Chapter Twelve
Meg
“I’m not going to kill you because I’d fucking miss you too much…”
I sigh heavily, rubbing my burning eyeballs. Sleep is an elusive bastard tonight.
I miss Mateo.
Not the one I get now, not the one who hates me, but the one who didn’t. I don’t want to be responsible for the removal of that Mateo from the world.
I consider getting up to grab my phone again, but there’s no point. I can look at and trace the numbers until the screen wears out—I’m not going to dial them. I won’t get a hold of the Mateo I want to talk to, even if I could convince myself to call. He doesn’t exist anymore. I killed him the moment I sent Mia to the bakery without protection, knowing full-well what lay in store in for her.
Ugh, what a shitty night.
Today was my baby doctor appointment. I had no idea if Mateo would be there or not—he didn’t even show up to the last one, he made Adrian do it.
He was there this time, but he didn’t speak to me once. He spoke around me, about me, but never to me. It was the worst. I tell myself it should make it easier to betray him, but it doesn’t. I still feel the way I feel about the bastard, even if he hates me.
Pregnancy is the worst. I can’t wait for it to be over so I can never do it again. It messes with my hormones and my emotions. I’m out of whack when I’m pregnant. I didn’t like pregnancy with Lily, but Rodney was there, sucking the enjoyment out of everything with his bullshit. I wasn’t overwhelmingly thrilled when I was pregnant with Rosalie, but Mateo threw sister wives at me, so it wasn’t a great time to be an emotional funhouse. Roman should have been the one pregnancy I endured without all the bumps in the road, but I had to go and help Vince steal Mia from Mateo.
So many poor decisions.
Now I get to put the icing on the cake and keep my mouth shut instead of helping when the stakes are even higher—it’s not just Mia who might be killed this time, it’s Mateo, and there’s no might. He isn’t giving up his crown to retire; they’re going to kill him so they can take what he has.
Dante wants his power. Rafe wants his woman.
It’s a fucking disaster.
So is trying to sleep when you’re nine months pregnant and in a fucking dungeon.
There’s a twinge of discomfort in my pelvis and I shift, trying to relieve it. There’s only more discomfort to be found here. Steeped in frustration, I stare up into the darkness above me and try to clear my mind. I need to stop thinking of all this shit. I need to find some peace. I’m going crazy down here.
It will all be over soon enough.
I close my eyes and try to envision peace. What does it look like now? If I could be anywhere, anytime, where would I put myself?
A dark red wall flashes to mind—a memory. My old kitchen. The cheap cabinets, the peeling countertop, the well-worn hand towels hanging from the bar of the not-quite-clean stove I never had the extra time to clean. The round table before me is empty but for the glass of wine in front of me. Lily is asleep upstairs, the house is quiet, I’m alone.
Peace.
Fleeting peace.
Because then my husband’s demons popped up on my doorstep and ripped my life off track. Another untenable situation that I could’ve maybe handled better.
I wonder what would have happened if I had told Mateo the truth. If I knew him then, like I know him now. Instead of bluffing my way through the date, instead of carrying the weight of Antonio’s bullshit, instead of letting it go so far… what if I had just told him? What if I had been able to surprise him?
I guess I have surprised him, but only in bad ways. I’ve only hurt him, surprised him because he thought he could trust me and I proved otherwise. Surprised him by going through the motions of having a life and family with the woman I knew he needed, and then trying to take her away from him at the first feasible opportunity.
Covering my face with my hands, I close my eyes.
I’m never going to fall asleep.
I’m never going to find peace.
Eight-six-one-seven.
I visualize it. I visualize dragging myself up and grabbing my phone, calling Mateo in the middle of the night, while Mia sleeps peacefully next to him, unburdened by the weight of my problems. She would never do what I’ve done, so of course she sleeps serenely beside him. She shared him with me to make everyone happy, and she hated sharing. She’d probably never admit she hated it, but she did. I guess I didn’t always help. I was a real bitch sometimes; she’s just so easy to pick on.
I miss being able to pick on her. Not maliciously, not poking in a way that would sting, but just friendly ribbing.
I miss my life.
I wish I could call him.
I wish I was brave.
I wish I could stop what’s happening without worrying that I’ll fuck myself in the process.
My eyes are so heavy.
The twinge is still there in my pelvis.
This is Hell. I’m in Hell.
Maybe that’s where I belong.
---
When I wake up, my breakfast has already been delivered. Everything aches. I grimace as I turn, trying to right myself. There’s a painful pressure in my pelvis; I realize that’s what woke me up.
Oh no.
I don’t know what time I felt the twinges last night, I was too miserable to get up and check. It’s hard enough to get semi-comfortable when I’m sleeping down here, I didn’t want to get up and have to do it again.
