SCARLETT
The van rocked beneath me as the engine growled, echoing my heartbeat. My wrists were bound. My lips tasted of copper and fear. Cold sweat clung to my skin. My breathing came in short gasps, but the moment I met Vincent’s eyes, everything inside me froze.
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, like we were sharing coffee and not a crime scene. That same crooked smile danced across his face, the one that used to charm me, seduce me, lie to me.
Now it only made me sick.
“Hi, wifey,” he said again, voice syrupy sweet.
My throat burned. “Where are you taking me?” I croaked, every syllable raw.
He chuckled, slow and dark. “Somewhere quiet. Somewhere we can talk without your little knight showing up with fists and empty promises.”
“I’m pregnant,” I snapped, trying to steady my
