Page 81 of Parker
“Shut the fuck up,” the other man barks. “You grab that arm. Let’s get her in the van. Don’t make a sound, Mrs., or I’ll gag you.”
***
Joel
“Nicky’s missing,” Sophie chokes out.
She burst into Parker Fashion moments ago, screaming into the intercom that she needed to speak to me.
“She got to the shop this morning but hasn’t opened up. When I arrived at lunchtime, the rear door was open. Her bag is there, but she’s gone.”
“Lifting my phone, I dial Boyd’s number. He answers on one ring. “Boyd, have we had eyes on Nicky today?”
“Not today.” He pauses. “Her station pass pinged. Nothing since.”
My heart pounds against my ribs as panic sets in. I don’t need his shit today.
“She’s disappeared from the shop sometime this morning.” He listens intently. “Sophie got there at lunchtime. Nicky hadn’t reopened the front door.”
“I’m on it.” Boyd disconnects the call.
I place my phone back on my desk. Sophie swallows as if bracing herself for bad news. Her fingers twist together, visible sweat is on her palms.
“Joel, there’s something else you need to know.”
My gut tightens. I already know this isn’t good news. I widen my eyes, signaling for her to get on with it.
“Nicky’s six months pregnant with your baby.”
Everything short-circuits. I can only gawk.
“What the fuck did you say?” She squares her shoulders, sticking her chin out defiantly.
“You heard me. The little goodbye fuck you had at Christmastime has had permanent consequences. Your little boy is growing in her belly. She’s due in September.”
“I’m going to be a father. I have a son. And no fucker told me,” I splutter. How the fuck did I miss this? I’ve been too wrapped up in my own shit to notice.
Grabbing for my phone again, Boyd answers immediately.
“Boyd, she’s pregnant. Find her now. Please.” My voice breaks as the enormity of the situation sinks in.
This baby is a miracle, and now we don’t know where he or his mother is. But most likely, they’re in the hands of one of my enemies. And I’m going to kill him.
Chapter thirty-seven
Unknown Location
Nicky
My eyes flutter open. Shit, my head hurts. The stench of dampness fills my nostrils. I’m lying on what feels like the most uncomfortable bed ever created. I stare up at the yellowed ceiling. Bits of plaster are coming away at the corners. A pipe hisses, the pressurized something ? water, air, gas ? being pushed through a small opening. What if they’re gassing me?
Where am I?
My hands move to the precious cargo in my belly, and a small foot jabs at my insides. He’s still there, I relax slightly. Unless that tiny kick was his last.
Pushing myself up to sit, I swing my legs off the side of the bed, not letting my feet touch the floor. My head spins, and I snap my eyes shut. I reopen them immediately to scan the room. It’s half dark. The sole light sources are a grubby window and a small table lamp on the floor. Dark shadows flutter across the walls,a reflection of the pathetic light through the window. Someone laughs in the distance outside, menacing and deep.
Underneath me are graying white sheets and an old wool blanket spattered with holes. The only furniture in the dank room is the single bed, a wooden chair, and a broken mirror which hangs crooked on the wall.