Ugh, the cramping. I remember that feeling. I need to get to my phone, so I force myself up off the ground and go to the corner to get my phone. My hands shake slightly, as I look for Rafe’s number. Stupid fucking hands. They make me irrationally angry with their bullshit. Get it together, hands. It’s just labor. You’ve done it twice before.
Of course, never while alone in a dungeon, at the mercy of people who don’t like me.
I consider calling Rafe, but I don’t want him to hear my voice. If my hands are shaky, my voice may betray me, too. I don’t want to deal with his soul-scraping bullshit. I type out a text instead, telling him that I think I’m in labor and I need someone to come down and find me.
He doesn’t respond, though.
It feels like forever that I wait, but it’s only six minutes. I give up on Rafe and open my contacts to find someone else. The phone isn’t programmed with names, though. Rafe’s name is in there because he put it there, but the only other numbers are attached to letters.
A, C, D, Rafe. That’s the extent of my list. I assume D is Dante, but I really can’t imagine calling him to tell him I’m in labor and I need help. As a last resort, sure, but he’s not my second choice; the man is just not nice. Maybe C is Colette. Would he put her phone number in here, for real? What if it gets discovered? I would think he would want to give her the illusion of innocence.
Unless he’s not worried about getting caught.
Unless… unless that A is Adrian.
Oh, God, it couldn’t be Adrian, right? There is no way Adrian would turn on Mateo, right? Dante knows that, right? He couldn’t possibly trust Adrian. If he trusts Adrian, there would have to be one hell of a reason.
Mia. If Adrian ever turned on Mateo, it could only be for Mia. She snuck right into his heart. Probably took over the best friend space Mateo tried so hard to fill, but could never fit into. Adrian likes good people, not bad people. I think he’s drawn to people he wishes he could be more like. Mia is good, open, loving, trusting—everything Adrian can’t afford to be. Mateo is the opposite of what Adrian is drawn to. But Mia is Mateo’s world, so why would he—?
The baby. What if Mateo is planning something truly horrible? What if he isn’t planning to let Mia keep the baby, he’s just going to use his dirty methods to cover it up? If Adrian knows, maybe that’s over his line. Maybe that would convince Adrian to turn on Mateo. It’s hard for me to imagine Adrian letting Rafe keep Mia as a pet, though. After all these years putting up with Mateo’s shit, if he’s going to go rogue, he’s going to save her, not give her to an asshole who loves her less than the one who currently possesses her.
Could they have really nailed down Adrian?
Or could it be Alec? He doesn’t strike me as the takedown type, but if he’s weighed the sides and considers Dante the best shot at survival, maybe he flipped. Even after living under the same roof for years, I don’t have a solid impression of Alec’s loyalty to Mateo. Alec keeps his head down and stays out of the way.
He was joking around with Dante and Rafe at family dinner, though, and he does live in this house, so it might make sense.
I consider calling just to see who answers, but then the message from Rafe appears. “On my way.”
I should feel more relieved, but I’m cramping and my head is full of treachery; relief doesn’t exist here.
When Rafe comes down this time, he brings an apple. At first I want to take it and throw it at his head—he really thought I’d want a fucking apple? My pelvis feels like it’s trying to push my body apart—but then my rational brain reminds me he probably needed a feasible excuse for coming down to see me, something that would check out if Mateo checked the cameras. Since he’s brought me a snack and visited each day, that isn’t suspicious.
He’s a good planner. I wonder if that’s why he started bringing me snacks in the first place?
I’m too uncomfortable to keep thinking about it.
“You okay?” he asks, his gaze moving to my stomach, then back to my face.
“Yeah, but someone needs to call the doctor. I started having twinges last night when I was trying to sleep, but there’s no clock down here, so I don’t know what time it was. I don’t know how long I slept… I just need the doctor to get here.”
“All right. Hang out here for a minute, I’ll go tell Mateo.”
Like I can go anywhere.
I’m feeling excessively bitchy, but I restrain the urge to say that and Rafe leaves to get help.
Adrian is the one who comes down with the dungeon key, not Mateo. I haven’t seen him in a while.
“How’s the family?” I ask lightly, as he fits the key in the lock and turns it.
His dark gaze flits to mine, then he looks back down and eases the door open. “Can you walk on your own?”
I roll my eyes. “Of course I can walk on my own.”
“Well, I’ve never been in labor,” he says, a touch defensively. “How far apart are the contractions?”
“I don’t know.” I do, but there’s no clock down here and I can’t tell Adrian I have a phone to time them, in the event he is not the A programmed into my contacts.
The brightness above stairs gives me an instant headache. By the time we get to the next staircase, another contraction hits and I have to stop. Adrian grabs his phone and checks the time.
