Page 29 of Hers to Control

I approach the driver’s side and tap on the window with my gun. She hesitates for a moment, then complies, looking furious as hell. I seize the opportunity and unlock the car, forcefully pulling the door open.

She isn’t the only one pissed.

“Back inside,” I growl, pushing her towards the cabin. She stumbles, glancing back at the car as if contemplating making a run for it. I give her a menacing look, warning her against any rash decisions.

That she’s not as steady on her feet as usual tells me her head is racing. Probably reviewing all the ways in which I’m unworthy to protect her.

She can join the club.

The crunching sound of the gravel as we walk back to the door of the cabin can’t quite cover up the noise of my teeth grinding together. I want to hurt someone right now. Really fucking badly.

Inside the cabin, I gesture for her to sit at the kitchen table. She ignores me and goes to sit down on the couch instead. Without a word, I head to the sink and start cleaning up the remnants of the previous night’s chaos. Anything to occupy my hands and keep me from strangling the mother of my unborn child. Because, fuck, if I don’t want to do that more than just about anything right now.

The tomato sauce has a dried layer on top, so I run water into the pan and pour it down the sink. The pasta stays in the pot. I’ll dump that in the woods later.

Mia watches me silently, her frustration clear in the tense set of her shoulders. Too fucking bad. The clinking of dishes fills the room, a stark contrast to the strained silence between us.

Yeah, she’s pissed all right. Upset that I caught her attempting to escape.

Once the last dish is cleaned and put away, I turn to face her. “You really thought you could just leave?” I scoff, breaking the silence.

She remains silent, anger and regret etched across her face. Fine then. No point wasting words if she doesn’t want to talk.

Mia

It’s hard not to wallow in my frustration. Eric prepares breakfast in silence, giving me all the time in the world to reflect on the fact that I messed it up.

Now, he’ll be more cautious about me taking off.

Twice I’ve tried now and twice it didn’t work out.

It might be best to go with this situation for a little while until I can come up with a better plan and make Eric less suspicious. Next time, I have to be ready to actually get away. Have a plan for where I’m going and how I’ll do it.

The way I see it, I have seven months until Peanut gets here. My chances of a quick escape will diminish drastically once Igrow bigger, so the earlier I can make my escape, the better. But I have some time yet.

Eric put a plate of scrambled eggs and toast in front of me.

“Thanks.” My voice drips sarcasm.

I’m nauseous and, at that moment, the smell of the eggs is the worst thing about this whole situation. Seriously, whoever thought eating eggs was a good idea?

Rationally, I know I need to eat, even if it’s a mental fight to reach out and grab the toast.

“What?” Eric asks.

“The smell.” I wave my hand toward the plate.

“The smell?”

I roll my eyes. “Yes, the eggs. They stink.”

“You don’t like eating eggs?” His face transitions from a pissed-off expression to one of incredulity.

I groan inwardly. “I used to like them, but now I want them as far away from me as possible, or I’m not sure I’ll be able to get this toast down.”

He stares at me briefly, his face reverting to its usual expressionless state. Then, he takes the plate with the eggs, leaves the other half of the toast on the table, heads to the kitchen island for his own plate, and walks past me to open the cabin’s outside door, leaving.

I watch the door over my shoulder, curious about what he’s doing. It takes less than a minute before he walks back in with the two plates now empty.

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