Due Date_A Baby Contract Romance

by Emily Bishop

  “It wasn’t a ruse. I did love you, Scarlett. Just not enough.”

  He starts walking again, the liquid splashing around the room.

  “Not enough as what?”

  “Not enough as my family.”

  He finishes dumping the gasoline on the floor and comes back to stand in front of me. I stare up at him in disbelief.

  “I can’t fathom it. Your brother treats you like shit, Gareth. I’ve only heard two conversations between you two, and during both of them he’s belittled and degraded you. That’s not how family treats one another.”

  “Oh, because you’re such the expert? Tell me, how long has it been since you’ve spoken to your own family? Would you say, four, five weeks?”

  I don’t remember enough to know whether or not that’s true but I have a suspicion that he was keeping track. It doesn’t sit well.

  “You know I’m not close with them,” I hedge.

  His lips twitch into the smallest smirk. “Scarlett, don’t insult my intelligence. I know you stopped talking to your family to keep them safe from me. It was probably a wise decision. They don’t know anything or have any connections. It would look suspicious if we went after them, too, when we don’t have to.”

  I don’t remember making that decision but I’m glad I did. I don’t want to give away to him just how much I don’t remember. Maybe he’ll still think that I have some memories from the past few months, even though I told him otherwise. My mind isn’t thinking clearly, and I’m grasping at straws. The sharp smell of gasoline makes me dizzy, burning my nostrils.

  “That’s great. I’m glad I did that, too. Now why don’t you think about your own parents and how sad they would be if you were burned alive and not do the same to me?”

  I’ve hit a nerve. His shoulders tense up, and he leans down, pressing his palms on either side of my chair as he looks right into my wide, frightened eyes. “My parents never gave a shit about me when they were alive, and they sure as shit don’t care about me now that they’re dead. You may think that Richie is an asshole, and he can be, but he’s my brother. I owe him my life.”

  “Why? When did he save you?”

  “He saved me when my parents died. He raised me like his own. I’m strong because of him.”

  “Really? Because based on what I heard, you’re pretty fucking weak.”

  He lifts a hand and I prepare for his blow but he stops himself, his eyes narrowing as he peers down at me. The scent of his aftershave mingles with the gas, and I want to gag.

  “I don’t care what my brother says in front of the men. I know he puts me first, just like I do for him. It’s why I took this job, in spite of the risk of being surrounded by a bunch of nosy fucking journalists. It was the best place to get the information we needed, to delve beyond stealing from individuals and straight into government files. With access to every single social security number, we’d be living pretty for the rest of our lives. It would have been the biggest data breach in history.”

  He gazes out at he talks, his expression dreamy, like he’s lost in a beautiful daydream where he destroys millions of lives just to get fat cat rich.

  “Are you that greedy?” I ask, looking up at him.

  His attention returns to me, and he shakes his head. “Money is easy. Money we can get with the click of a mouse, within seconds. The more we get, the greater our power. You want to see what the President of the United States does when we bring him to his knees? That man is a figurehead compared to us. We run the show, we make them bend to our will. We are the ones in power. We can find anyone, terrorize anyone.”

  His voice is terse as he speaks. Christ, he believes this bullshit. I wish I had time to puzzle it all out but he steps back and lifts the gasoline can back up. This time, he showers me with it. I close my eyes as the cool liquid pours over my head, drenching me. He doesn’t miss an inch, spreading it all over my clothing, down to my shoes. I keep my eyes closed, unable to wipe the gas out of them with my bound hands. Finally, I blink them open, and my eyes sting.

  “Here, allow me,” Gareth says, running his sleeve along my eyes to dry them.

  “Gee, thanks. I’d hate for chivalry to be dead right before I’m burned alive.”

  Gareth’s face falls at this comment. “I didn’t want to have to be the one to do this,” he says again.

  Richie steps into the doorway, his expression hard and annoyed. “Are you seriously still doing this? I wanted her prepped and aflame before we’re gone, Gareth. Can you fucking do anything right?”

