Page 97 of Pas de Trois
It’s clear?
No guard?
Why isn’t there a guard at the gate?
My mind starts to question it, but my body shuts down my conscious thinking, forcing me to focus on the agony that’s taking over. I start shaking, trembling out of control, and I can’t stop it.
I feel the car turn. “We’re out,” Kostya says, and I hear the surprise in his tone. “We’re on the road.”
We’re on the road.
We made it out.
We made it out?
No security stop?
Gate open?
Once I’ve finally caught my breath from the last contraction, another clutches me in devastating misery.
“No, no, no,” I pant as it tightens and pulls and stretches across my belly, wrapping around my midsection and throbbing. It’s like being crushed in a vice.
I can’t speak through it.
I can’t think through it.
The car speeds forward down the road, but our escape plan is lost to me now.
I don’t exist.
My conscious thought disintegrates to the torture my body suffers.
Nothing exists now except for pain.
