Page 28 of Quadruplets for the Vipers (Never Just One #3)

Leah

I wake in the middle of the night, desperate to go to the bathroom which seems to be one of the less pleasant side effects of my pregnancy.

I dread to think what it’s going to be like when the baby starts pressing on my bladder.

I can’t have been asleep long, I can hear the sounds of the late-night stragglers at the club, still partying.

No doubt they’ll be drinking until the sun comes up from the sounds of their drunken chatter.

I climb out of bed, feeling deliciously sore from last night’s sexual antics.

Now that we’ve done that, I know I want to explore more of the darker sides of sexual play with Rider and the others.

I want to try it all, to fully explore my kinks and indulge theirs.

Of course, being pregnant makes that a tad tricky, especially the more heavily pregnant I get.

Luckily, we’ve got nothing but time, I think smugly to myself.

As I climb back into bed, I quickly check the time on my phone. My blood runs cold when I see the unread message on my screen.

Lying whore.

It’s from an unknown number, but there’s no doubt in my mind as to who it is from. Tony. I can only assume that he’s found out that he’s no longer the only man I’ve slept with. The message is dated a couple of hours ago, not long after we’d finished having sex and gone to bed.

How could he possibly know? Or is the timing coincidental?

My phone screen flashes, another incoming message. It’s from the same number.

The deal’s off.

For a moment, I feel relief. He doesn’t want me anymore. Not now he knows another man has had me. I’m tainted goods.

But then the next message comes.

Whore’s love it hard. So I won’t make this easy. My Hounds and I will see you soon, Leah.

Fuck.

With shaking hands I type back a response.

I don’t know what you’re talking about, Tony. I haven’t broken my promise. I’m still coming back to be with you tomorrow.

I feel sick just typing the words. But I have to keep up the lie, if I can convince him, then I still have time.

I can go wake up the guys right now and tell them everything.

I should have done so hours ago. I curse myself for wasting precious time that could have been spent solving this.

Burying my head in the sand isn’t going to make Tony go away. My phone buzzes with another message.

I love you so much, you’re mine. Say you still love me too?

From the tone of his texts, he’s drunk. I have to be careful here, to play to his ego and tell him what he wants else he is likely to do something dangerous.

People get hurt when Tony is drunk and maudlin.

He needs to believe there’s still a chance between us, or else god knows what he will do.

However, I can’t bring myself to say the words back to him.

You know how I feel about you.

I hope that Tony’s ego will mean he reads this as a confirmation rather than the hatred it truly conveys. But then another message comes.

I’ll destroy everyone who touched what’s mine. I’ll blow everything up for you. I promise.

With those ominous words, there’s suddenly a deafening explosion and a bright flash of light.

In dazed horror, I rush to the window and look toward the sound.

The bar is engulfed in flames. The sounds of screams echo from inside and I see one man on fire desperately running around in the forecourt outside.

It’s like something from a nightmare. This can’t be happening.

I shake my head, wanting to rub my eyes like a cartoon character, but the sight doesn’t change.

It’s really happening. Someone’s blown up the bar.

The timing isn’t a coincidence. Tony is behind this. Bile rises in my throat, and I rush to the bathroom to throw up.

When I finally regain control of my body, a terrible, insidious thought occurs to me, were any of the guys there? They didn’t say they were going out when I went to bed, but it’s not beyond the realm of possibility.

I race out of the room, screaming their names at the top of my lungs.

Their bedrooms are empty, the doors thrown open, blankets crumpled, I try to tell myself this means they were sleeping and they’ve just left to help after hearing the explosion, but that niggling evil voice tells me they were in there.

That they’re trapped in the fire, or worse.

I rush down the stairs, flinging the front door open wide, and running down the street, barefoot in just my nightgown.

Tears stream down my face, and I scream out their names, my voice growing hoarse.

This can’t be happening.