Page 70 of Psycho

Conveniently, Damon was missing. Was that the Duke’s doing? Why did he not want me to talk to the man who was responsible for the entire shit show we both seemed to be trapped in?

I didn’t reply to the first man, choosing to give a curt nod as I sat up on the uncomfortable bed against the wall where I spent the rest of my night after my conversation with the Englishman.

“My name is Dr. Stein.” The new man went on, as the lackeys propped his cases up against the wall and walked out. “I’m an OB and I’m here to check you and your baby out.” He looked normal and friendly, but I couldn’t get over the oddity of his presence, like he was out of place somehow.

Again, I didn’t reply. How could a doctor walk into a place like this, to do his kind of job, and act as though everything was okay?

I was a fucking prisoner, after all! It was absurd.

“I’m told you were in a sort of car accident yesterday.” The doctor continued, standing in front of me now and forcing me to focus on him. “And that you suffered a dislocated shoulder. Did you sustain any other injuries in the crash?”

I swallowed, prying my dry tongue from the roof of my mouth, and finally replied verbally. “I don’t know.” I shrugged, “Bumps and scrapes.”

“Are you sore today?”

Slowly, I nodded my head. My entire fucking body hurt, especially my back. Was it all from the crash?

“Has the baby moved since the crash?” I nodded again. “As much as normal or less?”

“I don’t know.” I snapped, a little frustrated with the entire thing. “I’ve been a little preoccupied with being a prisoner.”

He tightened his lips like my outburst was distasteful in his eyes as he weaved his fingers together in front of him. “Well, if you want me to help you, you’ll have to be a little more helpful to me. How far along are you?”

“Thirty-six weeks.” I spoke through clenched teeth as I forced myself to take a deep breath before daring to look at the tall, ominous figure standing against the wall staring at me. He wore black dress slacks and a black button-up shirt, the latter unbuttoned at the throat and rolled up the sleeves to show extensive tattoos on both forearms. He looked like a proper English gentleman until he smoked or revealed his ink.

Then he looked as menacing as any other crook and criminal I’d met in my time.

“Well,” The doctor’s eyes widened, and he looked over at the man himself, “Clock is ticking then.” Turning back to me, hemotioned to the bed. “Lay back and we’ll take a peek at the baby with an ultrasound.”

I watched him silently as he moved to one of the large cases against the wall and opened it, revealing all sorts of medical equipment, including a small handheld ultrasound. Unable to let my anger control me, I laid back on the bed, desperate to find out if my baby was okay or not from the crash and the stress of the last day. I could hate the man, but he may be my only chance at reassurance.

I watched from the corner of my eye as he gathered his machine and then came over to the bed, lifting my shirt and pressing on my stomach like my doctor did at my appointments, checking position and growth.

The man smiled down at me and tapped my stomach as he squeezed some gel out onto my skin. “Baby is head down, that will make the delivery much easier, and faster.”

I didn’t reply, because there was something to the tone of his voice that gave me the shivers.

He ran the wand over my stomach, and my baby moved under it like it hated the intrusion into its space and fought back against it. My baby was a little spitfire and already attuned to stranger danger. And we were most definitely surrounded by stranger danger.

“Ah, here we are.” He moved the wand around my stomach, taking a thorough look at everything.

He didn’t turn the screen toward me, and there was something about the way he treated me like I didn’t matter, that made those shivers turn into alarm bells in my gut. Something was wrong with the man and the entire situation.

I chanced a glance over at The Duke, but he stared at my stomach like he’d never seen a pregnant woman before and couldn’t quite make heads or tails of it. I opened my mouth toaddress him, but the door to the room opened again and Damon walked in with a huff of indignation.

“You started without me?” He snapped, glanced at The Duke and then glared at the doctor and me. “Doesn’t the father get any respect?”

“You’re not the father.” I bit out, pushing the doctor’s hand away from my stomach to pull my shirt down like hiding my skin would protect my baby from his disgusting presence.

Damon clicked his tongue and sneered at me. “The math says I am, bitch.” He turned his attention to the doctor, who showed him the screen and pointed out something still on there.

“Your daughter is growing perfectly, Mr. Kirst. Thirty-six weeks along and in perfect health to be born anytime.”

Daughter.

The word echoed through the room, reverberating through my ears as nausea bubbled up in my stomach over the whole situation.

No. No! I was supposed to find out with Maddox. No!

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