Page 54 of Better as It

My hands fly to my stomach—still round, still solid, still there. The kick is weak but real, thumping against my palm like a whispered,“I’m here, Mama.”

Relief floods me so fast I almost vomit. Then the fear creeps in again. Where am I?

I sit up, slowly, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. My ankles throb. My lower back screams. But I move. That’s what matters.

The door is solid steel. No handle on my side. A camera in the upper corner blinks red.

They’re watching.

I pace. I breathe. I count. One, two, three. One, two, three.

If I let myself panic, I’ll drown in it.

I’m still trying to force my thoughts into something useful when voices echo outside the door.

Two men. One older, one younger. Their accents are thick—Southern, sharp-edged.

“She still out?” the younger one asks.

“No. She’s up. Pacing like a damn hamster.”

A low chuckle.

“You think the lady is gonna come check on her?”

“Eventually. Probably wants to wait until she’s calm. No sense stressing the cargo.”

The word cargo turns my stomach.

“You sure this is what she paid for?” the younger one asks. “This whole containment thing on a pregnant lady?”

“She gave us fifty grand and one hell of a reason. Her son’s woman? Pregnant? With a Hellion's baby? She wants that kid.”

“What’s she gonna do with her after it’s born?”

My mind races. Benji’s mom. Why does she want me? What do they mean she wants ‘that kid’? This baby is her grandchild. Would she hurt him?

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to.” One of them mutters and I can’t help but agree even though I really wish I had all the answers right now.

I stumble backward, breath catching in my throat.

She wants the baby.

They’re going to keep me here until I give birth—and then take it from me.

I press my hand to my mouth, swallowing down bile.

They called her “the lady.” Maybe it isn’t his mom. But they said her son’s woman. Justin’s mom died when he was twelve.

No.

No, it couldn’t be. My mind goes back. Benji was supposed to be the safest person for me to ever be with. This doesn’t feel right.

I’m sitting cross-legged on Benji’s couch holding a video game controller.

“Okay,” he says, gently turning the controller right-side up for me, “this is the jump button. This one does fireballs, but don’t waste them.”

He’s trying to teach me this game with racing karts. I’m terrible. BW wasn’t into video games so I don’t have experience doing this. Still, though, Benji sits in front of me smiling like he is solving world hunger.

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