Page 12 of Stolen Love

Adira clears his throat as he comes into view. “Okay, you two love birds, quit it. The rest of us are worried sick about you, Love. What did the doctor say?”

“Too much stress,” Rogue grumbles as he pulls me against his chest. He rests his chin on the top of my head.

“That’s not surprising with that she-hag constantly harassing you.” Adira scowls and his jaw starts to tic.“I’m getting awfully close to ending up on a true crime show where queens lose their ever-loving minds and stab someone related to them six-hundred-and-sixty-five times.”

I love when Rogue wraps me up in his arms like this. Perhaps some people would look at us and see a man who is more possessive than most, but when he has my back, I feel supported. Stronger. More capable of taking on the things that terrify me. Cocooned by his hard body, I feel safe. And the nausea and dizziness has faded almost entirely for the moment. My stomach grumbles weakly.

“Hungry.” Adira tugs me away from Rogue and tucks me under his arm.

“I could eat something,” I admit. Should probably eat something to keep my flagging energy level up so I don’t pass out again.

“We’ll get you a Pop-Tart.” Adira ushers me into the kitchen.

“Oh my gosh, Love.” Summer leaves her laptop to rush up and hug me. She’s been here the whole time, chugging caffeine and doing damage control. She pulls back, squeezing my forearms while she peers into my face. “You had us worried.”

“What did the doc say?” Rebel steps up to look at me over her shoulder. He studies me like he expects the answers to be clear on my face.

God, I hope my face doesn’t say I’m scared I might be pregnant.

“Stress,” Rogue says as he heads to the cupboard and starts rifling around. “Where the fuck are the Pop-Tarts? Did you jackasses eat them all? My girl is stressed out and there’s no strawberry Pop-Tarts. Are you freaking kidding me?”

“Oops. My bad. I may have had the munchies last night after I tried to unwind.” Riot weaves around us to join Rogue. He pulls out a blue box and thumps it against Rogue’s chest. “I’ll replace them.”

“You got high?” Rogue’s nose wrinkles as he holds the box at arm’s length. “And now we only have one box? S’mores flavor? This isn’t her favorite.”

“It doesn’t matter. I like these too.” I step between the two men to steal the carton of pastries in the hopes that it will help soothe Rogue. All this tension… it’s a powder keg and it’s only a matter of time before something gets blown out of context. “We shouldn’t be fighting amongst ourselves.”

“We’re not fighting.” Rogue hands the box to me before he glares at his brother. “It’s just poor manners, especially when his sister-in-law is barely eating because she’s sick.”

“How many did you eat, bro?” Rebel shakes his head at Riot.

“It’s fine, honestly.” I retrieve a foil packet and rip into it before dumping both pastries into the toaster.

“It was only a couple of boxes.” Riot grips the back of his neck as he blushes. “Maybe three.”

“So much for that rock star physique,” Rogue goads.

“You were being interrogated,” Riot fires back. “The whole trial is falling apart. I’m just as stressed as you two.”

“Whoa, wait on. What do you mean the trial is falling apart?” Rebel asks as everyone falls silent.

The toaster pops.

“Well…” Riot grimaces. “It’s like it sounds. Alec’s lawyers are trying to have the photographs thrown out. They say without the person who took the photos as a witness there’s no way to authenticate them. And even then they could be tampered with to paint Alec in a bad light when they really don’t show anything that the jury can take as proof that Alec drugged Ro.”

“Oh my God.” Summer cups her hand around her mouth.

“He’s going to get away with it.” I’m no longer hungry as I stagger against the island cupboards. “Isn’t he?”

“I think so,” Riot says.

“That motherfucker,” Rebel snarls.

“And Ro?” Rogue asks in an eerily quiet voice. “How is she doing in all of this?”

“Not well.” Riot’s arms are stiff at his side. His hands are bunched into fists. He tucks them into his armpits when he notices me staring at them. “She’s retreating.”

“She can’t,” Summer says.

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