It subsides and we resume our trek back upstairs. He takes me to a guest room, not the bedroom I’ve been sleeping in. It’s red and dark, the drapes pulled shut so less light shines in. There’s a bathroom adjoining the bedroom and I see a big bath tub inside.
“It’s certainly an upgrade,” I say, nervously tapping my hands against my sides. “Is Mateo coming in?”
“Depends,” he answers, succinctly.
I lift my eyebrows and nudge him to speak to me. “On?”
He walks through the open door into the bathroom and opens the linen closet. “How far apart your contractions are.”
I watch him pile stacks of fluffy, white towels on one hand and bring them in, putting them on the bed. As if I’m not here, he ignores me and walks over to a dresser, removing items and placing them on top. I walk over to see what he’s doing.
A little twinge—in my heart, this time, not my pelvis. It’s baby stuff. Laundered and folded receiving blankets, little blue booties, a hair brush, things like that. I grab a blue bulb syringe, remembering how Lily used to cry when I tried to use it on her tiny button nose.
Placing the little bulb back where I got it, I glance at Adrian. “Will Mia come?”
At that, he slides a glare my way so dark, I immediately take a step back.
He doesn’t answer, but after five years and a betrayal against the wrong person, I’m finally starting to learn there’s a certain time to just stop. My angry ex’s personal hitman glaring daggers at me mere hours from the eviction of my son, the only reason I’m still alive, is probably just such a time.
Boy, the messes I manage to step into.
Once he’s finished getting everything set up, he takes a seat in the chair beside the bed and pulls out his phone, balancing it on top of his thigh. “Let me know when you have another contraction.”
“Oh, trust me, you’ll know.” I feel awkward just standing here, so I take a seat on the edge of the bed. He still looks like he would rather be anywhere other than in this room with me. I can’t imagine, in this moment, him taking part in any plan that leaves me alive. It was difficult for me to imagine him betraying Mateo, but right now, seeing how much Adrian hates me now… I am not optimistic about life.
I need to pry.
“So, how’s Mia’s pregnancy going? Did they find out the gender yet?”
No response. It’s like I didn’t speak.
“I know they’re really hoping it’s a girl,” I add, watching him for even the faintest hint of reaction. He’s gotta give me something. “Especially Mateo. Probably the only time he’s ever hoped for a girl, huh?”
Still nothing.
“I hope he’ll be okay even if it is a boy. I’m sure he wouldn’t…”
I trail off and wait, but Adrian gives me nothing. Inscrutable bastard.
The baby route isn’t working. I change tacks.
“How weird is it having Rafe here?” I ask, rolling my eyes with exasperation. “That was a weird surprise. Wasn’t excited about that one.”
He glances up at me, but his damn expression is still blank. His attention promptly returns to his phone and he appears to type something, then he puts it back down on his leg.
“They say what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, but he just keeps popping up. I’m beginning to think ‘they’ lied.”
My spectacular wit does not move him.
“How does Mia like having Rafe here?” When he gives me nothing again, I press. “He sure seemed to like her. I remember when we danced at the wedding—me and Rafe, obviously—it was right around the time Ben decided to crash the party. Mateo called him over and he just…” I make a whooshing motion with my hand. “Gone. Mateo’s lucky Vince didn’t take Mia to Vegas when they first got together, before he got his hooks in her. I think Rafe might’ve kept her for himself. Wonder how that would’ve gone. Can you imagine?”
Adrian sighs, staring at the clock on his phone like he’s waiting for water to boil.
“Or what if he took her to Vegas after Mateo got his hooks in her, but just barely? When she and Vince left the mansion, but before I came? What do you think would’ve happened then? Would Mateo have still gone after her? Would there have been a clash of the titans? You know Rafe’s deal better than I do. Hypothetically speaking, who do you think would win in that scenario?”
Now Adrian leans forward and closes his eyes, massaging his temples like I’m giving him a headache.
“Come on, I’m bored,” I complain.
“Would you just have a goddamn contraction already? Jesus Christ.”
I frown at him. “It’s not a parlor trick; I can’t do it on command.”
He pushes up out of the seat and paces across the floor. Classic waiting-on-water-to-boil progression. His gaze drifts to the pot, my stomach, but there’s still no response. He’s so disappointed.
“God, you’d think it’s your wife I wronged. Remember when you used to like me? Wasn’t that fun?”
“Fuck off, Meg.”
He tosses it out casually, but he means it, so I finally give up trying to figure out if he’s A. I sit here quietly, bored, thirsty, nervous. Adrian may as well be a wall instead of a person. This sucks. My mind grasps for my next hope and grabs onto Mateo by habit. That’s going to be just as bad as this. If Adrian is this mad at me, Mateo’s going to hate my guts even harder.
The only person I can look forward to coming is Mia, and I doubt he’ll let her.
“This is the worst,” I say aloud, to no one.
As expected, no one answers.