Page 36 of Promises in the Dark

The fucker pondered it for a moment, then nodded.

“After you help, I show you.”

Red and I exchanged glances, a silent agreement passing between us. We both nodded.

We had a deal.

Chapter 11

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Istood behind Red, my eyes fixed on the scene unfolding in front of us. The pregnant refugee laid on the filthy floor, the crimson liquid gushing out of her like a fucking slaughtered pig.

Red got down in the mess and swallowed hard. She grasped the edges of the woman’s skirt and yanked it up, exposing her bloodied underwear.

“Oh, fuck,” she mumbled, a shocked expression crossing her face as she quickly removed the woman’s drenched underwear.

The stench of iron and sweat choked me, making me want to gag. Hell, I could taste that shit in the back of my throat.

“Do you have any towels? Water? A flashlight?” Red demanded from the other refugees, her eyes scanning the room for any available resources.

They scrambled around like headless chickens, eventually handing her a couple of dirty-ass towels, a half-empty water bottle, and a flickering flashlight. Real top-notch supplies.

“Rogue, get over here and hold the light,” she called out, pointing to the area between the woman’s legs. “I need to see what’s going on there.”

I grabbed that flashlight and aimed it at the bloody mess, positioning the light to give her the best visibility. The sight was a warzone of blood, sweat, and God knows what else.

Red leaned in close to the woman and asked, “What’s your name?”

She managed to gasp out a response, “Farida,” beads of sweat dripping down her face.

Red nodded, her eyes locked on the refugee’s. “Alright, Farida. I need you to push, okay?”

A man crouched behind her—another refugee, his shirt stained and threadbare, hands trembling slightly as he pressed his palm to the woman’s shoulder. He muttered something in their language, low and guttural, probably telling her the same thing Harper was saying. I didn’t understand it, but the tone, that urgency, was clear as day.

He might’ve been translating, though hell, it was anybody’s guess. They usually got the gist of English, but I’d learned not to expect them to use it back. Maybe they didn’t trust it, or maybe they just wanted to stick with what felt real to them. Didn't matter.

“Push, goddammit!” Red barked again, looking back at me, and the man echoed her, his voice gruff, probably saying whatever the hell it was in her language to make it stick.

The chick gritted her teeth, her body trembling with effort. She pushed with a primal scream, her face contorting in pain as she fought to bring this baby into the world.

The baby’s head started to show, slick with all kinds of crap. This shit was primal, raw as hell. But then, like some sick joke, the baby got stuck, wedged in the birth canal. I could see it, plain as day, the little fucker refusing to come out.

I didn’t blame the kid. If it were me, I wouldn’t want to be born into this shitty place either, especially not in the middle of a damn war, abandoned building for a nursery, half-starved refugees huddling in corners like rats. Who’d want that? Who’d willingly crawl out into a life like this?

“We need to reposition the baby,” Red said handling the situation like a champ.

She sprang into action, reaching inside the woman, her hands coated in blood and bodily fluids. She went in, gripping that slippery little fucker, twisting and pulling with a force that made my stomach churn.

“I need your hands,” she requested, her voice tight with worry. “Help me push on the mother’s abdomen.”

I leaned in closer, my gaze fixated on the gruesome sight. Blood mixed with amniotic fluid, creating a fucking mess that seemed to defy description. I saw the strain on the woman’s face, the beads of sweat rolling down her forehead as she fought through the pain.

I reached down, feeling the warm, slippery mess of blood and tissue. With a forceful grip, I applied pressure, trying to maneuver the baby’s head out of that tight spot.

Red did the same and we both managed to reposition the baby, shifting it into a better position. Then her voice cut through the air like a chainsaw, commanding the woman to push. And push she did, her face contorted in agony as her body strained with each exertion.

One more push and maybe I would finally get a decent night’s sleep.

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