Hearing Schrader’s voice was one of the two things I needed most to replenish my strength. The other was him telling me that Pop was okay. Had I lost either of them today, I don’t think I would be able to keep it together.

Fighting Teague when he tried to take the phone from my hand proved to be a big mistake. Malcolm was waiting for exactly that. The moment I hesitated to release the receiver, I am yanked back by my hair. Malcolm then covered my mouth with his hand as he and Smith wrestled me from the room, leaving Teague to carry on the conversation alone. Though I kick and scream with everything I had, the two of them overpower me. Even if I could get free, how far would I actually get?

Malcolm and Smith drag me down a hall and up a set of stairs. Smith releases his hold on me long enough to swing open the door to a bedroom. “Let’s go,” Malcolm says, shoving me inside.

“Get your hands off me, asshole!” I shout, dragging my nails up his forearm.

“Bitch!” he growls. Spinning me around to face him, he slaps me hard across the face. I fall backward, landing on a tan chaise lounge at the foot of the bed. Malcolm is on me. Grabbing me by the hair, he yanks hard, forcing me to meet his eyes. “I’ll make damn sure you regret that.”

“Get off me!” I seethe, clawing at his face.

“Teague said not to hurt her,” Smith says, but makes no move to stop him.

“Too goddamn bad.” Balling his fist, he punches me hard in the side of the face. The taste of blood fills my mouth, my entire head feeling like it is about to explode. Malcolm’s hands wrap around my throat, fingers squeezing tightly, cutting off my air supply. Thinking quickly, I tuck my chin down and raise my shoulders. The second his grip loosens, I use him being taken off guard to my advantage. Grabbing onto his shoulders with both hands, I slam my knee into his groin as hard as I can.

Malcolm falls off of me, landing hard on the wood floor. “Fuck,” he hisses, his hands cupping his dick defensively. “You stupid whore.”

Scrambling up onto the mattress, I put as much distance between us as possible. My chest heaves, tears slipping down my cheeks as I attempt to catch my breath. “Had enough, asshole?” Grabbing a heavy gold candlestick holder from the nightstand, I throw the candle to the floor and ready myself in case he feels like round two. “I warned you not to back me into a corner.”

“You’ll regret that.” Pushing to his knees, Malcolm grabs onto the chaise for support. His face is covered in scratches, blood drips down his face onto his shirt and the lounge. He stares me down, the look in his eyes murderous. “I may not be able to kill you, but no one said shit about that little bastard growing inside you.”

“You won’t get your hands on me again and live, motherfucker.” My fingers tighten on the holder, ready to bash his goddamn skull in if he even takes one step toward me. “I promise you that.”

“That’s enough!” Teague says shoving around Smith. Stopping in front of me, he holds out his hand expectantly. “Looks to me he got what he deserved. I wouldn’t push it. After all, we wouldn’t want anyone else to get hurt.” Nodding my head, I place the candlestick holder in his hand. Handing it over to Smith, Teague jerks Malcolm to his feet by back of his shirt. “Smith, please see that Cheyenne is able to clean herself up. My son and I need to speak in private.”

Not waiting for a reply from either of us, Teague leads Malcolm from the room. Closing the door behind them, Smith uses a key attached to his belt on a retracting chain to lock a deadbolt. “Double-sided lock,” he says, facing me. “Only Teague and I have a key.” Placing the candle holder on the lounge, he studies me hesitantly. “You plannin’ to come at me too?” he asks, arching a brow.

“He started it,” I remind him.

“That’s debatable,” he says, but doesn’t push the issue further. Walking around the side of the bed, he opens a door. “Bathroom’s here,” he says, switching on the light. “Towels are folded beside the sink. There should be a first aid kit in the cabinet if you need it.”

“Okay.” Climbing from the bed, I scoot around him and step into the large black and white bathroom.

“I’ll give you some privacy and wait here.” His hand drops to my shoulder, stopping me. My entire body stiffens. “You’ll leave that door open.”

