Ronnie didn’t move after Kyle left.
Not even an inch.
Her body remained curled on the dirty floor, knees tucked into her stomach like she was trying to shield the baby with what little strength she had left. She shook uncontrollably, trembling so hard her fingers scraped against the wooden planks in erratic, spasming twitches.
Mark stared, blood pounding in his ears. His wrists were raw, slick with sweat and blood from trying to break free. But now he wasn’t thinking of pain or blood or even Kyle. He was watching the way Ronnie’s chest barely moved. The way her lips parted, shallow and fast, like she was gasping through a straw that wasn’t giving her air.
“Ronnie?” His voice broke—raw and ragged. “Veronica—look at me. Please.”
But she didn’t.
She couldn’t.
Her eyes were wide, glassy
