Page 20 of Forbidden Pregnancy (The Buffalo Italian Mob Family #2)

Chapter Sixteen

Myra

M ichael’s hand reaches out to me through the darkness.

I can’t make out his face or his body, just the hand coming out of the light towards me.

I know my kidnapper wouldn’t offer me a hand, or maybe my instincts sense Michael’s presence reaching out to me.

I stick my hand out and the moment he takes it, I know the truth.

It’s Michael. I can feel the contours of his hand and touching him has always sent this infuriating electricity surging through me.

It was like that the first time he kissed me and when I interlace my fingers with his hand extending out to mine in the darkness, the electricity surges through me again. I stand up with his help – but it really feels like he’s the only reason I’m standing. My body moves forward without me.

The light is too bright for me to see. I submit to the large arms wrapping around me and bury my face in his chest. His smell.

I recognize that smell. I want to resist it, but I just spent the past fourteen hours in the cold, expecting a cruel end to my story – death in the middle of nowhere.

Instead, I’m in Michael’s arms and safe enough to unleash emotions that adrenaline forced me to suppress for the sake of my survival.

“You’re safe now, Myra.”

His voice stirs something in me. I cling to Michael’s shirt.

I don’t ask how he found me or who took me.

I hear two other voices, but Michael shields my eyes from them.

I didn’t see who took me. I just woke up in the back of the car with my head aching…

possibly bleeding… and fears about a baby I didn’t even realize I cared about.

Now that I’m in Michael’s arms, I can admit that I care about this pregnancy and this baby.

I want my last chance at having a baby to work. Even if it’s with him.

“Tie this around your head to cover your eyes” Michael murmurs while handing me a piece of cloth. “I’ll lead you out of here and I need you to stay quiet until we get to safety. Can you do that for me, Myra?”

It honestly depends on how long he needs me to stay quiet, but I nod, because my biggest priority is getting the hell out of here. I feel Michael’s arm wrap around my body and he lifts me off the ground, squeezing me in a tender sort of fireman carry as he takes me… outside.

Even if I can’t see a thing, I can feel the cool breeze out here.

I hear bullfrogs, so we might be near a body of water, and then I hear a couple woodpeckers and an owl, and it sounds like we’re in the middle of some type of jungle.

I cling tighter to Michael’s enormous body.

He sets me in the passenger seat of a car and tells me to keep my eyes closed.

I listen. He closes the door and I hear muffled voices.

He didn’t rescue me on his own, but they did it without firing a shot.

This must be related to Michael’s mob activities…

but how. My heart pounds with anticipation.

I don’t feel free yet and I won’t feel completely free from this situation until I open my eyes and can see and physically touch the safety around me.

I need to set my pregnant ass in a real bed.

When Michael gets back into the car, he drives for about five minutes before instructing me to remove my blindfold.

I quickly slip it off, desperate for freedom, and some idea of what’s going to happen to me next.

Michael looks over at me once I take the blindfold off and I don’t bother trying to read his facial expressions.

We’re driving at about 85 mph and it’s so dark that I can’t make out any features around me on the highway. It’s dark, cloudy, and country. No music on the car radio, just Michael’s emotions emanating from him as he white-knuckles the steering wheel.

Does he think I did this on purpose? Sure, I might have entertained the idea of leaving everything behind, but I barely made it ten feet past that front door before an assailant knocked the wind out of me and shortly after that, my consciousness.

He drives for another half-hour. I don’t think we’re heading back West towards Buffalo, and I finally can’t tolerate the suspense anymore.

“Where are we going?”

Michael sighs and looks over at me with disappointment. But there’s no response.

“Are you going to stay quiet the entire time?”

“My brother couldn’t have walked through the front door,” Michael says after a very intentional two-minute wait on his response. “You wanted to leave.”

Is he seriously doing this right now?

“That’s not what happened.”

My head hurts. I’m pregnant. Tired. Not exactly in the mood for Michael’s jealousy. But I can tell he wants to do this right now. He wants to have this argument.

“I shouldn’t be surprised you ran away from me again,” he says. “It’s just what you do.”

Heat prickles across my chest, flowing through my fingertips.

Michael’s insinuation touches at the deepest wells of pain between us and I can’t believe he would dare to bring this up right now, when I’ve just had my world knocked out from under me and spent the greater part of the past fourteen hours thinking I would die.

He can’t seriously be so selfish as to think love or our relationship are more important than getting me and my baby a quarter pounder and a shower.

I try to suppress my urge to start an argument.

My tongue moves along the inside of my mouth and I try to remember that Michael jumpstarts arguments for stimulation.

I’m more mature now than I was twelve years ago when I first made the mistake of letting this brutal man throw me up against a wall and have his way with me.

I won’t let him get into my head.

“Yes, Michael. It’s what I do. And I’m sure it has nothing to do with the fact that you’re a brute, or that you bring more drama into my life than Real Housewives of Atlanta .”

“The moment I learned of your absence, I dropped everything to come find you. We can’t keep doing this, Myra. You can’t keep trying to run away from me. I’m starting to think I need to be more controlling.”

“Has that worked for you so far, Michael?”

“I’m not messing around, Myra.” His voice tightens with anger and I don’t know what the hell possesses me to provoke him into a deeper state of anger. Michael can’t seriously think he’s the victim here.

“Who kidnapped me?” I ask him. “Because I don’t believe for a second you resolved this so easily with a stranger.”

Michael’s redness deepens as I draw closer to the truth. I can feel his avoidance, and I’m sick of it.

“It doesn’t matter who kidnapped you,” Micahel says.

“Doesn’t it?”

“I said it doesn’t matter,” Michael growls. “Now drop it. ”