I do as I’m told. I get into the car, alone, and then the door slams closed and the driver takes off.

Ten minutes later I’m delivered to the underground parking garage of a hotel where Conner waits for me next to an open elevator.

“I’m being set up.”

“I know, V.”

“Grace is really missing.”

“Yes.”

“Please tell me you’ve got something.”

“I wish I could, but I don’t.”

This is a moment I will never forget. I thought that night in Vegas last week was my low. When my future with Grace seemed to be in the hands of a power-hungry businessman who likes to play God. But that was nothing. Li had no real power over me. It was a stupid bet.

But this. I shake my head and try and calm my nerves. This is real. He could hurt her. He could damage her psyche. He could kill her.

“I need to find her, Conner. I can’t let him have her for another night. I need to find her today.”

“We’re doing our best, V.” Conner waves me through the elevator doors and then he pushes a floor button and the doors close.

It’s an ominous feeling to be inside this box right now. It makes me feel helpless. And trapped. For the first time in my life my status has little meaning. For the first time in my life my money has little meaning. For the first time in my life I realize life is meaningless without the person you want to share it with.

The car takes us up to the tenth floor and we exit into a silent hallway. “We’re down here,” Conner says.

I follow him down the hall, my gaze trained on the pattern in the carpet, my heart heavy with despair, and my mind racing with regrets. Regrets for leaving her alone last night. For not camping outside her door. Regrets for marrying her when I knew she was drinking. Regrets for using my power over her in Saint Thomas to conquer her sexually. Regret for not being there for the last few weeks.

I might never get to set this right. I might never get a second chance. But if I do, I will make sure Grace Kinsella understands just how perfect and precious she really is. I will spend the rest of my life making her feel loved and safe.

Chapter Eight

“WE’LL have to take care of this.”

I swallow hard, my mind racing. I need to stop him from whatever it is he’s got planned. I need to stop his murderous thoughts. “I don’t believe in abortion,” I try first.

“I do,” he says back flatly. “I do. Especially when my wife was raped. Abortion is just and righteous when a woman is raped.”

I try to see the traps he’s laying. He wants to insist I was raped. OK. That’s his reality and I’m not sure I can change that. And I probably need him to believe that so he will not accuse me of cheating. Because I’m pretty sure cheating is an offense worthy of retaliation.

The last time I was his prisoner he let me know which acts of rebellion would earn me a beating. Sex was never discussed. But he talked a lot about what kind of clothes I could wear. He talked a lot about “asking for it” if I were to wear things that are too revealing.

If leaving dirty dishes in the sink was punishable with a slap to the face, I’m pretty sure cheating would earn me a couple black eyes.

I place the mop against the wall and step towards him. He stands up, a defensive position in case I get any crazy ideas. I have lots of crazy ideas in the plan, but I’m not about to rush ahead. I smile at him. “May I sit on the couch?”

“Who said you could talk to me?” he snarls back. “You have not earned the privilege of speech yet.” His mood changes are still volatile, I sneer to myself. But I keep all that safely tucked away. I nod and take a deep breath and then stand silently.

After several minutes of me standing obediently and wordless, he says, “Come sit here,” and points to the space on the couch next to him.

The thought of being so near him revolts me, but if I want any chance of saving myself from a forced home abortion, I need to win him over. So I step cautiously towards him, ease my way around the coffee table, and sit down. My heart is racing so fast I’m sure he can hear it.

His hand slips to my leg and I swallow back the bile his touch stirs in my stomach. He rubs it and I wince. “I want you to have my baby, Daisy. Not his. So it will be for the best.”

Oh, God. I’m so repulsed. I nod and then chance a look up at his masked face.

“Do you like this mask?” he asks. His eyes dart back and forth, clearly nervous about the question.

I decide to be honest. “No.”

“Why?” he asks quickly.

“Because I want to see your face for once. I want to know who you are.”

“Does it matter?”

Does it matter? Jesus fucking Christ. “No,” I force myself to say. “No. I’m here, I’m yours. So it doesn’t matter.”

“Do you wonder if I’m handsome?”

No. “Yes.”

“Touch me.”

No. This time I have no fake comeback answer, either. Touch him? Please, God. Do not make me touch him.

“Touch me,” he says again, taking my hand in his. They are cold and damp. Clammy. And large enough to cover mine completely.

My breath hitches as he lifts my hand and I pull it back, but his grip is tight. He raises it to his face and places my clenched fist against his masked cheek. “Touch me.”

I swallow hard, my eyes downcast. I open my fist and flatten my palm against the ragged bandages of his mask.

“This isn’t you,” I say, trying to keep the communication open. If I lose this battle… if I can’t convince him of what I’m about to say… then I might as well be dead. Because I refuse to live if this man kills the life inside me. “This isn’t you,” I repeat. “I want to feel your… cheek. See your face. You have seen mine.” I try to reason with him. “You’ve seen mine, so let me see yours.”

His hand covers my hand again. His eyes stare into mine. “You won’t like me if you see me.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I’m ugly.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. Does this man really expect me to soothe his ego as he holds me captive and threatens to kill my unborn child? “You’re a good man who loves and cares for me.” I recite my lines perfected a decade ago. His sick, perverted fantasy with me includes this twisted ego-stroking. “And this child… this child can be ours. We could start our family right now. Today. If I had an abortion”—my throat constricts just saying that word—“then…” I let out a long breath and gulp up another one. “Then it would take months for us to start again.”