This Is Love, Baby (War & Peace #2) (5 page)

“SHE’S WORTH EVERYFUCKINGTHING!”

I snap. Blame it on the day of being poked at and forced into shit that I didn’t want to do after months of being ignored by the very people in this room. Rage overwhelms me and I nearly go blind with it. I can’t stop the rush of anger. Can’t stop where it takes my fist. I can’t evaluate the repercussions of my action until it’s too late.

Crack!

The rest is a blur of chaos.

A blur of shouts.

A blur of force as I’m wrangled into cuffs by a fucking woman.

A blur of threats by my father. Warnings by his attorney. And my Miranda rights being read to me by Stark.

A blur that doesn’t fade until I’m sitting on a cold bench behind bars, beside a bunch of other criminals.

I’m so sorry, Baylee.

I’m so fucking sorry.

I
SIT ON
the shower floor with my chin on my kneecap as I hold my legs to my chest. The heat of the water does nothing to warm my frigid soul. I’m dying from the inside out. The past few hours have been permanently blocked from my mind. I won’t allow myself to dwell on what happened.

Because it will kill me…

My thoughts focus on War and hot, angry tears fill my eyes. I was his—all his—and Gabe took that away from me. A shudder ripples through me and I let out a sob. My wrists still burn from the rope and I lift them up to inspect them.

When I do, the dark veil lifts in my mind and the memories of only moments ago assault me worse than the act itself.

I’d fought against those ropes.

Squirmed and wriggled.

Thrashed and spit and snarled.

But in the end, he took me anyway.

And once it was done, I broke. Gabe snatched onto my already bruised and bleeding spirit—and snapped it in half. He stole the last thing I had for War. Greedily robbed it all for himself.

The motherfucker even had the audacity to tell me he loved me.

I stand on shaky legs and scrub that vile man from my body. I can’t help but think of War and our time together, as I fervently scour away every particle from my flesh, to the point of pain. Every smear of his saliva. Every drop of his cum. Any lingering scent of the devil himself. All of it burned from my body by my vicious scrubbing and drained away into the depths of hell, where it belongs.

“Baylee…”

I flinch at hearing his voice, low and menacing, and I drop the rag onto the floor. Gritting my teeth, I prepare to shred his face if he so much as thinks about entering this shower with me.

“What?” I snap.

He chuckles, the darkness in it a threat itself. “There’s my girl. Thought I’d lost you there for a spell when you went all catatonic.”

His shadow behind the curtain moves over to the mirror and I hear him turn on the sink. He sets to brushing his teeth as if we’re some stupid married couple getting ready for bed.

I hate how comfortable he is with what he’s done.

Absolutely hate him.

“You developed feelings for him.” His words aren’t a question but instead an accusation. Silent tears roll down my cheeks as I think about War. “Baby, they have a name for that. It’s called Stockholm syndrome. It’s a psychological disorder. You only
think
you have feelings for him because he was your captor. It’s not uncommon.”

My blood boils and I want to charge through the curtain and beat his face against the mirror. To smash his flesh against the glass and revel in the way his blood smears the reflection.

If only I knew for sure that I could take him. In my angered state, I imagine I almost could.

“I’ll never feel anything for you but hate. I’ll
never
fall in love with you,” I hiss back at him.

The shower curtain is suddenly yanked open and I shriek in surprise. His gaze drags over my naked flesh before those evil eyes bore into mine. “You won’t have to fall in love, sweetheart, because I’ll drag your ass into it with me.”

We glare at one another for several long seconds. When he reaches for me, I go wild. I claw at him and scream. He manages to grab onto one of my arms and jerks me out of the shower into his firm grasp.

His bare skin against mine nauseates me and I wiggle to free myself.

“Let go of me, you asshole!”

I’ve lost it. I can’t remain calm for the sake of my maybe baby. I can’t even get myself under control and use my head long enough to determine an escape plan. All I can do is think about murdering this man with my bare hands.

“Baylee,” he snarls, squeezing me hard enough to nearly break my ribs, “calm your shit or I’ll knock your ass out.”

Ignoring him, I lean back before slamming my forehead against his chin—hoping to hurt him more than myself.

“Fuck!”

We continue to scuffle—me like a live wire in his arms—back into the bedroom. My body is slippery and wet, but he still manages to hold on to me. When I get a glimpse of blood dripping from his lip, I’m overcome with joy. So much so that I cackle with glee.

“Calm the fuck down, woman!”

Only when he wrenches my arm behind me and twists it painfully do I stop my movement, giving in to loud, defeated sobs. The adrenaline seeps out of my body with every passing breath and all strength leaves with it.

“Take this,” he orders, prying open my mouth. “It’ll calm your ass down.”

I gag as his fingers force the acrid pill past my tongue and into my throat. My teeth clamp down but he manages to free his hand before I can do any real harm. His strong palm presses my chin up to keep me from trying to spit it out. I can feel the mysterious pill slowly make its way down my dry throat.

“Baylee, I’m sorry.”

I stiffen in his arms as his palm rubs innocently over my belly. Recoiling away from it would only give him suspicion to what I’m protecting, so instead, I bite my lip and breathe as normally as I can. My stomach roils as the pill settles and begins to do its job. I pray to God that if I am pregnant, it won’t harm the fetus. “You’re not sorry. You killed him. I
loved
him.”

