Page 50 of Scarlet Secrets

I’m out so fast I pitch almost face-first on the gravel, heart thumping as I stumble, managing at the last minute to right myself.

A sound, horrible and keening, is wrenched from my soul as I grab the car, legs buckling as he stands, holding my child with a gentleness that belies the brute he is.

He stalks off, barely affording me a glance, the anger radiating from him so hot I’m burned.

For a moment I stand there, staring, and I half turn to the car. I’m about to close the door when I see something. I scrabble over the back seat and scoop up Sasha’s pillow and stuffed baby goat, hugging them like they’re my boy, and I race off after Demyan, who’s disappearing in the mansion.

He’s furious, mad at me, I tell myself. I know this. Sasha does this. The world ends, and he’s anger— burning, melting anger—and nothing will ever be right again. No one isforgiven. And then… I am. And he’s sunshine and smiles through the tears on his cheeks.

Demyan’s the same. He’s obviously angry, but unlike a two-year-old, he’s reasonable and he’ll be willing to listen to me. Maybe not right this moment, but in a few minutes when the anger settles. He’s smart. He can be gentle, and I assume loving. He loves his sister, and he was once nice to me. Even if it was to get into my pants, he was nice. He didn’t need to be.

I probably would have fucked him if he was an ass because he’s that hot and he was paying me attention.

Pushing out air, I rush into the foyer. “Demyan,” I say, “can we?—”

“Quiet.” He looks over to a woman who’s young and attractive. She’s not the one who fed me. Of course, he’d have more staff. And she’s staff. She’s wearing the same uniform as the other woman. “Olga, take my son to the living room.”

Without waiting, he hands him over and then turns to me, grabbing my wrist in a hard, manacled grip and drags me away.

“No, no, Demyan, my son, I need?—”

“Nothing, so shut up.” I open my mouth again, but the deadly fury is locked up behind an unfeeling mask that I find more terrifying than the anger. “If you know what’s good for you, shut the fuck up.”

He drags me up the stairs. Past the second floor, to the third one, where there are guards at the top of the stairs. He opens a different door to a bigger room, more like a suite. Outside, two more guards take up residence. He pushes me inside.

This is a long-term cell. Luxurious, but a cell. There’s no old-fashioned lock, just a high-tech lock that looks like it has a scanner and a keypad. Both sides, but the one on my side is dead. I stand near what looks like a small living area and stare at him.

“Let me have my son.”

But he steps back and I lift the hand with the toy and the pillow to me, hugging them, breathing in Sasha’s scent.

“Until you can be trusted, you’ll have no contact with Sasha at all.”

And he walks out, closing the door.

Locking me in.

Chapter Thirteen

DEMYAN

Jesus,fuck, is the kid small.

He’s chubby and yet so fucking fragile I might actually throw up.

How the hell do you stop something like him from getting hurt? Crushed? Killed? Not even in the grand scheme of things. I mean the day to fucking day. Bumping into things, falling, getting crushed underfoot?

And the baby is… gorgeous.

I rub a spot on my chest that’s both ice and fire at the same time. Impossibly full and empty. I don’t get it. I’m not a fucking baby person. I don’t even think about them.

And yet…

Here he fucking is.

My son.

Looking like me, yeah, but her, too.

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