Page 67 of Make You Mine

I'm pregnant.

Trent would love a child, no matter who their father was, so I'm not afraid of his reaction to the news. In fact, he’ll be more than excited to start pursuing his long-term life goals sooner rather than later. I can't wait to see his face when I tell him. I can already picture the emotion that will shine through his gorgeous green eyes.

Look at me; I must be some special sort of crazy to be thinking of a future with a baby and my man when I'm tied up in the back of a car. With no clue where I'm going and knowing for certain at least one of the men in the front seat hates my guts. My brain is on overdrive. I’ve suppressed myemotions and buried my true thoughts for so long that it's no wonder I am thinking these things at a time like this.

I test my restraints again, and the plastic material catches the skin on my inner wrists. Fuck, how am I going to get out of this?

We drive for what feels like forever. I remain as still as possible across the backseat of the car, trying to make it seem like I’m still knocked out from where Joey pistol-whipped me on the side of the head when they stormed into my sewing room. I was closest to the door when I shot my gun, so they took me down before I was able to see if I hit my target.

The car comes to a halt, and I believe we’re at our final destination. Is this it? Am I to be wiped out like this? After everything I’ve been through, is this how my story goes?

Please don’t let this be the end…

My mind thinks of all the things I haven’t done yet. The dreams I’d love to pursue. A life with Trent by my side and the family I want to create with him.

A quiet tear slides down my cheek. If I never see Trent’s face again, at least I’ll die knowing what it means to love someone with every fiber of your being and what it feels like to have that love reciprocated in every way possible.

The front car doors open and slam close. The men’s conversation is muffled, so I can't make out what they're saying. They’re outside the car for a decent amount of time, and my anxiety builds with every passing second.

Just when I think I can't handle the wait any longer, the door closest to my feet opens.

“Get up,” Joey says as he aggressively shakes my legs. I feel thecool metal of a blade slide between my ankles and cut through the restraints. Guess they don’t think I'm a flee risk.

I don’t move at first, trying to play off the fact that I was knocked unconscious not too long ago. “I know you’re awake. Get your ass up.”

“Why would I make my death easy on you?” I spit, not bothering to listen. I know my mouth is going to get me in trouble, but I can’t seem to stop myself.

“Not here to kill you… We’re here to make an exchange,” the other man says, and now that my eyes are fully open, I notice it’s Nicky, one of the house guards.

My hard gaze locks onto Joey’s. “I'm not being sold into some sex ring… You can just put a bullet in my skull now.”

“That’s not what’s going on here,” he replies with a look on his face like I should trust him.

I scoff. “And I should believe you, why? You want me dead, just like your boss did.”

“Can you please just shut the fuck up and come inside.” He reaches in and grabs my arms, hoisting me up and out of the car door.

“Only because you said please,” I snark as they slowly lead me inside.Shut up, Ashley, I chastise myself, needing to remember that it’s not only my life at stake anymore.

We walk through the gates of what appears to be a warehouse district. Several guards with guns are standing at the post, but they allow us to walk on past.

Ugh, hello, a woman restrained over here,I say with my eyes as I pass them, but they never make eye contact. Of course, they don’t. I should’ve known better.

We make it through a hallway and into an end room. When the doors swing open, my knees give out at the sight in front of me.

Trent. He’s here, and so is Micah.

They’re alive!

I go to run toward them, but my arms are aggressively pulled backward. A yelp of pain escapes me.

“Not so fast, princess,” Joey hisses.

“You said she was unharmed,” a familiar older man in a three-piece suit says as he steps out from the shadows to the left of us.

“I said she was in one piece.”

“Don Amato,” Nicky says, nodding his respect. At least he has the wear with all to acknowledge this man’s rank among the room.

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