“She needs a hospital, York. She’s going to have this baby.”

“She’s going to no fucking hospital,” he bellows. “Tell her to stop that fuckin’ screaming or I’ll cut the damned thing out myself.”

My chest seizes and the urge to hold Rae and her baby close, just to protect them, is overwhelming.

“She’s in pain,” I try again. “She needs a doctor.”

“Well,” he says, pinning me with that icy glare. “She ain’t getting one. If she keeps making those noises, I’ll make her fuckin’ stop. I’m trying to organize something, and I can’t fuckin’ think!”

Distraction.

If he’s distracted it might keep him away from Rae for a little longer. I have to figure something out. She needs a doctor. She can’t have this baby here.

“I’ll keep her quiet,” I say, holding his eyes.

He blinks, confused. And then his gaze narrows. “What are you planning?”

Paranoid.

“I just said I’d keep her quiet, York,” I say, adding a bit more sass back to my voice. “I still think she needs a doctor!”

“No. She doesn’t. She needs to have that baby, and I need to dispose of it. This works better for my plan. It’s not easy getting a pregnant woman out of the country. If there is no baby ...”

I want to vomit.

“No,” Rae cries. “York. Please. That’s my baby.”

“Shut up,” he barks at her. “You will shut up or I’ll kill the damned thing in front of you.”

I squeeze Rae’s hand, praying she’ll keep her mouth closed. I have to get us out of here, one way or another.

An idea pops into my head.

“If she’s going to have this baby here,” I say, trying to sound as calm as possible, when inside I’m freaking the hell out. “Then you need to give me what I need to ensure that happens. I can keep her quiet, but I can’t deliver a baby on the floor, York.”

He narrows his eyes, then waves a hand. “Whatever, just keep her fucking quiet.”

“I’ll need some towels, a kettle that I can boil to have hot water, and some scissors.”

He laughs. “You think I’d give you a pair of scissors? Nice try, bitch.”

“Then just get me the towels and the hot water,” I snap.

“Watch it,” he growls.

I hold his glare.

He turns and storms from the room, shutting and locking it, but sure enough, he brings me back some towels and a kettle, with four big bottles of water to fill it. The stupid, stupid idiot.

“If you think I’m stupid, think again. I won’t give you a weapon. Make do with what you have in here. When that baby is out, I’ll sort it. Keep her quiet, or you’ll pay for it.”

Then he slams the door and locks it, again.

“We’re not going to get out,” Rae sobs, clutching her stomach. “And he’s going to hurt my baby.”

“No,” I say softly, sliding the kettle close. “Because he just gave me a weapon.”

Rae’s eyes move to the kettle, and then flicker back to me with a tiny piece of hope left in them.

“I need you to keep as quiet as possible, Rae. I know that’ll be hard, you’re about to experience some tremendous pain. But if you want your baby to survive, I’ll need you to do this for me.”

She nods as another contraction takes over her small form.

I clutch her hand and give her a towel to scream into.

Then I send out a prayer.

Please let us get out of here safely.

 

 

CHAPTER 28

NOW – BAYLEE

“Rae, push,” I say, my voice tired and strained.

The young girl lying before me, pale as a ghost from hours and hours in labor, exhausted and worn down, whimpers. She’s gone past screaming into a towel or a pillow. All she has left now is to make a pained noise here and there. She’s sinking, faster than normal, and I’m terrified. My back is burning, my head pounds, and my hands ache from her squeezing so tightly. But finally, I can see the mop of dark hair that is her baby.

I’ve never done this.

I’m so damned afraid.

I need to get help for this baby as soon as he or she is born, as well as for Rae, and the only way I can do that is to get out of here. So as soon as this little one enters the world, I’ll do what I have to do. I have a plan. It’s not a great one, but it’s the only one I have. Burning hot water to the face will stop York and allow Rae and me to get out.

I’ll lock him in here.

We’ll call an ambulance.

It seems like the only option I have right now.

“I can’t,” Rae whispers, her head lolling back on the pillow. “I’m too tired.”

“Rae, I need you to push for me. Your baby is nearly out. Then this will all be over.”

There has been a lot of blood appearing in the last couple of minutes, and I’m terrified it’s not normal. I’ve never seen anyone give birth, but I don’t think it should be so heavy. I have to focus. The sooner I do this, the quicker I can get out of here. York has yet to come back in. If he had, I would have carried out my plan earlier but Rae’s labor is progressing too quickly with no time to spare.

She’s my focus right now.

“Come on, Rae,” I keep urging, a warm towel at the ready.

Another contraction takes her, and with a pained cry, she pushes, and pushes, and pushes. When the baby’s head appears, I take it into my hands, trying to hold back my panic. Keep it together, Baylee. Keep it together. With one more final push, the tiny human slides out and into my hands. A piercing cry fills the room. It’s a little boy. I recall the basics from a friend telling me about birth to know that the airways need to be cleared, but the cord should stay intact if you’re not at home and there is no help.

With a tear breaking free, against all my power, I slip my finger into the screaming baby’s mouth and scoop out anything that might block his airways. Then I wrap him in the towel, leaving his cord intact. I try not to focus too heavily on what it’s attached to and instead wrap that in a towel, too. It’s only then I realize Rae hasn’t said anything. It’s only been a couple of seconds, in the big scheme of things, but she didn’t even ask if the baby was a boy or a girl.