  “I do everything right!” Gareth complains, and the little brother in him is plain, the tiny boy just wanting approval from a family that will never give it to him.

  How the hell am I supposed to compete with that?

  “Sure, that’s why we’re here right now, forced to burn down our headquarters to get the cops off our trail. I’m sure that counts.”

  “Fuck off, Richie. I’m doing it.”

  “Well, stop taking your time about it. I’m going to send everyone else to the rendezvous point, then you and I can take my car once we’re sure everything is lit appropriately. Meet me at the back of the house once you’re done. And, Gareth? Hurry the fuck up!”

  Richie disappears out of sight, his footsteps echoing in the hallway behind him as we hear him giving the team orders in another room. The front door opens, and everyone leaves.

  Gareth sighs and pulls out a matchbox, twirling it around in his fingers. “Are you doing this on purpose, or do you hate me enough to torture me this long?”

  “What, you want me to light you on fire now?”

  I swallow. Hard. “You’re seriously going to do that? You’re going to watch me burn alive?”

  He’s staring at me again, sweat beading his forehead. “It’s the only way to be sure that we don’t mess up this time. It’s the only way to know that you’re taken care of.”

  I can’t tell if he’s talking to me or to himself. I open my eyes wide, though they can’t go much further than they are now, and I allow them to fill with tears. This is also not difficult. The gasoline is overwhelming, stinging my senses.

  “After everything we’ve been through, you’re going to stand there and watch while I writhe in agony until my skin peels from my flesh and I die? That’s the last memory you want to have of me?”

  An image flashes through my mind of Gareth on top of me, fucking me. It was good but it wasn’t great. Still, it’s enough of a memory for me to know that I have some level of weight with that statement. I did mean something to him once. It was more than just sex… at least, on his end.

  His face falters as he considers my words, the image trapped in his mind’s eye. He glances back at the doorway, presumably searching for his brother. When there is no sound, he pulls out the pile of zip ties and drags my chair to an old radiator in the corner. Connecting the ties, he proceeds to latch me to the metal, ensuring that I’m trapped.

  “You won’t be able to break out of this one, Scarlett, but you’re right. I can’t just sit and watch you burn alive. Be right back.”

  He dashes from the room, leaving me tied to the radiator, covered in gasoline, surrounded by it. A moment later, he returns, only to grab the gasoline can and bring it back with him. Soon after, I can smell smoke coming from close by. Gareth returns with the can.

  “Okay, I set the room next to you on fire. Richie will never need to know that your death was more of a slow burn.”

  I want to ask if Richie would notice that I’m not screaming in agony but that seems like a stupid thing to do. I don’t want to give Gareth any reason to set me on fire and end this any sooner than it’s going to already. The smell of burning gas and smoke intensify, and I want to hold my breath. Flashes of memory return with the scent. I remember discovering the code in my desk drawer, puzzling it out. I remember when I first began to suspect that Gareth had something to do with all of this.

  “I’m sorry, Scarlett. Really, I am. I wish that things could have been different,
that you and I could have had a chance at a life together.”

  He’s delusional. I want to spit in his face but I don’t want to antagonize him. An angry Gareth with a pack of matches is not the Gareth I want to be facing right about now.

  “You’re the one making this choice. I would have loved to spend a life together,” I say, crying.

  It’s the last tool I have in my belt, and he hesitates one more time.

  “Gareth! Get a fucking move on!”

  He stares down at me, memorizing my face one last time as his eyes comb over my features. Smoke is curling around the top of the doorway, and I know it’s only a matter of time before the highly flammable liquid all around me, soaking through me, will bring this all to the end they’d hoped for in the first place.

  Gareth leans down, pressing his lips to mine is a disgusting kiss, forcing his tongue past my lips as he savors the sharp tang of gas on my mouth. When he pulls back, I’m close to puking. I can’t even wipe his saliva from my face.

  “Goodbye, Scarlett,” he says, and leaves the room.

