Out of the Ashes (Sons of Templar MC 3)

Then one night, his rage went beyond anything I had ever seen. I can’t even remember what set him off, but his eyes turned black and he came at me. He didn’t stop after one punch, one slap, like normal. There was no desperate pleas for forgiveness or promises. Only more violence. Only more pain. I was terrified not for my life, but for my baby’s. I loved her with all of my heart, all of my soul. She was all I had and I couldn’t lose her. That’s where my desperate thoughts were on, not the pain, then terror that coursed through me as darkness claimed me.

“Said she fell down the stairs.” A voice penetrated my foggy mind. “She’s almost nine months,” the voice continued in disgust. “How someone could do that to a kid, a pregnant kid no less—” It petered off.

I quickly opened my eyes. Two people were standing by my bed, glancing at a chart and peering down at me. Everything hurt. I felt like I had been hit by a truck. I struggled to remember what got me here, where I was. My thoughts moved to my belly and fear replaced everything. My belly, the thing that had kept me going for the last four months, the thing I loved more than anything was gone. I was empty. I knew it. Hatred, hotter that I’d ever felt, burned through my veins…hatred for Sid. My eyes opened properly this time and I clutched the hand of a surprised doctor.

“My baby,” I croaked in despair. “Where is she?”

The woman’s hand covered mine, her face soft. “Your baby is in the NICU. She needs some special attention, but she’s going to be fine.” She paused. “You just focus on getting yourself better.” Her voice sounded like a dismissal but I wouldn’t let go.

“My husband?” I continued, hating the fact I was tied to him through marriage. “Does he know? Does he know she’s okay?” I asked with desperation.

The doctor jolted slightly and gave me a searching look. “No, we were on our way to inform him of you and your daughter’s condition now.” Her voice had turned hard, and I knew she knew he did this.

“Don’t,” I pleaded. “Don’t tell him she’s alive.”

Her face turned carefully blank and she moved closer to me. “Miss Gregory, I’m obligated by law to let your husband know of his child’s condition.”

I battled to keep my eyes clear, steady. “That is not his child,” I declared passionately. “She isn’t his. No father would beat the mother of his child for months while a helpless baby tried to grow. No human being would do that. Only a monster,” I spoke quickly, quietly. “Please, you have to help me,” I wasn’t above begging. Not for my daughter’s life. I knew we couldn’t go back to Sid. He’d kill us. Kill me. I would not bring a defenseless child into that Hell. My child. He thought I didn’t know what he was. What he did. I knew. He underestimated me because he thought he’d broken me completely. But a part of me was still whole, for our daughter. So I knew that he hurt people, killed people. That he was part of something to do with drugs. I had to get out. If he knew she was alive, he’d never stop hunting us. This was my only chance.

The woman seemed to be battling with something while she looked at me. I knew I must have looked bad. I felt it.

“Okay,” she whispered quietly.

I sagged in relief, even though the battle was far from won. “Thank you,” I breathed, looking down at her nametag. “Alexis.”

So somehow she had made Sid think that the baby he had named Hillary was dead. He’d come into my room, sat at my bedside sobbing, begging for my forgiveness. I had sat stoically, doing my best to ignore him, to breathe through the way his hand clutched mine. I somehow made it. Made it through the stifling poison of his presence before he disappeared, promising to come back as soon as he could. Someone was looking out for me, because I caught a break. He didn’t come back, not for three days. Long enough for me to recover just enough to walk. To get out. Alexis, the doctor who saved our lives, organized for us to stay at a sort of rehab facility owned by a friend, just until I was well enough to travel. I hadn’t wanted to stick around, I had wanted to get as far away as quickly as possible, but Alexis convinced me to stay, to get stronger.

So I did, the whole time expecting Sid to burst in the doors and find me. Find us. He never did. Alexis gave me enough money and baby stuff for me to get far away. She also got both of us new identities. She had connections, experience dealing with women on the run, so she knew how to make us disappear. The odds were against us. A scared teenage mom and a newborn baby on the run. I had sixteen years of never catching a break, living life with no one looking out for me, but in the first weeks of Lexie’s life I was sure I had a guardian angel looking out for me. One that sent me Alexis. One that led me to a small hotel, and two wonderful people grieving the loss of their daughter.

I awoke with a jolt. The memories had come rushing back with the appearance of Sid’s face, his sickening presence. My eyes searched the room and I sat up, scuttling to the other edge of the bed when I saw Sid sitting on an armchair across the room, his leg crossed over his thigh, watching me.

“You were a pretty teenager, Button,” he said musingly. “But you’ve grown into a beautiful woman.” His eyes flitted over my face. “Even with the temporary imperfections,” he delicately described my injuries.

I managed to push myself off the bed, standing as far away as humanly possible. Sid pretended not to notice this. “I’ll admit,” he continued. “That I was,” he seemed to search for a word, “displeased when you ran from me. Even more so when you eluded me for sixteen years,” he said tightly, getting up, buttoning his jacket. “Then—” He stalked toward me and I pressed myself against a wall, nowhere else to go. “I finally caught a break. See, I’ve never stopped searching.” He paused. “My break was when I learned our daughter didn’t die that day,” he spoke softly as he approached me. “I learn that my little Button only let me think my child was dead.” His soft tone turned hard now, and his hand circled my neck. It was the same way Zane had so many times. But there wasn’t passion, tenderness, love beneath this touch. Only brutality. His hand tightened to pain and I gripped it, struggling to breathe.