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This is Love, Baby(4)

By:K. Webster



His gaze becomes soft and he strokes my hair. “Of course, angel.”

I swallow down the bile in my throat and let him drag me into the small cabin. A faint scent of bacon lingers in the air and the mere whiff of it makes me queasy again. But I have to get it together. The thought of Gabe suspecting even for one moment that I’m pregnant with War’s baby is a horrifying one. I shudder to imagine what terrible things he’d be capable of doing with that information.

He guides me through the bedroom that still gives me nightmares and into the tiny bathroom. Once there, he finally releases the death grip he had my arm locked in. “Make it quick and don’t try anything stupid. I don’t think I have to remind you of the rules, do I? Every step, baby. Every step.”

I shudder and nod, rubbing some circulation back into by arm. He smiles and leaves me alone in the bathroom. The shower is quick, even though I want to stay there for hours, and soon I’m dried off. My toothbrush is still here so I brush my teeth quickly and redress, pulling the same T-shirt I had on over my head. War’s T-shirt.

Sounds from the kitchen alert me to the fact that Gabe must be preparing food. I creep over to the doorway and cast a glance down the hall to the front door. If I could manage to steal his keys, I could make a run for it. I’ve been training every day for two months on the beach. Some days, I would even run barefoot. I never want to be helpless again like I was in those woods not long ago. It is possible for me to make it. Especially if he were incapacitated.

But if I don’t?

There are easily over seventy-five steps between where I’m standing and the car.

Seventy-five lashings would be brutal.

I shiver and turn toward the kitchen, resolving to devise a better plan later when I have some time to think. A plan that includes making a run for it while he’s asleep or in the shower. Anytime other than now when I can barely stand on two legs. Right now I need my strength.

“Smells good,” I tell him and slide into a kitchen chair that wasn’t here the last time I’d been here. My eyes graze over the familiar open cellar door in the floor, in the middle of the kitchen. A shudder passes through me remembering the time I spent tossed down there and I force myself to stop looking at it. Why is it open? Had he planned on putting me in there had I not been compliant?

“You smell clean now,” he says with a smile and puts a plate down in front of me. “But the shirt has to go. You know better, baby.”

I nod and attempt to hide my reluctance at having to take off the only piece of War I have. He must sense my moment of hesitation, though, and grabs the front of my shirt, hauling me out of the chair. I cry out when he passes the cellar. Thankfully, he drags me over to the counter. When he picks up a sharp knife, I start to cry.

“No! Please!”

He doesn’t cut me, but instead saws down the front of the shirt until he slices it right off. Once he rips it from my shivering body, he tosses it into the dark cellar hole.

His fingers curl around my hair and he yanks me until I’m staring into his almost black eyes that seem to pulsate with rage. “That was your only warning,” he hisses, spittle raining down on my face. “Next time, it’ll be you that goes down there.”

I swallow back a sob. “Yes, I’m sorry.”

His hand releases my hair and both palms find my now bare ass. With incredible strength, he easily hauls my weakened body against him, nearly stabbing me with his erection, which I couldn’t help but feel digging in my stomach through his jeans. “Hurry up and eat. We have plans.”




“I’m so cold.”

He’s tied my arms to the bed and I can’t stop shivering. My legs are free and I wonder if I can somehow choke him with them.

“I know, Baylee. I’m about to warm you up.” His smile is predatory as he sets to removing all of his clothes. I cringe when he starts my way but he hesitates, a scowl immediately taking over his face. “Where’s my willing girl? Where’d she go? Don’t tell me that fucker polluted your mind. You’re mine, baby. You’re home.”

Images of War flood my mind and my lip quivers with unshed emotion. “I’ll never be yours.” My voice comes out in a hoarse whisper.

He sits down on the bed beside me and grips my jaw in his brutal grasp, turning my gaze to meet his. “This was all part of the plan, Baylee. Remember? I promised you I’d be back for you and I delivered. I’m going to take care of you now. I love you.”

This delusional bastard thinks he loves me.

Love doesn’t make you kidnap someone.

Love doesn’t make you violate someone.

Love doesn’t make you murder someone.

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