Page 48 of Dirty Legacy

“For how long?”

“Until it’s safe.”

“And since you define safe, that could be forever.”

“Not forever.” His eyes drift down to my belly.

Down to where our child is growing.

I feel a strange thrill.

“A phone,” I say urgently. “Please, give me a phone at least, so I can call my mom and text Nadia. They’ll be worried.”

“I can’t.”

“I won’t try to call for help, I swear it.”

“That would be useless even if you did.”

“Great, all the more reason.”

He lets out a frustrated breath. “Will you be happy if I give you a phone?”

“Yes. I will.” For now, anyway.

He releases me. I yelp as I lose my grip on him and tumble onto the couch, feet up in the air. I kick them, calling him a jerk, but he’s already gone by the time I right myself.

I pace around and it takes a lot of self-control not to rip the room to shreds.

This is my life now, isn’t it? Connor Maguire will appear, make demands, promise that this is all for my own good, and meanwhile he’ll keep me like some pet trapped in a kennel? It’s a beautiful cage with room service, but it’s still a cage.

But maybe, maybe he’s not lying. I touch my stomach, nerves jangling. I saw those people, I heard what Sinead said. Connor’s involved with some very dark shit, and now I’ve been dragged into the middle of it. Lisa even confirmed it too: the Gallaghers are powerful, and now they hate my stinking guts, not that I can blame them.

The door opens. I flinch, surprised to find Connor holding out a simple silver flip phone.

I don’t move to take it. He stares hard, not happy, but not threatening.

“What’s the catch?” I ask, heart pounding up into my throat.

“If you make trouble, I can’t promise your mother will make it here safely.”

Rage flares in my heart. “You’re threatening an old woman?”

“I’m threatening you, angel. Take the phone.”

I stride forward and angrily snatch it from his palm. He catches my wrist before I can spin away and pulls me into his body. I snarl at him, fingernails clawing against his chest, but his face gives me nothing, no sign of pain at all.

“Let me go.”

“I can’t do that. Not while you’re my wife. Not while you’re carrying my child. You might hate me now, but I will do anything to keep that baby safe. One day soon, you’ll understand.”

“Go to hell.”

He releases me and turns away. “Already a step ahead of you,” he says, quietly enough that I’m not sure he means for me to hear, as he walks off.

I spin and throw myself onto the bed. I feel helpless and weak and I hate myself for it.

I’ve always been the responsible one. My mother’s the flake and the stoner. I grew up fast, learned how to pay a credit card bill, learned how to make sure the rent went through every month, cooked meals and cleaned toilets and washed clothes. Now all the control I built into my life is ripped away… and it feels horrible.