Page 140 of Devilish Ink

She broke down again with emotion as she tried to speak.

“Breathe,” I told her softly, rubbing her back. “Ry, baby, breathe.”

“Our baby…”

My stomach twisted into knots as I pulled back. That’s when I noticed her belly was smaller.

Oh God. I turned Ry’s face gently toward mine, holding back a fury of emotions at the dark circles around her eyes, the cut on her lip, the bright flush of a fever on her cheeks.

“Tell me,” I whispered, sounding braver than I felt.

There was nothing anyone could do to prepare me for the news that our baby hadn’t made it.

Sitting there, with her face in my hands, between not knowing and knowing felt like that moment right before you tipped over a chasm. Would I rock back to safety? Or would I fall into the abyss?

“They had to get the baby out,” Ry whispered, fresh tears falling.

My eyes darted between hers, trying to decipher her message. What did that mean? What did that fucking mean?

“Ry,” I whispered. “Is he—she—is the baby…”

She bit her bottom lip, shook her head.

“I don’t know.”

LIAM

Islipped into Dublin Ink, the little bell affixed atop the door jangling harshly.

Rian’s red-rimmed eyes met mine from across the room.

Could he tell from across the dimly lit tattoo parlour how erratically my heart was beating? Could he see the way my hands curled and uncurled from white-knuckled fists? Did he know, just from looking at me, the darkness in my heart? Did it seep out like spilled ink? The evil? The murderous desire?

“Where is the…unfinished business?”

Rian put down his pencils.

“What are you going to do?” he asked.

“I’m going to make sure he never touches Ryleigh ever again,” I vowed as I strode toward him. “Where is he?”

“You know, that can mean a lot of things.”

Rian closed the sketchbook he’d been bent over and folded his arms, watching me closely.

“It could mean getting the police involved,” he continued. “A trial. A conviction. Jail, for a few years at least.”

I snorted. Rich white men didn’t get “jail”, they got “probation”or a short stint at a minimum-security prison, practically a holiday.

“It could mean getting Ry out of Ireland,” he said further. “Out of Europe, if necessary.”

I remained silent but my heart seemed to crack with every beat. Like I was stuck beneath ice. Punching to get free. To breathe.

Rian looked up at me, his eyes searching mine.

“Which one of those do you mean?” he asked, barely a whisper.

I didn’t flinch.

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