Page 86 of Freeing Denver

I never even left.

Covering my face with my hands, I sob into them. I cry openly, no longer caring about the repercussions, because I’d imagined I was worlds away. Hours from my home, from Colt, from my family.

But I’m so close.

And I know he’ll be looking for me.

“Enough of that,” Eli says gently, handing me a tissue.

With a trembling hand, I take it and dry my tears.

This is the extent of the Eddards’ cruelty and arrogance. They didn’t need to hide me. Didn’t need to ship me off to some remote part of the country. They’re powerful enough to keep me right where I was taken, and still, no one has found me.

We reach the city and I’m surrounded by people, cars, buildings, sounds, lights. It’s so bright and alive and beautiful and I stare, open mouthed, not daring to try the door handle I know will be locked.

We pull into a parking garage, and before we get out of the car, Eli takes my hand.

“One word, Robin,” he says. “One word, one scream, one note left, and you will give birth in that box, and your baby will be on the market in days.” I freeze, my body shuddering. “Do you understand?” I nod quickly.

We get out of the car.

I’ve fought my entire life. I’ve been strong because I had to be.

Weakness is a bullet, right?

I’m Denver Robin Harland. My mother was a Gallagher, my father a DeLuca, and I was brought into this criminal life by a Luxe. I married a Harland. I lived with the McEwans. Strength is all I am. It’s what I surround myself with. It’s in my blood.

But when I step out of the car, I’m not Denver. Not Deluxe. Not a wife or a daughter.

I’m a mother who can’t risk her child.

So, I’m quiet. Compliant. I smile, I let Eli hold my hand, and I don’t whisper for help. I don’t tell the doctor I’m being held against my will. I don’t leave a note when I spot a pen at the receptionist’s desk.

I let myself cry when I see my baby on the screen.

“You’re just shy of ten weeks,” Dr. Shannon says, smiling warmly. “They’re looking good.”

She gives me vitamins. Strict instructions to eat. I tell her it’s the nausea that’s kept my weight low. She believes me, or maybe she’s being paid not to care.

Eli has his arm around my shoulders as we head back to the car. He kisses my temple like it’s our shared moment, and not like he threatened my child not long ago.

I get into the car.

And I stare out the window again.

The sonogram is in my hand, and I smile at it, running my thumb over the small shape of my baby. Mine and Colt’s baby.

“He’ll love you,” I whisper. “And we’ll get back to him.”

Eli is on the phone, too distracted to hear. I lift my gaze to the window when we stop at a traffic light.

My heart and breathing grind to a halt.

On the other side of the glass, outside an ice cream shop, is Colt.

My mouth opens and my throat thickens, and I stare and stare andstare. Holly is by him, eating an ice cream, and Wesson is eating one, too.

Tears burn my eyes, and I reach for the door handle, tugging on it, but of course, it’s locked.