “He can get inconsolable when I’m not here.” Then, because there was a chance she would be forced to watch him again in the future, and we might not luck out with me getting in the room ahead of Warren, I added, “When all else fails, ice cream makes him happy.”
And, sure, I hated the idea of my child being plied with sugar endlessly when I was away, and I despised the idea of the staff being beaten for his unhappiness more. Or, in this young, pretty blonde maid’s case, maybe worse than a beating.
Lord knows, I was horribly aware of how sadistic Warren could be. Especially with women.
“Okay. I won’t let it happen again,” she assured me.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“Sadie,” she told me, lower lip quivering, like she might think I was still considering tattling on her to Warren.
“Sadie, how long have you been working here?”
“Just two days,” she admitted.
What awful twist of fate had her coming to work for such a twisted dickhead of an employer?
“Can I give you a small piece of advice?” I asked, but it was really more of a warning.
“Of course.”
“After nine at night, make sure you are busy with a task that keeps you out of any of the main areas of the house. Especially Warren’s wing.”
The stricken look on her face let me know that she immediately knew what I was warning her away from.