Page 50 of Hers to Control

“What happened?” he asks, unintentionally pressing me. His eyes are on my chest, taking in the way I’m clutching the small towel to the long cut, barely covering half of it. His voice is gruff and businesslike, as if he’s immune to whatever might cause someone to be cut like this. His Italian accent tells me he’s probably not naïve to what the people he works for do for a living.

Eric steps up to the bed next to me and puts a hand possessively on my shoulder. I don’t shrug him off, needing him to say the words I can’t.

“They cut her chest and injected her with something. We think it was only a saline solution and a clean needle, but we can’t be sure. She’s also pregnant, so we’re worried about the baby.”

We. We’re worried about the baby.

I can’t confront the way those words make me feel right now, so I keep my eyes on the doctor, needing him to get on with it so I can have peace of mind.

Dr. Artino nods, his eyes scanning over me before settling on the wound again. “We’ll have to do blood tests to check the pregnancy hormones in your blood. We’ll also do a drug screen and test for infections that are transmitted via dirty needles. I’ll take that blood today. But first, let me take a look at that open wound,” he says, moving closer.

I shift slightly, allowing him better access as he examines the cut. His touch is gentle but firm, his fingers probing the injury for at least a minute while I want to yell at him that this doesn’t matter. What matters are those blood tests, but Eric’s hand on my shoulder keeps me in place.

I wonder how long those blood tests will take.

After a moment, Dr. Artino straightens up, a small frown creasing his brow. “It looks like you’ll need a few stitches,” he says gravely, but that’s the least of my concerns.

“How long before we know about the baby?” I ask. “Can the blood tests tell us if everything is okay?”

He gives me a pitying look. “The tests will confirm whether you are still pregnant and the drug screen will tell us if there are any substances in your body that may impact the pregnancy. You should still get an ultrasound to confirm everything looks good, but the blood tests are our best bet to make sure.”

“And how long will it take before we get them back?” I press.

Eric’s hand on my shoulder tightens. “Dr. Artino will get them to the lab right away and see that they take priority over anything else.”

The doctor looks up at him with a neutral expression. The man is obviously used to working with men like Eric.

“Certainly.”

Chapter Eighteen

Mia

The day passes slowly. Eric convinces me to eat something and I do, knowing that Peanut needs it. Now that I have hope, I refuse to give in to the terror that is clawing at the edges of my consciousness.

By the time evening hits, Eric’s phone finally rings.

“Dr. Artino,” he tells me briskly, before answering.

“Turn the speaker on,” I demand, and Eric complies.

“Good news.” The man tells us through the line. “The blood levels indicate that the pregnancy is intact and there are no signs that drugs entered the bloodstream. Some of the tests will take longer, but the initial results are extremely positive. I have Ms.Samson scheduled to visit Dr. Dennis, a gynecologist who has agreed to see her on short notice for an ultrasound.”

“Good. Send the appointment info to my phone.” Eric hangs up and turns to me. For a second it looks like there are tears in his eyes, but then I can’t see anything anymore because I throw myself into his arms and cry yet again.

The crying doesn’t truly stop until the next morning. Throughout the night I wake time and time again, shaking and tears running down my face. Victor’s face, the sensation of him twisting my nipples, slashing my skin, accompanied by the gasping breaths of Adrik Tsepov haunt me. Each time, Eric’s arms wrap around me and he holds me until I drift off again.

When I wake, my face feels tight and I have a headache. In the bathroom, I splash my face with water and look up into my fractured reflection. The woman staring back at me looks nothing like the one I used to be.

I used to be strong, determined to make it despite my father’s shit and my hard past. I used to consider myself successful. I’d found a way to settle and build a business for myself, and I knew how to fight.

Now, I look broken, and that pisses me off. I’m pissed that all the things I’d done to build my life broke apart so damn easily. Pissed that I wasn’t able to protect myself. All that martial arts training, all my determination. It wasn’t enough to keep them from touching me, wasn’t enough to keep them from hurting me. Worst of all, it wasn’t enough to keep my baby safe. That had been luck, and I’m not fool enough to rely on that.

I push my hair back and move my face closer to the mirror. There are dark circles under my eyes and my face is swollen and red from crying. My eyes trail down to my exposed chest, where a few stitches now pull the cut together that runs down from my shoulder to my side.

No, I don’t look like myself, but I still know who I am. I’m a person who doesn’t allow others to push her down. Not without getting back up. This time, I didn’t have a mat to cushion me, but I had Eric. I’m nobody’s chess piece, and most importantly, I’m going to be a mother who will do anything to protect her baby.

My hands find my stomach and I breathe in deeply to calm myself.

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