Consent (The Loan Shark Duet 2)

As my eyes focus on the object, an involuntary gasp escapes my throat. He knows. I lift my gaze slowly back to his. The ice in his blue eyes pierces my heart.

I shake my head, forcing out through dry lips, “I didn’t fall pregnant on purpose. I swear to God. Gabriel, you have to believe me. I don’t know how it happened, but I promise you it was an accident.”

He hooks his hands under my arms and pulls me to my feet. His voice is quiet. Dejected, almost. “I believe you.”

I sag in his arms. How can he be so blasé? The life I carry means nothing to him. He’s still going to kill me. The only question remaining is how. Gathering inhumane strength, I push away and stand up straight. “Are you going to shoot me?”

He regards me with a strange light in his eyes. “No, Valentina, I’m not going to shoot you.”

I lift my chin a fraction, ignoring the warm tears that trickle down my cheeks and drip on my sweater. “How are you going to do it?”

“Do what?”

“Kill me. Strangling? A knife? Poison? Or will you break my neck?”

The ice in his eyes splinters. The fragments turn dark. “I didn’t say I was going to kill you.”

My thin bravery slips. “What then?” I throw the words at him. “Torture me?”

“I prefer to call it punishment.” He grabs my face and digs his fingers into my cheeks. “For running. For putting your life in danger. For not talking to me before stupidly fleeing.”

More tears spill from my eyes, running over his fingers. “I thought you wouldn’t believe me. I knew you’d be angry about the baby.”

His hold slackens. “I am angry about the baby.” His shoulders drop as he lets me go. “You should’ve talked to me.”

He’ll force me to do what I feared all along.

“What now?” I whisper.

“Now I take you back to where you belong. We’ll work through the rest when we’re home.”

Meaning he’ll make me get an abortion. Cupping my hands over my stomach, I take two steps back.

“I beg you, Gabriel.” My lips tremble violently. “Please, don’t hurt my baby.”

When the last word leaves my mouth, the moment freezes. Gabriel’s eyes widen, and his face pales, the color making the embossed scars on his cheek stand out with an angry red. Time stretches as he stares at me in shock. The horror I never wanted to see is etched on his face, giving me insight into his soul. No, he wasn’t taking me home for an abortion. He hoped I would’ve taken care of it, by now. He’s disappointed the problem is still here, growing in my belly.

The spell keeping him immobile breaks, and he limps back to me. We’re two broken people in a twisted situation with an innocent life trapped between us, a life I already love more than my own.

“Please,” I beg when he towers over me, “I’ll take your torture or punishment, and I promise to never run from you again, no matter what, if you let my baby live.”

“Our baby,” he says harshly.

He’s right. It’s his baby, too, but we aren’t two people in a relationship who make consensual decisions. Gabriel decides.

“Yes, our baby,” I agree. “Don’t make me do something I can’t live with. Please.”

“You want this baby,” he says with a tinge of disbelief, “knowing how it’ll complicate your life?”

“It’s not his fault he was conceived. It can’t be undone, and I’ll deal with it, whatever it takes.”

His left eye jumps, and his nostrils flare. I have no idea what he’s thinking, only that it’s upsetting. I understand why he’s unsettled. I know how this must look. Many young girls in my neighborhood got themselves knocked up to catch a man or to escape a debt. It must be hard for him to give me the benefit of the doubt and to battle the idea of becoming an unwilling father.

“I won’t ask anything from you,” I continue hastily, biting back my tears. “I won’t make this problem yours. You have nothing to worry about. I don’t expect your money or time. I will take care of everything. You won’t even know the child is there.”

All I see is incomprehension as he digests my words. For some reason, he seems confused––it’s a lot to take in––but as he doesn’t object immediately, I allow myself to feel hope.

“Please?” I ask softly.

“Why?” is all he asks in return, as if he can’t get his head around my request.

“Because I already love him.”

“Him?”

“I have a feeling it’s a boy.”

He says nothing. We stand, facing each other, while unnamable emotions play off between us. I hold my breath as I wait for his answer. My life, Charlie’s life, and my baby’s life are in Gabriel’s hands. The next word that falls from his mouth will be the verdict that decides my child’s future, the difference between life and death, and I can’t do a goddamn thing about it, because I’m still Gabriel’s property for the next nine years.