Nodding my head, I head straight for the sink, my eyes immediately finding my reflection in the mirror. I wince. My throat is red and the entire right side of my face is definitely going to be black and blue tomorrow morning. The front of my shirt, hands, and forearms are covered in blood. Pulling off my shirt, I am thankful for my decision to layer a tank top beneath it because it was chilly. Tossing the ruined shirt to the trashcan, I switch on the faucet and adjust the water temperature until it begins to warm. Grabbing a hand towel from the stack, I get to work on cleaning away Malcolm’s blood and getting the skin from beneath my finger nails.

I probably shouldn’t have fought back. I know that I am outnumbered and unarmed. Most in my situation would have taken being manhandled, or even the slap to the face, and hoped it didn’t get any worse. Not me. I don’t’ know how to be any other way and like hell if I’m about to learn now. I grab the bull by the horns and fight the fucker with everything I have. That is how I was raised. Being the only girl in a sea of rowdy boys for most of my life, it has never been in me to back down from a fight. Maybe now Smith and Teague will keep Malcolm away from me. If not, I will be more than happy to finish what I started.

I also had a feeling that the unnecessary roughness wasn’t a part of Teague’s plan. His only saving Grace in this whole thing was being able to say I was never hurt on his watch. That isn’t true anymore. The club will make sure he pays for that. As for Malcolm, he may be Teague’s son, but he is nothing more than a bastard with a little man complex who deserved a lot more than what he got from me. I can only hope that shot to the balls ruined his chances of reproducing more little assholes in the future.

Switching off the faucet, I dry my hands quickly, then move to the window, hoping to get a look at what is going on outside. The small bathroom window faces the back corner of the estate and is covered with metal bars that are bolted on from the outside, making it impossible to get out, even if I could fit through it. The two-story drop wouldn’t do me any favors either. Or the baby. My earlier guess is confirmed when I see the two heavily armed men along what I can see of the fence. It is safe to assume the rest of the fence is just as guarded.

“He’s doubled security since your arrival,” Smith says from behind me, making me jump. “Twelve men working twelve hour shifts patrolling the outside perimeter; men on the roof and several on the road leading up to the estate.”

“Wow.” Whipping around, I press my back to the wall. “Sounds like your boss is paranoid.”

“No ma’am. Not paranoid.” Smith shakes his head. “Mr. Teague is vigilant.”

“Time will tell.” My eyes move to the mirror again. Running my fingertips over the dark red marks around my throat, I meet Smith’s eyes in the mirror. “The one thing I do know is that, even if Teague manages to walk away from this mess alive, Malcolm won’t.”

Smith nods. “Time will tell.”

Leading me out of the bathroom, Smith heads for the door. “All of the windows in here are barred. In case you were wondering,” he says, using his key again to unlock the door. “Get some rest. Someone will come get you for dinner at seven.”

I listen for the clicking of the lock once he shuts the door again. Partially to see if they are locking me in, but also because I am hoping he is locking Malcolm out. I have no idea if Smith is telling the truth about there only being two keys to the door, but I have no doubt that if Malcolm wants to try and follow through on his threats, a lock sure as fuck isn’t going to stop him from getting in here. If that door opens, with him on the other side, I have no issue with unleashing everything I have bottled up over the last several weeks on him. I have no doubt I can take whatever few hits he does manage to get in. I am far from fragile.

However, my baby is.

I am well aware that none of this is good for her. Or him. Unlike Schrader, I have not ruled out the possibility of a boy. Either way, I will have to come to terms with the fact that this child will remind me of Troy at times. I can deal with that. What I am afraid of is that my baby will have to pay the price for all of this. It seems everything Troy touched is going up in flames all around me. That now carries over to me. No matter what I do, any bit of good I find is quickly destroyed by the Category Five shit storm that keeps circling back around to add to the wreckage piling up all around me.

I feel helpless and I fucking hate it.

Lying down on the bed, I roll onto my side and face the door. Grabbing onto one of the pillows, I pull it tightly to me, bury my face in it and scream. Not knowing how much time I will have alone, I take advantage and unleash my emotions, hoping there will be nothing left of them by the time someone comes back for me.