Dangerous: Made & Broken (A British Bad Boy Romance) (20 page)

I came again, my orgasm rocketing through my entire body with all the power of an exploding star, and again before I’d ever had a chance to ebb from the first, powerful climax.

On my fourth peak, he came with me.

Blaine groaned deep in his throat, his thrusts turning slightly more erratic until finally, I felt a hot rush of liquid flooding deep inside of me.

He stilled above me, moaning softly as my pussy milked his cock for all he had with tight little spasms while I slowly came down from my own high.

It took several minutes before I was even capable of anything but breathing. But when I looked up at him, warmth spread from my chest to the rest of my already sweaty body.

His eyes were alight with happiness, and the expression in them made my toes curl, despite all my muscles being seemingly out of function. There was so much affection in his gaze it took my breath away. When he bent his head to kiss me, I wrapped my trembling arms around his neck and closed my eyes, certain I’d finally found what I’d been looking for my entire life.

* * * *

Chapter 20

Mira

Blaine was gone when I woke up the next morning.

I frowned at the empty side of the bed, where the pillow was still molded where Blaine’s head had lain. I touched the sheets experimentally, but they were stone cold. He’d been gone for a while.

My musings came to a quick stop when my stomach lurched, sending me running to the bathroom.

God dammit! Hopefully Rob had gotten me that appointment with a doctor, because I was getting really tired of starting every morning bent over the toilet bowl like this.

When I was finally done, I felt too queasy to worry over why Blaine had left. Probably some sort of business, I thought miserably as I pattered back into my bedroom to get dressed. The world of crime doesn’t stop, just because we’d had a heart-to-heart followed by earth shattering sex. I paused mid-way pulling a sleeve over my arm as warmth not related to my upset stomach spread through my chest.

Last night had been… I’d never thought I would be able to open up like that to another person. And I certainly never thought that person could be Blaine.

But he’d not only listened to me, he’d understood—and then he had given me so much in return. He had bared his soul to me.

I was still raw from what the onslaught of emotions yesterday’s events had put me through, but it was a good kind of raw in the same way the soreness between my legs felt good. Both were a reminder of Blaine and what we’d shared.

Despite my queasiness, a warm smile spread on my lips. Maybe, just maybe, things would turn out okay. Against all odds and everything we’d thought and everything we’d been through, we might be able to find our happy ever after. Together.

Just as I was about to leave my room, feeling more elated than I had ever been, I caught a glimpse of movement through the window. Moving closer, I peered into the back garden and saw Blaine’s tousled, black mane and signature leather coat disappear into the shed.

Huh. Well, at least he was around. Maybe he’d be in for lunch.

I wondered what it’d be like to interact with him now while I headed downstairs to dig into my trusty crackers-and-ginger ale breakfast. Hopefully he wouldn’t regret how open he’d been with me. I couldn’t face going back to how we used to be. Not now, after what we’d shared last night.

The week’s groceries were on the kitchen counter in their usual brown paper bags. Rob might be a crime syndicate’s hired muscle, but at least he was eco-conscious.

I plopped down on the bar stool with my box of crackers to sort through the groceries, making sure everything I’d ordered was there. But when my fingers closed around a small, rectangular box, my mind froze in its list-checking tracks with a near-audible screeching.

A pregnancy test.

There was a pregnancy test mixed in with my groceries.

My first thought was that he must have accidentally grabbed it instead of the box of tampons I’d requested. Men and feminine hygiene products, and all that.

I rummaged through the rest of the bags, my fingers frantic enough to rip the paper in the process. It didn’t take me long to find the tampons.

Then why…?

Even as I asked myself the possibly quite stupid question, my mind was busy tracking the days since my last period. It was all a bit of a blur, and I’d thought I was due soon—hence the tampon request—but as I went over the calendar days again, I realized I was late. Very late.

My stomach lurched again,  this time from absolute terror.

The sickness. The
morning
sickness. My erratic mood swings. The goddamn
pickles.

With distant amusement I realized Rob had probably witnessed similar behavior in his own wife the two times she’d been pregnant, and had put two and two together. Most of me was busy freaking out, though.

Surely, I couldn’t be pregnant. The only man I’d slept with was Blaine, and we… My heart dropped when I remembered last night. We hadn’t used any form of protection then, and as far as my fuzzy memory reached, we probably hadn’t that night at the hotel either.

Oh,
God.

Gingerly, I fingered the box. Maybe it was all just coincidental. I mean, I
had
been through an awful lot of stress this past month. It wasn’t unreasonable to assume my body was out of whack purely because of that.

At least, there was no reason to freak out until I’d peed on the damn stick.

Twenty minutes—and a pint of ginger ale—later, I sat on the couch in the living room and tapped my fingers against my bouncing leg while I watched the timer on my phone tick down with agonizing sluggishness.

30 seconds until I knew if my life would forever be altered.

Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap.

20 seconds.

What the heck was I gonna
do?
Did Blaine even want a child?

15 seconds.

Did
I
want a child?

10 seconds.

Why couldn’t Rob have waited with his sly little shopping surprise until Blaine and I had at least had time to sit down and talk about everything that had happened between us yesterday?

5 seconds.

Oh God, oh God, oh God!

The sharp sound of my phone’s timer made me jolt, even though I’d been staring unblinkingly at it for two minutes straight. I snatched it up and flat-out ran to the downstairs bathroom, where I’d left my test.