  And I am left there to sit and watch the flames lick at the door, hungry for the gasoline on my skin.

  25

  Isaac

  I crouch along the front of the house as the sound of sirens roll up the street. My backup has finally arrived. I’m excited at the prospect of having a squad with guns, even though I watched many of the men walk out of the house, free already. I didn’t see Gareth or anyone who looked like him-presumably his brother.

  I’m about to turn and address one of the police cars when a telltale scent hits me, and I freeze, turning back to look up at the house. It’s not noticeable yet but it will be. If there’s anything I know, it’s fire, and it spreads fucking fast. There is no time to wait for the cops to join me. I have to get to Scarlett, now. Those assholes think they can pull the same stunt they did last time but they aren’t counting on one thing.

  Me, motherfuckers.

  I run up the painted porch steps and kick in the front door, not caring about the damage. Of course, I rarely do. Buildings can be fixed. Dead people can’t.

  A wave of hot smoke blows into my face, and I lift an arm to shield it, wishing for my fire suit as I press forward into the heat. Down the hallway, there is a doorway to the back, where I knocked out that guard.

  Gareth and his brother make their way out that door but I don’t have time for them.

  I have to get to Scarlett.

  The fire is catching fast, and the scent of gas reaches me, so I know I have way less time than I want. I wind my way around the house, away from the flames. Part of me is afraid of what I might see—Scarlett, burned and charred. The image fills me with a sense of urgency, and I press on, seeing no one else as I make my way back through the kitchen and down a hallway.

  “Scarlett!” I call.

  The flames are loud, the wood around me creaking. I tear off a piece of my shirt and press it to my nose and mouth as I press on, a wave of flames meeting me in the hallway. There are two rooms to the side, and I have to check them. I have to check every room on this floor before I move up to the next level. I hope that I can find her sooner. With the gas involved, I have minutes, maybe less.

  “Scarlett!” I scream again, and I think I hear a response through the wall of smoke. Holding my breath, I plunge through. The smoke burns my skin, ashes swirling around me as I peek into the first room.

  This had to be where they started the fire. It’s already burned through, most of the room gleaming with embers as it burns itself out. I charge onward, thinking only of Scarlett. In spite of the stress, it feels good to be taking action, to be doing something after being on the sidelines for so long, grasping at straws.

  Adrenaline pumps through my veins. Through all of this, Scarlett has been at the front of my mind. Even when my own life was threatened, I still put her first. I know in this moment that I love her, that I can’t live without her, and that knowledge gives me a surge of energy as I push through another cloud of smoke, my jeans catching fire at the knee. I quickly pat it out as I dive into the next room.

  Scarlett’s eyes are wide as she watches the flames crawling toward her from across the room. I’m ecstatic to see her alive but we’re not out of this yet. I drop to my knees next to her, and she looks down at me, a little dazed from the smoke.

  “Isaac? Am I dreaming?”

  “No, you’re not. I’m going to get you out of here, Scarlett. Just hold on.”

  “Not much else I can do, really,” she says, glancing at her tied hands and feet. I tug on a zip tie, and she cries out in pain.

  “I don’t think that’s the best method. You got anything else?”

  The fact that she’s a little loopy is probably a good thing. My eyes dart to the encroaching flames, and I know that she could go up in them if I don’t move faster. It doesn’t take a genius to see that she’s been doused as well.

  They certainly took measures to make sure she didn’t survive this round.

  I can’t wait to prove them wrong.

  There is a desk in the room, and I pull open a drawer, sifting through the contents. Nothing in there is sharp enough to cut through the ties.

  “Fuck. Scarlett, I’ll be right back, okay? I need to get something to cut those ties.”

  “Do hurry, will you?” she says, her head lolling to the side as she watches me with red eyes.

  She needs oxygen. She needs a lot of things. My heart is pounding as I bolt out the doorway and press through the smoke to get to the kitchen. My skin burns with every second I remain in that building, and there’s a chance that Scarlett doesn’t have another minute to spare.

