Page 1 of Preying Heart
ChapterOne
Remi
I’ve been a good girl.
I’ve done everything he said. Followed all his rules.
This “thing” isn’t my fault.
An accident. He can’t blame me, right?
His office door opens with a click of a well-oiled lock.
Behind him, his assistant whines, “I’m sorry, Congressman. She was making a scene. I had to let her in.”
He shuts the door on her weak protest and perches one leg on his desk, the better to look down on me. I’m about to greet him with our usual kiss when he pushes me back onto the chair.
“Why are you here?”
I flash him a come-hither smile, the one I use to entice him to bed. “I have some news. I don’t know if it’s good or bad, but I couldn’t wait for our next meeting to tell you, and I didn’t want to text you. You said no phone calls and no letters, so…”
“You know the rules.” His voice glazes with ice as he pointedly looks at his watch. “Spit it out.”
“I’m pregnant.”
He didn’t expect that. I can tell, but oh, he’s slick. The momentary shot-between-the-eyeballs blink is replaced by a narrowing of the eyes and a hiss. “What does it have to do with me?”
“Uh, because you’re the only guy I’m involved with?”
He knows that. I’m exclusively his toy. I wouldn’t dare double-cross him. I owe him too much. Still, his skepticism is warranted. He rarely uses me the normal way. I’m on birth control pills and have an IUD inserted. I can barely believe it myself.
“Get rid of it.” He grabs me by the elbow and escorts me toward the door. “And don’t you ever appear at my office. Ever. The next time I see you, you will have taken care of the matter.”
“It might take some time. I mean, you know, appointments.” I’m not going to let him see me sweat. “Are we still on for dinner tomorrow evening?”
Dinner is a euphemism for a quick tryst to indulge his socially unacceptable appetites—the kink his wife, the daughter of a tech billionaire, can’t stomach.
“Only if you’ve taken care of your problem.” He swings the door open and calls out to his assistant. “Send in my next appointment.”
As I brush by him, Congressman Gavin Greasley pastes on his politician’s smile and shakes my hand. “I’m looking forward to the fundraiser you planned. Say ‘hi’ to Mom and Dad for me. Have a good day.”
* * *
I retreat to the penthouse apartment Gavin provides for me on the Seattle Waterfront. It’s a luxurious end-unit with a 270-degree view of the city, Elliot Bay, and the famous Space Needle. I’m twenty-four and haven’t worked a day in my life. Growing up in foster homes means I got the boot once I was out of the system. Luckily for me, my last home was with Gavin’s socialite parents, Stan and Deanna Greasley. They didn’t need the money, but rescuing me gave them a virtuous leg up with their charitable good works. It also gave Gavin a convenient and secret outlet for his depravities. Even now, if we happen to be caught together in public, I’m solely his foster sister—the one he’s helping through school.
Yes, I’ve dabbled with this school and that school: fashion design, interior design, creative writing, website design, and visual arts. It’s so easy to jump from one online course to another, and since I’m not allowed to have friends or meet people in the real world, this penthouse with its grandiose views and high-speed internet connection suits me perfectly.
Nothing prepares me for a pregnancy. I don’t even know how to change a diaper!
And I hate going to a doctor—especially the type who takes care of female problems. They’re so nosy and ask questions that have nothing to do with the visit.
Do you feel controlled or isolated by your partner?
Well, duh! Everything Gavin does is to control and isolate me. I have no one but an older brother whom he put in jail. To his credit, he paid off Slade’s gambling debts to keep the mob from coming after me, but that’s what I owe him—for life.
Does your partner ever try to control you by threatening to hurt you or your family?
Slade is all I have, and Gavin knows it. I have no doubt he can get to him in prison. Sitting duck for a shanking or beatdown.
