Page 68 of Deviant

“So you knew?”

“Rafe and I don’t have secrets.”

“No,” he said, pausing as he appeared to consider his next words carefully, “I suppose you don’t. Maybe the real question is what will you do to save the boy’s life?”

“Don’t youdaretouch his son.”

“Relax, Lex. The boy is fine. And he’ll stay that way as long as you do as you’re told.”

I couldn’t breathe. For the first time in weeks, I resorted to counting.

Five in. Hold. Five out. Repeat.

I hadn’t even realized I’d stopped the exercise until now—until Zach stood in front of me, dangling me over the past that fucking refused to quit.

Because he would never quit until one of us ended up dead.

It took everything in my power not to place a protective hand over my belly. If Zach were willing to use Rafe’s son against us, he wouldn’t hesitate to harm the life growing inside me.

That’s when the tears threatened to give away my tumultuous emotional state. Instinct took over, the fight for survival, and I kneed Zach in the balls with everything I had. As he doubled over in agony, I took off in the opposite direction, feet sliding on the gleaming hardwood. I crashed into a door and frantically reached for the knob. But when I yanked it open, a black hole stared me in the face.

Footsteps pounded at my back, only seconds away. There was no time, and I was trapped. I bolted down the stairs, flipping a light on as I went, and prayed for an exit, or at the least, a wine cellar instead of a basement. Wine cellars were wonderlands of glass bottles. I’d threatened Rafe with the jagged head of one once. This time, it wouldn’t be a threat.

This time, I wasn’t only fighting for escape, but I was fighting for my life.

Fighting for Rafe.

Fighting for our child.

A sob threatened to bubble up in my throat. He didn’t even know about the baby yet. Would I get a chance to tell him?

Don’t think about that now.

I reached the bottom, and as I eyed the neat rows of wine taking up half of the cellar, I forced back the blanket of despair hanging over me. About to reach for a bottle, the bars sectioning off the other side of the room caught my attention.

A homemade prison made with me in mind.

Because Rafe was fucking twisted like that. I could see him throwing me in there for punishment, hands cuffed behind me so I couldn’t relieve the achy heat between my legs he would inevitably ignite.

Zach’s boots hit the top of the staircase, and I darted my gaze between the prison and the bottles. Maybe it was self-preservation kicking in; a voice in the back of my mind screaming that Zach would take me off the island first chance he got.

Something propelled me into the prison. I slammed the door shut, and the lock clanked into place with an echo of finality just as Zach reached the cellar. He launched himself across the room, but it was too late.

I was locked away, safe from him, the key to my freedom circling Rafe’s neck. Time was my weapon. All I had to do was make it through this until someone showed up, and someone was bound to, eventually.

“You shouldn’t have done that, Lex.” He curled his fingers around the bars.

“Now I’m your prisoner, just like you wanted.”

His laughter echoed through the cellar. “I don’t have a fucking key.”

“I know.”

Zach cursed under his breath, his knuckles going white from his forceful grip. We stared at each other for several moments, his hazel eyes meeting my jade.

He’d intruded on the island, wrecking the memory of my wedding night. He’d fucking stolen my groom, thinking he’d won the war.

But the battle had just begun.

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