Page 17 of Sold to My Ex's Brother
But I need to try. God knows, I need to try.
I sit up in bed and run my fingers through my hair, glancing around the room in a search for something I can use to help. There has to besomethingin here I can make use of to ease the situation, as dire as it seems now.
I search the wardrobe, which is empty, and then check the bathroom, which has nothing but some high-end toiletries in it. I could try to make myself sick, chug back a gallon of this shower gel to force them to call me a doctor, but I have the baby to think about, too.
Oh, God. The baby.
I’ve been trying not to focus too much on that fact, on top of everything else; the weight of it is too big, the failure I’ve hit my little one with before they’ve even come into the world. They are relying on me to protect them, and what have I done? Gotten myself sold off and kidnapped by their father, even if he has no idea that I’m pregnant yet.
In front of the mirror, I turn to the side slightly, pulling up my tee to look at my stomach. It’s the first time I have really paid much attention to myself since I first found out about the pregnancy, given that I was snatched up before I so much as had time to take in the news.
I can’t see much of a bump, though I guess it won’t be long till I start to show. And when that time comes, I’m not going to have any choice but to tell them about it, the people who are holding me. Will they provide medical care? Or will I be left out in the cold to deal with this shit alone?
I have no clue, and I’m praying I can get out of here before I have to find out one way or another.
I drop my tee back into place and splash some water on my face. I know there are guards on my door, I just need to find the right words to convince them to let me out of here. Shouldn’t be that hard, right? I might not have much of an ego, but a man just paid a million bucks to make me his. If I can just channel that energy, I might be able to find a way through this...
I make my way to the door and press my ear against it, pausing for a moment to figure out what I can hear. Whoever is out there, I’m pretty sure they’re alone, and that has to help my chances.
I knock on the inside of the door, trying to get their attention. “Hello? Hello!”
Nothing. Silence rings through the room, and I grimace. Guess I’m going to have to pull out the big guns.
“Please, I need help!” I call through the door, banging on it with a little more purpose. “I can’t be in here alone, you have to understand me...”
I hear a small creak on the other side of the door, and I’m sure he must have heard me. I try again, whining about whatever I can bring to mind as I wait for him to respond. I try the handle a few times, but the door is locked tight, and it only rattles uselessly in the frame.
A part of me wants to give up and rest, just like he told me to, but another side of me knows that I need to keep pushing on. Not just for me, but for this baby, to make sure that we get out of here in one piece.
“Please—”
But just as I’m about to start over, the door flies open before me, nearly sending me tumbling over the threshold. I’m confrontedwith a man I have seen before, I think one of the guards I spotted when Anton was leading me through the house. He looks to be a little older than me, and he eyes me for a moment as he opens the door.
“What is it?”
“I need to see a doctor,” I tell him. “I’m not feeling well. Is there someone in this house I can speak to?”
He eyes me for a moment, incredulous, and I stare back at him, standing my ground as best I can.
“What’s wrong?”
“I told you, I’m not feeling well?—”
“But how?”
I freeze. I didn’t exactly think this part through. “I…uh…”
“You hungry?” he asks. “The housekeeper brought some dinner down, but I assumed you were asleep, so I didn’t bring it in.”
My stomach grumbles heartily, but I try not to let it distract me. I have bigger things to concern myself with right now. “It’s not about that,” I retort. “I need fresh air. I can’t be cooped up in here all the time, it’s not fair...”
He cocks an eyebrow, and I get the feeling that I have not exactly made my point as I had hoped. “I’ll talk to the Pakhan. He’ll decide what to do with you.”
I wrinkle my nose up. “With who? I don’t know what you’re talking about-”
“The Pakhan,” he replies, not missing a beat. “Anton Viriski. The man who brought you here.”
I chew my lip. That man, whoever he is, whatever title this man wants to give him, he’s not going to let me out. I take a step forward, gazing up at the man before me, doing my best to put on the sweetest expression possible in the hopes that I can get him feeling sorry for me.
