Page 9 of Twisted Addiction
My hands shook as I unbuttoned my jeans, peeling them down along with my underwear.
There it was—fresh blood staining the fabric, seeping through. I turned on the shower, letting the water heat up as I stripped off the rest, stepping under the scalding spray.
The steam filled the room, but it couldn’t wash away the embarrassment clawing at me. How had I not felt it? How had they seen before I did?
As I scrubbed my skin again, the water turning pink at my feet, I noticed the blood wasn’t like my usual menstrual flow.
It was thicker, clotted, almost gelatinous—dark and ominous. My stomach twisted in knots, fear gripping me tighter than before. This wasn’t normal. This could mean... No. I couldn’t even think it. The baby had to be okay. But the doubt gnawed at me, amplifying every ache in my body.
I stayed under the water longer than necessary, letting it pound against my back until my skin prickled. Finally, I shut it off, wrapped myself in a fresh towel, and stepped out, my hair dripping onto the floor.
I rushed to my corner of the wardrobe, dropping the towel just long enough to pull on a clean pair of panties and a simple top—loose and comfortable, nothing that would constrict or remind me of the mess.
The embarrassment lingered like a shadow, making my movements quick and jerky.
Dmitri was still in the room, now seated at his desk, his posture rigid as he scrolled through something on his phone.
I walked over, forcing my voice to steady. “I need to see a doctor.” I knew something was wrong—deeply wrong—and I had to know if I still carried my baby, or if I was putting whatever was left at risk by waiting.
He rose from the desk, unfolding to his full height until he was looming over me, the shadow of him swallowing the space between us. “Your period?” His voice was sharp—clinical, not tender.
I looked away, avoiding those piercing eyes. “How many days was I kidnapped for?”
“I got you out in forty-eight hours,” he said flatly. “For a price you can’t imagine.”
“Like I care what it cost you?” I retorted, fury bubbling up again.
“I didn’t pay with money,” he replied, the faintest flicker of something unreadable crossing his face.
I snapped my gaze back to him. “Again—I don’t care. You disgust me, Dmitri.” The words came out like venom. “When are you planning your next vanishing act? Another four months? A year? Two? Or will you just send another text telling me what I don’t deserve?”
His eyes darkened, the calm mask cracking just enough for me to see the storm beneath.
In two strides he was in front of me, the desk digging into the back of my thighs as he closed in. One hand braced the wood beside me, the other gripping my chin, forcing me to look up at him.
“Careful,” he murmured, voice a low growl against my skin. “You think you hate me? You’ve barely begun to understand what hate costs. I pulled you out of Antonio’s hands, Penelope. Do you know what I risked? What I bled for?”
His thumb pressed harder against my jaw, not cruel enough to bruise, but enough to remind me he could.
“You won’t speak to me of disappearing,” he hissed, leaning so close his breath ghosted across my cheek. “Because whether I’m in this room or across the ocean, I’m in you. You don’t get rid of me, Penelope. Ever.”
He held my gaze a beat longer—dark, unreadable—before straightening, the heat of him retreating as he turned toward the door. “Now get up,” he said, voice like steel. “We’re going to the doctor. We’ll see if you’re carrying my child.”
He paused on the threshold, glancing back over his shoulder, his tone low and almost dangerous. “And for your sake, I hope you are.”
I stood frozen, my knees weak, his words echoing like chains tightening around me. Then, slowly, I forced myself forward, each step dragging me closer to him, closer to a truth I wasn’t sure I could bear.
My hands trembled at my sides, betraying me.
I wanted to scream, to claw my way out of this nightmare, but instead I kept walking. Because beneath the fury, beneath the fear, a cruel flicker of hope gnawed at me. That maybe the child was still there. That maybe this wasn’t the end.
And I hated myself for it. For clinging to the smallest thread of salvation from the very man who had shattered me.
As the door closed behind us, the hall stretched ahead—dark, endless. My heart was a storm, and with every step I wondered: was I walking toward deliverance... or my undoing?
Once we stepped into the sleek black SUV, Dmitri slid into the driver’s seat with that predatory grace of his, while I claimed the passenger side, buckling in with trembling hands.
The engine purred to life, a low rumble that did nothing to drown out the storm raging inside me.
