Molly

My head hurts like a mother when I open my eyes.

“Shit,” I groan, turning slowly onto my side and blinking hard to clear my vision.

I’m on a cold, concrete floor in a small, dark room. The walls are cinder block painted a dark color—maroon or brown, I think. The light isn’t strong enough for me to tell.

It smells like dust. Damp and dust. It’s a wet, metallic scent that stings my nose. Not dirty or moldy, but definitely not clean… And my face is against the floor. Gross.

Placing my palm against the concrete, I push my body into a sitting position. The room tilts, and I grip my legs, holding my back against the wall until the dizziness passes.

I’m barefoot. I’m still in my black leggings and the oversized tee, with no bra. It appears the shooter knocked me out and brought me here. She must have had help. A woman that size couldn’t carry me alone without being noticed, if she could’ve carried me at all. Only, I didn’t see anyone else.

Like I had a chance to see anything. My brain was scrambling for any way to hold off the inevitable.

Slowly, I bend my legs and rest my hands on top of my knees. A shudder moves through my shoulders, and my stomach cramps. Looking up and around the space, I see I’m trapped, a prisoner in a dark basement, God only knows where.

Nobody knows where.

Stas is gone. Joshua is in Seattle. Lara and Mark don’t even know I’m in the city… for however much longer I’m alive. I hiccup a breath.

No. Stop.

I steel myself against the onslaught of emotions.

I focus on my breathing.

I focus on the air moving in through my nose and out of my mouth.

I listen to the sound.

I feel the expansion of my lungs.

I do not cry.

Moving my fingers along my scalp, a large lump is above my temple. When I touch it, the pain is freaking unbelievable.

“Ouch!” I gasp, jerking my hand away.

I gingerly touch it again, checking for blood. I don’t feel any, but I don’t have a mirror. I can’t check my pupils to see if they’re dilated. I’m nauseated, but that’s nothing new. I have no idea if I have a concussion.

Another shudder racks my body, and I hug my arms around my stomach trying to get warm. I’m not really cold, so I guess this is shock. Leaning forward, I rest my forehead on my knees again and do my best to hold it together. In my mind, I see that white stick with the purple cap… the picture on the box.

I’m pregnant.

How did this happen?

I always take my pill, faithfully, at the same time every day.

I try to think… Did I ever forget? No. The only thing I can remember is when I was sick—the sinus infection that went into my ears. I had to take antibiotics, and the dizziness kept me in bed. Of course, Joshua would join me, hugging me and trying to make me feel better.

Stubborn tears fill my eyes as the memories fill my mind. I’d be lying on my side with my hand over my face, and he’d slide in behind me, curling his body around mine. He’d kiss my neck and wrap an arm around my waist. He’d press his nose against my hairline and inhale then kiss me there, sending warm tingles through my body. It wasn’t long before we’d be making love…

And that’s how it happened.

At the time I wasn’t feeling well, and it didn’t occur to me. Now I remember people saying it, or maybe I read it somewhere, how antibiotics can interfere with birth control.

None of it matters now. All that matters is there’s a little being inside me who belongs to Joshua… I mean, it belongs to me, too, but for whatever reason, I can only see his face when I think of it, his cocky, sexy smile. His smile is always so full of love for me.

I have Joshua’s baby in my body…

My nose heats, and I sniff. I don’t understand these feelings in my chest, in my heart. It’s an ache echoing through my limbs with every heartbeat.

I’m already in love with this little person. I want this baby so much.

How did this happen to me?

I never wanted a baby…

But with my eyes closed, I can see a little boy or a little girl with Joshua’s smile, running and laughing. I can see Joshua holding him or her, swinging his child around in his arms. I’m there with them, touching them, touching Joshua’s arm, touching our baby’s hair. It’s like the most beautiful dream I didn’t know was hiding in my heart.

Lifting my chin, I look at the corner of the ceiling, doing my best to stop my tears. My palm moves to my stomach, flat against my skin, and everything is changing. Without my control, without even my knowledge, it’s like my view on the world has shifted overnight.

My life doesn’t make sense this way.

I have to stop doing this.

Joshua wants me to stop. He wants to help me stop. I have to let him.

This little girl… or boy… needs me to stop chasing my demons. I don’t even want to anymore. Life isn’t about me now.

Like a wash of cool water through my veins, I understand so much. I understand Lara and how she started pulling away when she was expecting her daughter. When she told me it’s not the same—finding these men doesn’t give her joy anymore—I understand her now.

