Chapter 8 - The Paranoia Sets In
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Charlotte locked the deadbolt of her tiny apartment above the bakery, her hands shaking so badly she dropped her keys twice.
She pressed her back against the cheap wooden door, taking deep, ragged breaths. The black SUV was still out there. She had seen it slowly creeping down the street as she hurried inside, its dark tinted windows tracking her every move.
They found me.
The thought screamed in her mind. Damian’s father must have discovered she was pregnant. Or Damian himself had come to finish the job, to ensure his "mistake" was permanently erased.
She touched her swollen belly, feeling a strong kick against her palm.
“I won’t let them take you,” she whispered fiercely.
She moved quickly, grabbing her duffel bag from the closet. She didn't have much to pack, just her cash, her fake identification, and a few warm clothes. She had to leave tonight. She couldn't wait for the morning bus; they would be watching the station.
She walked to the window, peaking through the frost-covered blinds.
The SUV was parked directly across the street now, idling under a broken streetlight. The exhaust plumed in the freezing air.
Suddenly, the driver’s side door opened.
A man stepped out. He was tall, wearing a heavy dark overcoat, but it wasn't Damian. It was a man she recognized from the few family dinners she had attended from a distance.
Silas Blackwood.
Damian’s younger brother.
He looked up at her window, an arrogant, chilling smile spreading across his face. He didn't look like a man coming to negotiate. He looked like a predator cornering wounded prey.
Charlotte backed away from the window, her heart hammering wildly. Silas didn't want the babies. Silas wanted the throne, and any illegitimate heirs were a threat to his eventual succession.
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She had to run. Now.
She slung the heavy duffel bag over her shoulder, grabbed a heavy iron fireplace poker from the corner of the room, and headed for the fire escape in the kitchen.
