Page 65 of The Twins

“Perhaps I should call a doctor?” Carey suggests. I shake my head. Cramps and headaches are a standard in my life, but thus far, I was blessed without any incidents in front of clients.

I could trust my body enough to rely on warning signals.

Not today.

I sink to my knees, unleashing my stomach’s contents in the toilet bowl.

Carey moves to the sink, her eyes running over the pregnancy test’s manual.

“You’re pregnant! I knew it! I knew it! Hell yes!” Carey shouts, her eyes shining like pearly diamonds. “Perfect! OMG! You need to tell me all about it!”

“What is going on in here?” Hugh appears, his fist knocking on the door.

On my knees, I pant. I wipe my lips clean, but the sour taste on my tongue remains. Before I can tell her to keep her hands off the damn door handle, Carey opens the door, and she rushes outside to hug Hugh Abbott.

Fine. Maybe they’re like family.

They’re not, and you know it.

I let the girl be happy, but I know that I can’t be pregnant. Yes, my men don’t use condoms. Yes, I don’t take any other protective measures. Yes, my period’s back.

But I can’t be pregnant.

And I can’t ignore what Carey deflected a moment ago. I can’t forget that Carey openly hugged him in front of me.

“I need to tell my boyfriend,” I tell her softly. “Can you bring me my phone?”

Carey claps her hands, murmuring things to herself. She exits the restroom, nodding.

“Where are you from?” Hugh asks me, and I catch where he’s going with it.

“That’s none of your business,” I croak.

“I wonder which man you had to trap. I understand. Don’t worry. You mustn’t be making a lot of money with this business. How much do you charge?” Hugh inquires, lifting one of his eyebrows in curiosity.

I don’t open my mouth.

“Have you ever thought of working in the adult industry?”

“Excuse me?” I gasp.

“Pretty girl. Nice tits. With those scars on your body, you could fuck BDSM guys. What did you do to your arms? It’s ugly, but I’m sure some men would pay top dollar. And that neck? Glorious. Were you hung from the ceiling? Burned? No way… Give me your phone number. I have contacts, and I can get you a good manager that’s going to show you all the ropes,” Hugh Abbott offers, and I bend over the toilet bowl once more.

This time, my mouth tastes like acid.

When Carey returns with my phone, I refuse to give Hugh my phone number. He insists, but when he sees that I’m not responding, he drops it. Thankfully.

I call my boyfriend with my phone while Carey studies me, Mr. Abbott standing right behind her.

Vegas will hear the stress on my voice. I can’t look away from Hugh Abbott.

“What is it?” I breathe out in relief when I hear Vegas’ voice.

“Please, come and take me home,” I beg him, tears storming my face.

“Who hurt you? Who the fuck hurt you?” Vegas erupts, and I hear the hungry engine of his car.

Hugh scowls, and I take it down a notch. I’m pretending, lying for my safety.

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