  A wooden block stacked with knives and kitchen shears stands on the counter, and I grab the scissors, turning back toward the inferno. I dive back in, sprinting through the heat, sweat pouring down my back.

  The fire has nearly reached her. She won’t be able to save herself from the burns once it does. She looks up at me and grins.

  “Fancy meeting you here. Mind cutting these?” She coughs the words out.

  She nods down at her ties, and I move fast, swiping at the zip ties with my scissors and deftly removing them. When I cut the ones off her wrists, I notice the wound that goes all the way around, fresh blood pouring from her wrists as she slumps down.

  “Whoa, there. We’re not out of this yet. Come on.”

  She leans heavily on my shoulder. She doesn’t have the strength to get out of this on her own. I lift her into my arms and eye the door, knowing that I’m going to have to be extra careful on my way out. I have a gasoline-soaked woman on my hands. I might as well be walking into a flame with a fresh matchstick. I hold my breath and send up a quick prayer to anyone willing to listen before I rush out the door, remembering the path I took to get here.

  I turn back toward the kitchen, a path I am now familiar with, sprinting as fast as I dare through the flames, holding Scarlett as close to my chest as possible, away from the fire. We burst into the kitchen, the smoke behind us as I pry open the back door, nearly stumbling over Kyle’s unconscious body. I consider dragging him out with us but Scarlett is my first priority. I’m not doing shit until I get her out of harm’s way.

  I run around the side of the house, and more sirens wail nearby. A few cops call out as I run by, but I don’t stop.

  “She’s hurt. She needs oxygen,” I say as I keep moving, not letting anyone touch her as I approach the waiting ambulance. When we stop there, I pry open the back door as the driver meets me in the back.

  “What’s the issue?” he asks, eyeing Scarlett.

  “Just inhaled a lot of smoke. Oxygen, now.”

  The man nods and steps into the back of the ambulance, pulling out an oxygen tank and mask. Scarlett is limp in my arms now, and I lay her down on the small gurney in the back of the truck, checking her pulse as I do. Her heartbeat is fast but strong, and I stare down at her as I wait for her to open her eyes. The medic places the oxygen mask on her face, and I watch h
er chest rise and fall as she breathes in fresh air, her expression peaceful for what she’s been through. I should be relieved. I have Scarlett back, and we are relatively safe. I won’t feel at ease until she opens her eyes and personally tells me she’s fine.

  She has to wake up. Please, wake up.

  Her eyelashes flutter, and a pair of blue eyes reveal themselves as she blinks back to consciousness. They search her surroundings until they land on me, and her hand reaches out for mine. I hold onto hers tight, trying my best not to squeeze as hard as I want to.

  “You okay?” I ask.

  She grins beneath the mask, and I know exactly what she’s saying. She doesn’t need the words.

  You always ask me that.

  I shrug and grin back at her.

  “Can you blame a guy? This is the second fire I’ve had to pull you from, Smith.”

  She looks as though she’s about to say something when her gaze grows distant, and her eyebrows narrow. When she looks back up at me, her grin blossoms into a smile. She says something but I can’t hear her through the oxygen mask.

  “What was that?” I ask, and I look at the medic.

  “She should be all right now that she’s regained consciousness. Miss, if you feel dizzy at all, please put the mask back on, okay?”

  Scarlett nods in agreement, and I gently pull the mask from her face, freeing her to speak. I lean down to hear her better.

  “I remember!”

  Her voice is hoarse again from the smoke, and I’m reminded of the first time we met, in not so different circumstances. I want to crack a joke about how we must stop meeting like this but she’s on a roll, and I don’t want to break her stride.

  “You remember what?”

  She reaches for my face, tears streaming down her cheeks as she lets out a joyful laugh. “Everything,” she breathes, and she tugs my face down to hers, kissing me as she wraps her arms around my neck, holding me tight.

  I kiss her back gently, not wanting to hurt her. I don’t know what condition she’s in yet, and I want her to feel safe. She will always be safe with me.