41
Sara
I don’t register anything else about Kent’s house as Peter leads me to the dining area, nor do I pay attention to Peter’s men as they join us in the living room and follow us to the table. I’m still processing Peter’s admission, my anger swiftly transforming into suffocating panic.
This is not a total surprise, of course. I suspected this, knew it on some level. My kidnapper already admitted that he wouldn’t mind a child with me, and a man like Peter—someone meticulous enough to plan impossible assassinations and account for dozens of unforeseen variables—wouldn’t leave off a condom out of forgetfulness. Not repeatedly, at least.
I was right to want to run. If I don’t escape soon, I may never find a way out—and I must. If not for myself, then for my future child.
I can’t have