At the time I was furious. I felt like she was betraying me, betraying us. I believed she had become weak. I thought being a mother had robbed her of her strength.

Now I realize I was totally wrong. Being a mother changes the direction of that strength. It goes from being all about my own needs and demands to making a safe place for my baby, this tiny innocent. I only want her to be pure and happy and safe.

Oh, God, I need to tell Lara I’m sorry. I have to get out of here so I can tell her I understand now, and I’m so sorry.

Turning to the side, I lean my shoulder against the wall. A hollow ache creeps into my bones. I need Joshua. I need him to hold me. I want his strong arms around me.

If he knew…

I can’t stop the tears leaking out of my eyes now, because the truth hits me so hard. If Joshua knew about our baby, he’d be tearing the walls down to get to me. He’d do everything in his power to save us, to get us out of here.

Our family. I’ve never had one of those. He almost lost his…

Closing my eyes, I see his face in my mind. “Joshua,” I whisper. “I love you so much. I’m going to protect our baby. I’m going to come home.”

A metallic clatch! echoes behind me, and the bolt on the door slides open. The wood sticks, and whoever is out there bangs against it. It shakes, and with a loud push, it flies open, making me jump back.

An enormous man stomps into the room. He must be six foot two, and his head and neck are the same width down to his broad shoulders. He’s bald, and his round stomach strains against his black tee.

“Get up.” He speaks in a hoarse growl.

I don’t move fast enough, and he bends down, grabbing my arm and jerking me to my feet like a rag doll. A cry escapes from my throat.

I’m too disoriented and weak to fight him. I’m starving from throwing up so much, and my mouth is like a desert.

“Walk.” He steps to the side to let me exit the room ahead of him.

Reaching out, I hold the wall for support. My legs tremble, but he doesn’t have time for my shit. He grabs my arm again and jerks me up again, pushing me forward as my feet stumble to keep up.

“Slow down, please,” I beg, holding the wall, an approaching chair, anything in my path to stay on my feet.

The man doesn’t even respond. He doesn’t even look at me. He’s built like a house, and he marches like a soldier. We’re heading through another, larger room to a staircase leading up. The stairs are covered in worn gold carpet, and they’re not the height of normal stairs. They’re shorter, and he drags me up them.

At least the disgusting old carpet pads my shins crashing into the steps as I trip and try to find my feet. Cave Man doesn’t seem to care if I’m falling more than climbing up the steps. He keeps moving until we reach a door. It’s closed and he stops, tapping on it in a rhythm.

Another loud clatch! and it opens into a dark hallway at a back door. The door has one small window at the top center, and I can see bars through it. It doesn’t look like it’s been opened in years, but I make a mental note. Escape.

“Keep moving.” I’m back to being shoved forward.

“I-I don’t know where to go.” Again, my arm is snatched into his meaty fist, and he drags me down a short hall into an open kitchen.

It’s rustic and dark, with stainless fixtures and brown wood cabinets. A large island is in the center of the room, and assorted pots and pans hang from a rack over it. I notice a stovetop in the counter, and in a corner is a wooden block with knives in it.

I don’t know that I’ll have access to any of these items, but I note them. I’m aware the woman who broken into my room had a gun, but beggars can’t be choosers.

We round a corner, and a large living area is to my right. It’s rustic as well, with a stone fireplace and a burgundy leather sofa and chairs. A moose head is mounted on the wall. I’ve only ever seen a moose in Canada, which makes me wonder…

A few more steps, and we’re at a closed wooden door. It’s ornate with square panels carved down the length. The Neanderthal holding my arm knocks and waits for us to be summoned.

Inside, the room is dim with those green-shaded lamps on a dark wooden desk. A fire crackles in the fireplace, and a dark red Persian rug covers the floor. It feels soft on my bare feet.

A voice purrs from the leather chair across the desk from us. “Thank you, George.”

I recognize her voice, but I’m not sure if I’m relieved or terrified as she turns the chair to face me. Dark eyes narrow on mine, and her elbows rest on the chair arms. Her fingers are steepled in front of her lips.

“We meet again.” She says it almost like a joke, like she’s quoting every super villain in comic book history. “How do you like your room, Maggie Brown? Or should I say Molly Dixon? Or Doll Baby… Or Hit Girl.”

“You know who I am.”

“I know everything.”

