stairs.
I can’t hear anything except the thunderous beats of my own heart pounding in my ears.
“Jesus Christ.” I focus all attention up the stairs where the droplets are scattered on the plush carpet in a frenzied pattern. Then, one word shoots through my head like an exploding bullet.
Phoebe.
“Fuck!” Pushing off the floor, I throw myself across the room with my pulse racing and stomach churning.
But it’s her gut-wrenching scream that brands itself into my mind like steel drawn from a fire.
Twelve
Phoebe
I refuse to be treated like a five-year-old by anyone, especially the man I’m supposed to marry.
My worries had been blissfully blank for the few minutes of passion we shared. Julian is a constant burning ember, and one drop of gasoline ignites into a raging inferno of lust.
Most of our fights end in sex. Every aspect of life with Julian is full throttle. My body responds with an open invitation and offers itself for his taking.
At the top of the staircase, I stop, wondering if he’s followed me, but I know I’ve given him no reason to.
Besides, why the hell would I go to North Carolina? My sister’s home won’t be any safer than LA. In fact, it’d be like returning to the scene of the crime—going from the frying pan into a vat of boiling acid.
Why can’t he understand the danger isn’t stationary?
Moving won’t remove the problem. The problem is me. I could move to Timbuktu, and all females in Timbuktu would be in danger.
Wherever I reside, so does the threat.
Or is it as simple as his fear of me going into labor? If so, why doesn’t he just ask Ryker to stay with me? There aren’t any more tour dates until after my due date. Julian had demanded it. All that remains are publicity junkets he and Zane can handle alone.
I admit to being stubborn, but he still hasn’t given me a valid argument for his irrationality.
Sighing, I enter our bedroom, needing a shower to clear my head. Stepping out of my maternity skirt, I kick it to the side and round the corner to the bathroom, fumbling for a towel on the rack behind the door.
Nothing.
Shit.
I know there are clean towels in the guest room bathroom. Muttering ramblings of hiring a housekeeper, I turn the corner. As I fumble again with the light switch, my toes dip into warm, wet carpet.
What the hell?
Finally connecting with the switch, I flip it on and glance at my feet. Shifting my toe to the right, I smear a red, horizontal line across the floor
Blood.
My eyes burn a trail from my foot to the bed. Huge splotches of red scatter across the white carpet, and there’s a tattered yellow scarf laying on the floor, all twisted into knots.
My blood pressure rises as a gurgle starts deep in my stomach and works its way up my throat.
I hold onto the doorknob, my knees wobbling as the room spins.
Oh God. Breathe… Breathe. Not again.
With everything spiraling out of control, I do the only thing I can think to do.
I scream.
Thirteen
Julian
“Phoebe!” Climbing the stairs, I call her name again, this time with escalating panic. “Phoebe! Answer me, Damn it!”
The only response I get is a sickening thud coming from the room to my right. Cursing, I turn the corner to find her on her knees, her palms reaching out in front of her. Frozen, I grip the wooden doorframe as her hand presses into the red carpet.
“Oh God.” Tumbling into the room, I fall to my knees beside her.
Her eyes are clamped shut, her face white. Sweat rolls down her temple and into the blood, the two fusing together.
I take her face in my hands and turn it toward me. “Phoebe! Open your eyes and look at me.”
She jerks her chin out of my grasp. “Quiet…contraction.”
“Phoebe…”
Her eyes pop open. “I said shut up!”
She takes slow, repeated breaths, her fingers still digging into the puddle of blood. All I want to do is take her out of this fucking house—out of Los Angeles. There’s no question in my mind now—she has to leave. She’ll get on that plane if I have to put her on it myself.
With her breathing finally calming, Phoebe crawls toward the wall and collapses against it. Suddenly, I find myself at a loss for words—something I’ve never been in my life.
“The baby?” I ask.
She blinks slowly, her eyes still glazed. “The room started to spin, that’s all.”
I sink beside her. “That’s all, she says.”
Lifting her hand, she traces a trail of