Page 42 of Bound By Blood and Lies

This whole time I believed Roman was looking for me. That he would find me. That he was tearing the world apart tryingto get me back. Was I wrong to trust him? To love him? Does he even care? A tear slips free before I can stop it and I swipe angrily at my cheek. Mr Longstaff must see it because he steps closer. When he reaches toward my face I instinctively pull back, but he’s faster. His fingers slide through my hair with quiet familiarity, tucking a loose strand behind my ear before brushing away another tear that escapes. The gesture is so eerily similar to Roman that I let out a choked sob and my hand flies to my mouth, pressing hard against my lips to stop any more from escaping.

“Aww, sweetheart, did you think he was looking for you?” Mr Longstaff asks, his tone coated in artificial sweetness.

I whimper.

Mr Longstaff’s smile shifts. His hand moves suddenly, fingers clamping around my jaw and forcing my face upward. His grip is hard enough that pain sparks along my cheekbones.

“He was,” he hisses. “Foolish really. No matter how much I led him away, he kept crawling back to you.” He tilts his head and studies me. “I still do not know what he sees in you.”

Longstaff sighs. “Alas, he is looking for your father now. I made sure of that. It’s much easier to lead a dog when you give him a scent to follow.”

There is a flicker of relief that Roman is not part of this before it is swallowed by confusion. “Wait, what do you mean my father?”

“That’s irrelevant,” he shrugs again. “You can thank Roman for being alive though. You’ve caused me many issues, Fae.”

“Not enough,” I spit through gritted teeth.

“Roman will kill you when he finds out,” I say although deep down I don’t know how true that is.

“Stupid girl,” he tuts, soft with irritation. “I am his blood, and when I save his heir, you become irrelevant.”

My mind blanks. The words refuse to arrange themselves into anything that makes sense. His gaze drifts slowly down my body, deliberate and unhurried, until it settles on my stomach.

“What?” I blink.

“Once the doctor comes in to confirm, we can plan accordingly. I hope for your sake you’re pregnant, because if you’re not… you won’t have very long to live.”

His hand moves before I can react, settling against my stomach with a slow, affectionate caress that makes my skin crawl. My mind begins racing as thoughts collide so fast they barely make sense. Is he implying I’m pregnant? With Roman’s child?

I try to calculate backwards through the fog in my head, grasping for any sign I might have missed. I know I haven’t had a period since I was taken. I remember the nausea, the exhaustion, but I thought it was stress. Then the darker thought pushes in; Fisher never used protection and I certainly didn’t take my pills. Bile rises in the back of my throat. But if that’s true… why would Roman’s dad believe the child is his?

Before I can find the words to ask, his hand closes around the cuff at my wrist. The chain jerks as he pulls me away from the bathroom doorway. I stumble forward, barely catching my footing as he drags me across the carpet toward the small table set beside the bed. The metal rattles behind me with every step. He stops when we reach the chair and presses a firm hand down on my shoulder, forcing me into it before I can resist.

Only then does he turn his attention to the tray waiting on the table beside us. He slides it neatly into place in front of me. The plates shift with a quiet clink as he arranges them with deliberate care.

“But first,” he says softly, and his eyes drift down to my stomach again. “You need to eat.”

A pause follows before his gaze lifts back to mine.

“For my grandson.”

I just stare at him. My stomach twists as the possibilities crash into each other. Roman’s child. Fisher’s child. I don’t know which answer would destroy me faster. My hand lifts without thinking, hovering just above my stomach, and his eyes follow the movement as he flashes me a cruel smile.

Then it clicks.

The silk sheets. The clean clothes. The locked door.

I’m not just his prisoner.

I’m his incubator.

CHAPTER 13

FAE

The food sits untouched in front of me. Grease from the bacon glistens under the chandelier light but the idea of eating it makes my stomach twist. Longstaff hasn’t moved far since he forced me into the chair. He stands by the window with one hand resting loosely in his pocket and the other holds his phone, his attention drifting between the screen and the quiet garden stretching out beyond the glass.

Everything about him is relaxed.