Light glitters in her eyes, and she studies my appearance. I study hers in her navy suit and peach blouse. A thick strand of pearls is around her neck, and while she’s not old, lines appear in the corners of her eyes and along the sides of her red-painted mouth when she speaks.

“Then you have me at a disadvantage. I don’t know what I’m doing here.”

“I’m looking for the man who killed my father.”

My pulse ticks faster. “So he’s dead. You’re sure?”

“We recovered my father’s body in the swamp a half mile from his home. He’d been shot and callously dumped by the river… mutilated by the wildlife.” She rises from the chair and walks to a small table holding a crystal decanter of brown liquid. She pours two fingers into a tumbler and takes a sip.

“I-I’m sorry.” It’s a lie. I’m not. Sounds like that fucker got what he deserved. Still, my mind is on my baby. I’ve got to get out of here. “That must’ve been hard.”

“We had to use dental records to identify him. His casket was closed at the funeral.” Her voice is simmering fury on the last part.

I’m thinking, trying to figure out this woman. “I don’t know who killed your father.”

“Yet you came here with Stas Volodya, your mentor. The man who taught you how to kill. Why did you show up on my doorstep if you know nothing?”

“Because you brought me here.” I realize now she gave me the address. “You’re Shooter. Or is it Marksman?”

“You met Shooter last night.” She shakes her head and takes another sip of whiskey. “She’s one of the many hackers in my employ. If you want to use online tipsters, you’d better increase your price. I simply outbid you.”

Anger flashes in my chest, but I’m not going to argue. I know better than to trust anyone I meet on the Internet. I didn’t know I was being hacked.

“If you know I didn’t do it, why do you care about me?”

“Oh, I don’t care about you. You’re the child of a whore who died on the street. Your mother was a sex slave until they wore her out. Who knows who your father was. Probably some drunk river rat.” Her words slice into my heart. “You’re nothing.”

I’m blinking fast, taking in what she’s saying. I’ve never known where I came from, and she seems to know it all…

“How do you know all of this? H-how…”

Thin red lips curl into a smile. “I inherited my father’s records. I know everything he knew… Everything.”

Pain blossoms in my chest. The pain of knowing my bleak heritage. As fast as it rises, it changes. Like a muscle memory, I turn it into hatred, into burning need for revenge. If Renee Landry knows everything, then she’s seen the videos. She knows what happened to me, and she knows what Lara did.

Swallowing the thickness in my throat, I decide to play dumb. “If you know everything, then you know I didn’t know your father.”

“You know enough to be useful to me.” Her eyes level on mine. “For now.”

My gaze is defiant. “What do you want?”

“It’s simple. You’re what we in the business like to call an incentive.”

“I’m bait.”

“I’m pretty sure I know what happened to my father. We ran ballistics.” She returns to the leather desk chair and takes a seat. “I’ll let the people in your circle know you’re going down for my father’s murder. We’ll see who comes to save you… Or set the record straight.”

The wooden door opens, and the woman from my hotel room, Shooter enters with Cave Man right behind her. “Get me what I need and put her back in her room.”

The man grabs my arm again and drags me into the living area. My back is against a blank wall, and he shoves a copy of the Times-Picayune in my hands.

“What is this?” I look down at the newspaper, but he jerks it up, under my chin.

“Hold it there. Face forward.”

Proof of life. I understand what they’re doing, and for a moment, I consider resisting. They’ll take a photo of me holding today’s paper and send it… Where? To Stas, I’m sure, but… to Mark? Would she send it to the police station? Was she fishing?

My eyes circle the room, landing on what has to be the front door. I’ve got to figure a way out of that basement. The camera flashes, and I’m momentarily blinded. The paper is snatched out of my hand, and Cave Man has me in his fist again.

Renee is behind me. “Don’t waste time circulating that photo.”

“How can you be so sure the right person will come for me?” I won’t lie, I’m thinking what might happen if Joshua sees this.

She reads my mind. “Concerned about your… baby daddy?” She sniffs a laugh. “Why, that would be almost biblical. An eye for an eye. A father for a father.”

“Don’t you hurt him.” My voice breaks, and I’ve given her what she wants.

She’s close to my face now. “Hard to be a hit girl when you have so many weaknesses.”

Meathead grabs my arm and drags me away, back down the stairs, back to the dungeon. He throws me on the floor and slams the door. The last noise is the bolt sliding in place.

“Oh, God,” I whisper, pressing my hands over my eyes. “Please don’t hurt him.”