Page 102 of Cold as Hell

I take off my coat. He orders my hat and gloves to follow, and my body sighs in relief as cold air rushes over my sweating body.

“Shirt,” he says.

I glare at him, but I don’t argue. I hike the oversized sweatshirt over my belly and then I stand as I wrestle with it, cursingwhen it gets stuck going over my head. I have it off one arm and my head before he hisses in frustration and bends down to pull it off my other arm.

I wrench the shirt as hard as I can, and the surprise of that pulls him off-balance. He still has the gun in his right hand, but it’s lowered, and when he loses his balance, I start to run. There’s a massive spruce right there. I just need to get behind it—

A contraction hits, so hard I gasp. My right boot slides. It shoots over the edge of that divot and through the ice. The contraction doubles me over before I can right myself, and my right leg plunges into the freezing water as I fall to my left knee.

Jerome grabs me by the hair and drags me away from the hole. I’m gasping, the pain of the contraction and the icy water making me want to scream. I bite it back—

No.

I let the scream out. I scream as long and hard as I can, doubling over and grabbing my stomach.

Something hits me in the cheek. There’s a crack, and I see stars as I fall. Then I’m on the ice, lying on my back, staring up at Jerome. He pulls back the gun as if to strike me again. Then he grabs my right leg. Pain crashes through me and I can’t even tell if it’s my leg or the contractions. I howl. He yanks off my one wet boot and sock and then the dry ones.

“There,” he snarls. “Problem solved. Now take off the rest.”

I can barely process his words. My head is ringing from the blow. My leg feels as if it’s on fire. I’m shivering convulsively. And all that is swept away by a sensation I can’t quite identify.

Instinct. The overwhelming need to bear down. Something almost like relief flutters through me. It’s almost over. The baby is coming, and all I need to do is bear down and the pain will end.

Jerome grabs my legs. He heaves them into the air, holding the fabric of my sweatpants and pulling, his face twisted.

I scream again, doubling over as if in pain, but I no longer feel pain. Just need. I need to have this baby, and I am not going to be able to do it like this.

That instinct takes charge, laser focused on what is standing between me and giving birth. I continue to double over, screaming and feigning agony. Jerome lifts the gun, but he seems to know a threat won’t help. I’m writhing on the ice, as if blinded and mad with the pain of labor.

He jams the gun into his waistband, grabs my pant legs again, heaves and—

I kick with my left leg, the foot slamming into his jaw. He staggers back, and I push up, ignoring the pain and shock of the ice against my bare feet. I take one step, the foot that went into the water numb. Then I hit him with both hands. He stumbles. I hit him again, falling onto him for the extra weight. When I feel him topple, I drop sideways fast, letting my entire body fall as he goes over backward.

He grunts in annoyance. That’s it. Not fear. Not concern. Just annoyance. I’ve knocked him over. Big deal. I couldn’t even manage to stay upright afterward.

Then he hits the ice—the thin ice that I’d already broken through. It crashes beneath him, and his eyes widen as he goes under.

His head and torso fall through the fishing hole, but his feet are still on the side, and as he splashes down, he manages to twist and grab the edge. He’s caught himself there, with his calves still on solid ice, and one hand holding fast, head out of the water. The hole might have been huge for ice fishing, but it’s only three feet across, and Jerome is over six feet tall.

He’d told me I could stretch over the hole, and that’s whathe’s doing as he pulls his other hand out of the water. He’s trying to get a grip, but he can’t, because his hand—like my foot—is numb.

I crawl over. My body has gone quiet now, as if it knows I’m doing my best to have this baby.

I keep crawling until I reach the hand gripping the ice. Then I kneel. At first Jerome doesn’t see me. He’s too focused on getting a grip with those numb fingers. When he does, he blinks. Then he sees what’s in my hands and his eyes widen with horror, and I drink it in… before I bash the rock down onto his hand.

He screams, and the ice under his hand breaks. His torso drops under the surface. I crawl down to his feet, and with a calm that I’m sure will haunt me later, I take hold of his boots and push. He manages to flail, but it’s a weak effort, his arms barely breaking the surface. Then his feet are over the edge, and he drops fully into the water.

A contraction hits, the strongest yet, and I fall back as the world dips to black.

When the world returns, I’m lying on the ice. I manage to crawl to my coat and drag it to shore. Blood pounds in my ears. Pain fogs my vision. I can’t seem to find the energy or the will to stand. I barely make it to land and tuck in behind a sheltering rock. Then I drop the coat on the ground and fall backward onto it and scream.

I let myself scream, and it feels so damned good. Then I’m panting and shaking and the urge to bear down takes over. I struggle out of my soaked sweatpants and underwear.

Am I going to do this?

Really do it?

Alone? Beside a frozen lake?

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