The Whipping Girls Read online

  “She?” He looks up fuzzily at me. “It’s…she’s a…?”

  Kane’s eyes brim, and I stare fascinated. “He’ll take her away from me.”

  “That won’t happen,” I say.

  Something in my voice must have given me away. Kane’s eyes dart up. I try slipping to the side, getting away, but he catches me around the waist, holds me still. “You’re not…you’re not thinking of getting rid of her, are you?”

  “Kane, please, it’s late.” My voice sounds so pitiful right then, I almost feel like crying myself.

  Hunter reappears, a steaming cup of coffee in his hands. “Sit down,” he says grimly.

  When Kane doesn’t move, Hunter slaps a hand on his shoulder and guides him to the couch beside Zee. She shifts when he sits, and wakes up just enough to shuffle closer and curl up with her head in his lap.

  He doesn’t stroke her hair this time. In fact, he seems loathe to touch her.

  “Did something happen?” I ask, stalking closer. My hands are around my belly again, but it’s more effort to keep them off these days than just to let them do their own fucking thing. “Why’s she so tired?” I scan the girl’s tiny frame and see a bruise on her neck. “Did you hurt her?”

  I’m beside them in an instant, hand raised to slap Kane before I even realize I’m closing the distance.

  Kane lifts his chin, as if ready to take the blow. “I had to,” he says quietly. “She became hysterical.”

  I point at the bruise on her pale skin. “So you choked her.”

  Kane looks down and takes a joint from his pocket. When he speaks, it’s without looking up. “Ever since…since we were here last, she’s been obsessing about the baby.”

  I would love to know what a mute stick of a girl obsessing looks like.

  “What did you—?” Hunter begins, entering my peripheral view as he sets Kane’s coffee cup down on the table.

  “She wants me to knock her up.” Kane puts his elbow on his knee, careful not to trap Zee’s hair, and rests his forehead on his palm. “I can’t take it anymore. I don’t know how to tell her…”

  “Tell her what?” I ask, spinning to Hunter when Kane refuses to answer. “Tell her what?”

  “After…after her time with Father, she never ovulated again. I had a specialist look at her.” Hunter twists his mouth. “She can’t have children.”

  “Oh.” I glance down at Zee.

  “And I can’t bring myself to…to touch her,” Kane says. He drags hard at his joint. “I love her, but…it feels wrong. So very fucking wrong.”

  The severity in Kane’s tone saps all the energy from my legs.

  So fucking wrong.

  If Hunter and I were still getting married, that would have been the catchphrase on our goddamn wedding cake.

  So fucking wrong.

  Hunter goes to sit down. Kane finishes his joint and then drinks his coffee.

  “I’ll do whatever you need me to,” Kane says.

  I jerk, my gaze flashing to him. I’d been staring at Hunter while trying to figure out how long he’s been planning all of this, who in turn has been staring at his feet.

  “Thank you. That means—” Hunter begins, but Kane cuts him off again.

  “But that Satanic prick doesn’t get my baby.” Kane looks up, right at me. My heart stutters in my chest for a moment. “I get my baby. Zee gets the baby.” He strokes the girl’s head, and she stirs a little before going limp again.

  I swallow hard, and then again. “I…I’m going back to bed,” I mumble, pushing up with difficulty from the chair. Kane’s at my side in an instant, Zee’s sitting up with a grumpy look on her face when her head falls onto the couch cushion.

  Hunter’s on my other side a millisecond after Kane, and they both just look at each other for a second.

  “Jesus Christ. I’m pregnant, not handicapped.” I push between them and haul my fat body upstairs. My cheeks are hot, but not from shame, or confusion.

  Anger.

  It’s my fucking bedfellow these days, even when Hunter’s not sleeping next to me.

  I used to think I had so many choices — what clothes to wear, what to eat, where to go.

  Then I met Hunter, and I didn’t give a fuck about choice anymore. It felt like a massive burden had been lifted from my shoulders. He bought me clothes, he cooked me food, he set my schedule.

  But now I feel stifled; every second of my goddamn existence already mapped out for me.

  I will carry this child to full term — because I can’t bear to risk Kane’s baby dying because I’m too impatient to get rid of it.

  I will be a part of Hunter’s insane plan to get rid of the priest — because I can’t say no to him. Not now, not ever.

  And afterward, I’ll probably marry him.

  Because I don’t want anyone else.

  He broke me, ground me under his heel, and scattered that dust in the wind.

  All that’s left is my sordid soul, and he’s sure as hell never letting it go.

  I lay on my back in bed, closing my eyes and hoping against all hope that I’ll fall asleep and never wake up again.

  A painless death — wouldn’t that be nice?

  Exhaustion drags me down, but just before I succumb to more nightmares, something stirs deep in my womb.

  The baby kicks, hard.

  My eyes fly open in the dark.

  Frigid terror floods my body.

  I can’t do this.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Hunter

  “Take me to the doctor.”