It lay on the side of the sink, a little blue cross clearly visible even from the door where I was clutching the frame in an effort to keep upright.

I was pregnant.

I was going to have a baby.
We
were going to have a baby.

It was an odd sensation—half of my brain was in the middle of throwing an epic-sized freak-out, complete with violent tremors and hyperventilation. But the other half, the one I clung to in order to not cave to the meltdown and start screaming and/or crying, was completely calm. And happy.

Yes—I wanted a baby. This baby. Blaine’s baby.

It wasn’t practical, it was the worst possible timing, and I had no idea how Blaine would react, but in the core of my very being I knew without a shadow of a doubt that I wanted this child. With all my heart.

I had to talk to him. Now.

My calm side fused with the freaking out part at that simple thought. I needed to tell Blaine
right now.

I spun around and was about to run out the front door when I remembered the offensive list he’d made for me on the first day of my arrival. It still hung on the fridge, spelling out the house rules in big, black letters. I wasn’t supposed to go into the shed, where I knew he currently was.

No doubt the guys out front knew I wasn’t supposed to either, and if I came barging out like the Tasmanian devil then they’d likely stop me from getting to Blaine.

Quickly, I headed toward the window I’d escaped through the night of our big fight. It led into the garden, and I knew it wasn’t visible from the front of the house. At night, Blaine had ensured someone was always walking the perimeter after I gave him the slip, but there weren’t any men stationed there during the day.

As quietly as I could I clambered through the window and landed in the soft soil underneath. There was a clear line from here to the shed, and with a little luck, no one would spot me before I got there.

I rushed across the dead winter grass and opened the shed without making any sort of noise that could alert Blaine’s bodyguards. I felt mighty proud of my own stealthiness as I slipped in through the door.

But before I could open my mouth and call out for Blaine, the scene I’d unwittingly stepped into clicked into place—in crystal clear high-definition. I choked, managing to strangle off a yelp of pure and utter horror.

The shed was fairly big, and immediately in front of me stood a couple of large barrels that half hid me from view. Perhaps that was why Blaine didn’t see me. Or perhaps it was because he was completely focused on the man he had tied up on a chair in the middle of the shed. There was plastic wrapping spread out underneath him and splatters of blood covered it. His body was covered in bruises and lacerations.

Blaine swung his arm, and the chain in his hand whipped through the air and cut deeply into the man’s flesh. He screamed, but a gag in his mouth cut off the sound so only a whimper escaped.

The world seem to spin. My knees gave in and I halfway fell into a crouch behind the barrels, breathing deeply to not make a sound, even though my chest was tight with horror and grief.

I’d seen this scene before. Too many times to count. My brothers, my father, and their men had done this in our basement. To enemies, snitches, and people who failed to pay up.

Torture.

Blaine was torturing that man.

Metal instruments and ropes on the wall spoke their clear language of what this place was. This shed in my backyard. It was a torture chamber.

I had run away from my family to get away from a world where rooms like this were a part of life.

Another whack of metal against flesh rung through the shed and was followed by another, muted whimper.

I don’t know why I had allowed myself to forget what he was.

As open as he had been with me last night, it didn’t change the fact that he was dangerous to the core. There might be more than ruthless violence within him. I’d seen it last night. But this… this was everything I’d feared my whole life, everything I’d fought to escape.

As quietly as I could, I crept back out of the shed and back to the window. It took a bit of climbing, but I made it back into the house.

My stomach roiled, and I made my way to the bathroom to throw up again. I wasn’t sure if it was from the pregnancy or the violence I’d witnessed.

The pregnancy.
The baby.

I pressed a hand to my stomach as I curled up next to the toilet while my dry heaves calmed down.

No.
I couldn’t bring a baby into this kind of world. I couldn’t doom an innocent life to live through what I had had to.

Which meant… which meant I had to save it. I had to go somewhere where the child growing inside of me would never be subjected to the violence in a family like the Steels.

Sorrow warred with determination as I walked up the stairs to pack the few necessities I could fit in my hand bag. When I was done, I found pen and paper and sat down to write a note.

Whatever else Blaine was, the moment between us last night had been real. And the emotions in my heart that had finally been let out while we made love were real too.

Perhaps it was for the best. If I stayed, I would never be able to get free from this world, because he would be there—pulling me back in. And if I didn’t get out now, I would soon be powerless to resist.

It’s funny how things become so crystal clear when we’re about to lose them. As I climbed back out of the window and found my way over the tall fence surrounding the garden, I knew I was leaving behind my one true chance at love.

But I knew all that mattered now was to protect the innocent life in my womb.

Even if it was from its own father.

Blaine,

I’m so sorry.

I can’t do this. I can’t be your pretend wife—I can’t live a life filled with violence.

I have left London and I will never be back. Please, if you ever felt anything for me, if what we shared last night was real, then don’t come after me.

Let me be free.

Mira.

* * * *

Chapter 21

4 Months Later

Mira

The smell of orange blossoms and sea swept over my face as I made my way through the narrow streets of Barcelona’s Casco Viejo. I’d rented a small flat above a butcher shop not far from the café where I worked most days, brewing coffee and serving tables.

As every time I made my way home, I was thankful it was only a short walk. My ankles were always terribly swollen after a day on my feet, and my lower back ached something fierce. The shouts and hollers from the people filling the streets marking the beginning of the evening’s social events only made me yearn for my bed all the more.