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“Fine,” I snap, shoving the car door open. “Give me ten minutes.” I don’t wait for a response before slamming it shut behind me and stomping toward my building’s entrance.
Of course, I don’t even make it to the door before I hear them following me, their feet stomping a trail of anger behind them. But instead of acknowledging them, I ignore them all the way up the stairs and until we stand in front of my door.
Smirking, Mickey unlocks the door with the key he’s clearly snatched from my bag. I do my best to continuously ignore both assholes as I enter and head straight for my bedroom, pulling out two duffle bags from my closet. I lay it all out on my bed before throwing clothes and toiletries haphazardly in, not really paying attention to what I’m packing.
I love the anger I’m feeling, it’s keeping me preoccupied as I imagine all the ways I want to hurt the bastards. Especially Mickey for going through my things, keeping my phone, and fucking unlocking my door as though I need his permission to enter my own home.
When I’m done, I zip up the bags and shoulder them with a sigh, taking one last look around. I have a sinking feeling it’ll be awhile before I see this place again. If ever. Ugh, no. I can’t think like that. Instead of succumbing to my morose thoughts, I enter the kitchen and open cupboards, gathering my favorite snacks before also packing those.
“What are you doing?” I almost jump as Soren’s voice slices through the silence. Turning my head, I see him casually leaning against the door frame. “You shouldn’t eat any of that,” he scoffs, eyeing my snacks with disdain.
“Don’t!” I warn, shooting daggers from my eyes. “I’ll eat my chocolate if I want to. I’ll eat the cookies if I want to. You don’t get a fucking say.” My tone is as clipped as my sentences.
“You can’t just eat whatever you want to,” he argues, reaching out as though he’s going to take my snacks from me.
Without meaning to, I hiss at him—fucking hiss like a cornered feline—and slap his hand away, and much to my dismay, he smirks, clearly finding my reaction amusing.
“Let her eat whatever she wants,” Mickey drawls as he joins us in the kitchen. “It’s not our fucking baby, so why should we care?”
For the first time, the words don’t offend or hurt me. I let them roll off my back, imagining their stunned faces when the truth comes out with a little help from a paternity test. Oh, I’ll make them eat their words then.
The thought has me grinning as I place my snacks in one of the duffle bags, refusing to let either of them carry it as we leave my apartment. I don’t even allow them to throw it in the trunk, nope; the bag is staying with me.
When we’re back on the road, Mickey meets my eyes in the mirror again, gaze flinty. “Satisfied now?” he asks in a low tone that my stupid body reacts to immediately. My nipples pebble, and my pussy flutters with want.
I just nod, not trusting my voice. He faces forward and starts up a conversation with Soren, ignoring me completely. It’s probably a blessing with the way my body is acting. I rest my head back and close my eyes, mentally steeling myself. I have a feeling this is going to be a very long drive to my new gilded prison. A prison of my own making.
The worst part is, even through the anger and uncertainty swirling inside me, I can’t tamp down that tiny traitorous voice whispering that there’s nowhere else I’d rather be heading right now than into the arms of these two infuriatingly impossible men.
Lord help me, I’m so screwed up.
After what feels like an eternity, the car pulls to a stop in front of a gorgeous, modern-looking house—Soren’s house. Since it was dark when they brought me here before, this is the first time I get a proper look at it.
The house is sleek, modern two-story with smooth concrete, dark steel, and expansive glass windows. The flat roof and sharp angles create a bold, geometric look, while a dark wood front door adds warmth. Minimalist landscaping and a simple driveway complete the clean, sophisticated exterior.
As soon as the car is parked, Mickey practically yanks me out of the car, and before I can blink, he’s nudging me up the steps and ushering me inside. When I almost stumble, he makes a sound of annoyance and takes the duffle bag I’m clutching from me, throwing it over the shoulder he’s already carrying the other bag on. Then he stomps up the stairs, and I follow him, already knowing what’s coming.
“Make yourself at home, Gail,” he says, throwing the bags on the floor. “We’ll… umm… be downstairs.” He clears his throat and leaves me alone, quietly shutting the door behind him.
“Wait!” I call out before the door shuts completely. He doesn’t open it again, but he does stop the movement. “Thanks for letting me have my snacks.” I wanted to thank him for standing up for me, for bringing me back here, yet my brain somehow substituted that with snacks. It’ll do.
The chuckle coming from him is unexpected. “No problem. But if I were you, I wouldn’t let Soren see you eat that shit.” With those words, he closes the door.
I let out a shaky breath, exhaling the air I didn’t realize I’d been holding.
Well, here I am. Apparently the property of Mickey Davis and Soren Taylor. Who would’ve thought?
Since I still feel yucky from my vomit fest at the doctor’s, I quickly gather what I need from one of the bags before locking myself in the bathroom, eager to get clean. And now that I have my pregnancy-friendly shower products, I can finally clean myself properly. I bask in the hot water as it pelts my skin for longer than I need to, but damn, it feels amazing.
After I’ve scrubbed myself raw, I emerge from the shower, wrapping the large towel around my body, finding a smaller one for my freshly washed hair. As I brush my teeth, I take a quick look in the mirror. I’m a mess, but what else is new?
Taking my time, I go through the ritual of adding oil to my hair before brushing the dual-colored locks into submission.
I also lather my entire body in the oil recommended by Mom32 on the blogs, swearing it prevents stretch marks. I know that’s not true since I already have a couple on my tits. Unlike most women, I don’t mind them, though. Don’t get me wrong, they’re not pretty, it’s just not enough to send me into a tailspin.
With a heavy sigh, I open the door and step out into the bedroom. Then I take my time unpacking before pulling on my favorite sweater, a dark blue and form fitting one that’s so comfy it should be illegal. Not feeling like wearing jeans, I choose a pair of black leggings that hug my ass and thighs like a glove.
After I’ve unpacked everything and munched down half the cookies, I get restless. The only entertainment in this room is the flatscreen TV, and while it’s awesome to have hundreds, if not thousands, of channels to choose between, I don’t want to lie in bed and watch anything.
