Page 49 of Hers to Control

Mia sits up straight and looks at me, her eyes huge and round, and hopeful, as she takes in the chance that maybe our baby will be fine. It’s such a genuine hope that something in me hurts in response.

“You fucking better not be lying to me right now,” I growl into the phone, but Mia takes it from me, pressing it against her own ear.

“This is Mia. Are you sure? You are sure they gave me the syringe with the saline solution and not something else?”

“Yes.” I can hear Anya’s response, reassuring and soft now that she’s speaking with Mia directly.

I relax slightly, but Mia’s voice shakes as she asks her next question. “Are you sure the needle was clean?”

I don’t hear the response as Mia gets out of the bed, making the blankets rustle. She walks slightly hunched over to keep the gash on her chest from pulling. Immediately, I want her back in my arms. Right now, the contact is the only thing keeping me settled enough to be there for her. If she doesn’t stay close, I’m not sure what I will do.

“Thank you.” Mia takes the phone from her ear and ends the call.

“The needle?” I prompt, and she gives me a hesitant smile.

“Anya says it was clean. I still want to see the doctor, though.”

I nod and hold out my hand so I can make the call. As I tell the guy to get to the hotel pronto if he wants to keep his balls, Mia heads into the bathroom. She leaves the door open, so I follow her in as I push the phone back into my pocket.

She’s topless, but for once, I’m not about to fuck her senseless. No, I step up behind her and let my palms glide down from her shoulders to her hands, our eyes meeting in the mirror before I drop mine to take in her chest.

The long cut is still oozing a bit of blood, making it hard not to yell out in rage. I suspect if she stayed still, the wound would close quickly, but it’s deep enough that there will be a scar, and that knowledge fuels my rage.

“The doctor is on his way.”

Mia

I pull my fingers from below Eric’s and guide his hands to lie flat on my stomach. His stormy eyes filled with rage when he looked at the long cut marring my skin, but I need him to stay calm now.

“The baby might be fine. They didn’t hit me in the stomach and if Anya is telling the truth, then Peanut might be fine.” I repeat the thought the way I’ve been doing in my head ever since Anya told us about switching the syringe. It’s my lifeline. Even if Eric hates the way my body is now marred with the mark of Victor’s knife, I don’t give a shit. As long as my baby is fine, I’llbe okay. Not even the pain can truly hurt me now. Not when I’m filled with hope, banning all other sensations.

Well, all other sensations, except for that trickle of fear that the stress of the past day alone might have been enough to hurt my pregnancy.

“I should clean the wound,” I say, and Eric’s expression grows even more stony.

“Let me do it,” he offers, though he says it through clenched teeth, which isn’t the most reassuring. I wonder if he has a problem with seeing blood, which would be ironic in a way.

“No, it’s fine. I’d rather do it myself. That way I can go slow when it hurts.”

That wasn’t the right thing to say, apparently, because Eric’s fist flies out and smashes the mirror in front of us. His movement jolts me as his chest presses against my back and I let out a small moan. Eric freezes and stares at me through the splintered shards of glass still attached to the wall.

“Fuck. I’m sorry.” Then he turns and stalks out of the bathroom, leaving me to clean the wound with a fluffy white towel and some water.

I dab at the wound, wincing as the fabric brushes against the gash and raw skin surrounding it. Despite the pain, I’m grateful for the distraction. Once I wipe all the blood away, it’s easier to see the cut. It looks ghastly to me, with some areas deeper than others, but cleaned it’s a lot less terrifying than before.

Taking one of the smaller hand towels, I press it against the cut where it’s bleeding more strongly after being cleaned and walk back into the main room. Eric is pacing, his knife flying through his fingers at a speed I’ve never seen before. The sight should unnerve me. It’s as good a reminder that he’s part of the mafia as there is, and yet, the emotion doesn’t come. Instead, I walk over to him and when his hand with the knife stills and he lowers itto his side, I wrap myself around him and another wave of tears starts pouring down my cheeks.

I’ve had to be strong my entire life, but right now I can’t do it anymore. Right now, I need the man who saved me to keep me safe for a little longer while I catch my breath and wait to find out if my baby is okay.

I’m not sure how long it takes, but eventually, there is a knock at the door and a gruff voice announces himself as Dr. Artino.

Eric puts his hands on my shoulders and directs me to sit on the bed. As he goes to open the door, knife in hand, I realize I’m still shirtless, but I decide it doesn’t matter.

The doctor walks in. He’s probably in his late sixties, with white hair and weathered skin. He comes to the bed and gives me a once-over, a neutral expression on his face.

“Mr. Merlino has asked me to look after you.”

Instead of answering, I just nod. I need to tell him about Peanut, but I can’t get myself to speak.

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