He stays silent for a long time and I wonder if he was even listening. Or if he’s planning his retaliation for what I’m sure he interpreted as defiance. His grip on me finally loosens, but I’m too exhausted to fight and I’m already feeling numb from whatever it is he gave me. “Shhh, let’s talk about it tomorrow. I’ve been too rough with you, I think. Expected too much, too soon. You’re a good little girl, and I don’t want to treat you like a prisoner.”

He manages to climb into bed with me in his arms. When he drags the warm blanket up over us, I nearly moan in relief. His heavy arm holds my body against his—my back to his front. Even though my hair is soaked, he buries his nose in it and kisses my skull.

Every muscle in my body is on fire. My brain is fried. And my heart is gone.

I’m helpless to his forced cuddling.

So instead, I close my eyes and pretend his body belongs to another. That I’m receiving warmth from a man who is as pure as freshly fallen snow.

“I love you,” he murmurs.

The voice is wrong but the sentiment comforts me.

I love you too, War.

I’m not sure if the words are spoken aloud or in my head, but soon I’m drifting off to a place where I’m free. Free to love and kiss and adore a complicated man.

At peace with War.

“What are you doing?” I ask, sucking in a gasp of air as his finger dances along my shoulder blade, pushing my hair away in a gentle move.

War smiles. I don’t have to see it because I feel it. And I smile too.

“Counting your freckles. There are so many,” he says in a quiet, almost shy tone.

I laugh and turn to look at him over my shoulder. He’s propped up on one elbow and inspecting me as if he’s trying to memorize every single square inch of my flesh. Everything about him is beautiful. The way his dark blue eyes twinkle when he’s counting. How his full lips move in just the slightest way. And the way his brown hair hangs over his right eyebrow in a messy yet sexy way.

“How many are there?”

“Four hundred and thirteen,” he tells me. His voice is resolute. Convinced. Completely sure. “So far.”

Closing my eyes, I bask in his gentle touch. He calms me just as much as I seem to calm him. The world is no longer a threatening place when we’re together like this. We’re in our own world—one which is safe and filled with love.

As I drift off to sleep, he counts my freckles while I count every happy beat of my own heart.

Birds chirping.

They don’t sound like the seagulls I’m used to waking up to.

Maybe they’re sick.

My body is heavy and sore to the point that I almost feel drugged. I can’t even manage to get my eyelids to lift.

Still too exhausted to face the day, I bury my face against the warm, firm chest in front of me and hug him closer to me. War always warms me. All the way down to the innermost parts of me. For some reason, I’m incredibly achy today and don’t want to move.

Perhaps it’s me that’s sick, not the birds.

I think about how odd my body has been. The nausea. The sore breasts. The missed period. I’m nervous to bring it up to him, yet excitement threads through me. We’ve created something from our love. I’m certain there’s a little love bud growing inside of me.

A smile graces my lips and I press a soft kiss to his chest. I slide my palm down along his lower abdomen until I’m gripping his hardened cock between us. His soft breaths tell me he’s still asleep and I almost giggle aloud, knowing I’m about to wake him up.

I crack open an eye and tilt my head to look up at him.

My world spins and darkness swarms in like a horde of angry bees.

Not soft, peaceful features and a familiar scar.

Instead, dark, hard lines and edges. No scar.

His hot dick in my hand feels like an abomination and I jerk my hand from it as if it were a snake filled with poisonous venom. Short, choppy breaths rush from me as I inch myself away from the evil that lies before me.

The memories come crashing down around me. War. The gunshot. The blood. Bile rises in my throat and a scream remains lodged there. Sunshine from the window blankets us but it’s a farce.

I’m not in a cozy cabin, happily whisked away with my lover.

I’m in hell with the devil. I’m his prisoner.

But I’m not bound.

A thrill kick starts my dead heart to life. I slip out from under Gabe’s heavy arm. His soft snores an indication that he’s still deep in sleep.

This is my moment.

This is my opportunity.

Probably one of the few I’ll get.

I slip off the bed and nearly collapse. My legs are aching and shaky but I don’t let them deter me in my pursuit for escape. Quickly, I snatch up his discarded shirt and yank it over me. Since Gabe is much taller than me, the shirt hits me mid-thigh, providing enough coverage for me to get the hell out of here.

The floorboard creaks beneath my feet and I jerk my gaze over to Gabe. No change in his movement. I have to go.
Now!

On tiptoes, I hurry out of the bedroom and down the hallway toward the front door. It isn’t locked—why would it be? Nobody would burst through the devil’s front door on their own accord. I wrench it open as quietly as I can.

Squeeeeeak!

The door protests when I open it and it’s loud. There’s no turning back now. I have to go.

I push through it and stride down the steps. The memory of a few months before—him chasing me through the woods—is at the forefront in my mind. If anything, it only spurs me to go faster. With long strides, I ignore the bite of the gravel driveway on my bare feet as I put as much distance as I can between me and that godforsaken cabin.

“Goddammit, Baylee!”

His furious words from behind me make my heart freeze and I almost stumble. Ignoring the hateful way his words echo in my head, I run faster than I ever have toward the road. Heavy footsteps and frustrated grunts can be heard behind me. My panic overwhelms me with fear and tears well in my eyes, blurring the world around me. When my bare feet make purchase with the smooth, chilly concrete of the road, I almost cry out with joy. Running becomes a thousand times easier and I soar with long strides.