Page 62 of The Bratva's Forbidden Pregnancy

Hell no! the other voice objected. That’s terrible advice coming from the voice of reason.

I looked at my phone, resting on the table, and the temptation to reach out was building by the second.

Don’t even think about it. It’s a bad idea.

Think about it; it’s a good idea.

Fuck! Those voices were driving me nuts, and frankly speaking, it felt like I was losing my fucking mind; they just wouldn’t quiet.

I reached out and snatched the phone, blocking out the voices as I typed a text, ready to send to him: Hey, can we talk? I want us to talk.

I stared at the message, my thumb hanging over the send button.

Hit it.

Don’t hit it.

For the next few seconds, these voices were busy arguing about what I should or should not do. My head was about to explode from all that thinking. With a single fling, I tossed the phone back on the table and sprang to my feet, throwing both hands in my hair.

Wise choice.

Dumb move.

“Shut up, for Christ’s sake—shut the fuck up!” I snapped, clasping my hands against my temples.

Uh-oh, she’s pissed.

“You’re damn right I am,” I said out loud. “Fuck! Now, I’m talking to myself. Great.”

Just then, there was a knock on the door, startling me a little. I got a grip of myself after a few seconds and shot a glance at the entrance.

It was Mom. Dad had been out for a while. Or wait, was it him? No, it was Mom. It had to be. She must be back from the store.

Now is your chance, Sia. Tell her. Sit her down and come clean. You might be surprised at her reaction; she just might take it well.

I’m with the reasonable one on this, Sia.

I summoned the courage to finally damn the consequences and tell her everything. She was already suspecting, anyway.

With a sharp intake of air, I headed to the door, and as I grabbed the knob, a thought crossed my mind.

If my mom was the one at the door, why didn’t she call my name as she usually did, considering I didn’t respond when she knocked?

Hmm. That’s worth wondering about.

I opened the door, and my eyes widened at the masked man standing outside my room.

“Hello, Sienna,” the man said with a distorted voice, like he was using a voice modulator.

“What the…?”

Stranger danger. Run! the voices chorused.

I tried to slam the door shut, but he held it with one hand, and with the other, he injected something into my neck.

The effect was immediate, and I felt so dizzy; the world around me started to swirl, and my legs could no longer carry my weight. My eyes were heavy, and my vision was blurry. I staggered back into my room, feeling too numb to even scream for help. My legs turned to jelly—literally—and I collapsed to the ground.

His footsteps echoed in my ears as I saw a hazy figure approaching me. His boots were the last thing my eyes caught before I drifted into unconsciousness.

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