  I look up and scramble to my feet. Clover’s standing at the foot of the stairs. I’d been so engrossed in a patient report from the Institute, I hadn’t even heard her come downstairs.

  I set down my tablet; I detest bringing paper reports into my house, despite how often I’m forced to use them in my office at the rehab clinic. “What’s wrong?”

  She lifts a hand, dangling a scrap of fabric from one finger. Her underwear.

  There are spots of blood on it.

  She holds her belly, mouth tight, as I guide my Jag down the twisting road toward Mallhaven town.

  “Cramps?” I ask.

  “No.” Her voice is a dull monotone; matching eyes heavy-lidded with exhaustion.

  I didn’t come to bed last night; I wasn’t sure if she was in the mood to have me beside her. Now I regret it; I might have witnessed a symptom if I’d been close.

  “Nausea?”

  “No, nothing. Just the blood.” On my instruction, she brought her stained underwear along in a zip-seal bag, but it’s crumpled so tightly in her hands, I doubt they’ll be of any use to the doctor.

  “How long till we get there?”

  “Just a few more minutes.” Her calm insistence shakes me. It’s as if she’s barely managing to keep herself together.

  “Spotting doesn’t always mean—”

  “Please, Hunter. Not now.”

  So polite, it makes my skin crawl. I slow down for an amber light, and she grips my thigh hard. I shoot through the intersection as the light turns red and catch her grateful glance in my direction.

  We’re less than five minutes out from the doctor’s office when Clover’s nails dig into my muscle.

  “Stop.”

  “Clover, fuck, what is—?”

  “Just stop.” She doesn’t raise her voice, but her words are steel. “I need the bathroom.” Color spots her cheeks.

  There’s a filling station up ahead. As I pull into the parking area, I realize it’s the same one where we found Ziggy eight years ago. It’s had a paint job since then and the sign’s different, but the layout’s just the same.

  As soon as the car stops, Clover’s out the door. I slide out, but she waves me away with a grimace as she makes for the back of the station.

  I see a sign — restrooms.

  When I sink back in my seat, my stomach keeps sinking. She’s due in three weeks. Even if she was to go into labor, the baby should survive.

&nbs
p; Kane’s unblinking gaze flits through my mind.

  Christ. I grab the steering wheel, tightening until the leather creaks.

  What’s taking her so long?

  I get out, hesitate. What if she’s gone into premature labor while I’m standing here with my dick in my hands?

  Fuck this.

  I stride toward the restrooms, not even bothering to close the Jag’s car door behind me.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Clover

  I can’t move fast enough. My legs feel too short, my body top-heavy and impossibly bloated. I almost expect to feel the baby sloshing around inside my womb, rocking side to side as I waddle for the restrooms.

  As I turn the corner, I glance behind me. Hunter’s staring after me, still standing outside the car, but as I look, he sinks down again.

  I zoom past the restrooms, gritting my teeth at the monumental effort it takes me to build up speed.

  I’m in an alley now.

  Let it be the right one. Please, God, let it be the right one.

  I think briefly on the irony of my prayer and then shove it from my mind.

  Fuck sentimentality.

  Fuck everything.

  Blood roars in my ears. I scratch irritably at the back of my hand. There’s a tiny raised spot there, but at least, this time, I know how it got there.

  And, while I was pressing a pin into my soft flesh, watching blood well before dabbing it onto my underwear, I realized why I’d had almost the exact same itchy spot on my hand all those months before.

  Hunter must have taken a blood sample from me in the middle of the night.

  Guess he had to make sure Kane had knocked me up.

  And what if he hadn’t? Would he have lured Kane — or perhaps another eligible bachelor — into his cabin and watched possessively as the other man fucked me?

  There’s a figure at the far end of the alley. Tall, skinny, wearing a hoody despite the sun beaming down. Sun that doesn’t make it between the two tall buildings I’m hurrying down.

  He must have heard me coming — fuck, I probably sound like a goddamn elephant — because he turns and frowns at me.

  Before he can speak, I blurt out, “Got H?” I hold up a folded twenty-dollar bill. Pale, shadowed eyes glance at the money, then my massive belly. “You got or not?” I say, louder this time.

  “Christ, lady. Yeah. Fuck.” He holds out a hand as if convinced I’m going to go for his throat and plucks a twist of plastic from his junk.

  I’m not grossed out — I’ve snorted heroin from a package that reeked of shit before — but I hesitate before taking it from him.

  “You want it or what, lady?”

  I hold out the note. He snatches it, sneers at my belly, and disappears into the sunlight. I stand there, my heart thundering, and then exit into the sunlight right behind him.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Hunter

  “Clover. Clover!” I’m banging on the door now. I try the handle, and my heart shoots into my fucking throat.

  It’s locked.

  “Clover! For fuck’s sake, let me—”

  “Hey. Hey!”

  I spin, staring at Clover with wide eyes and a parted mouth. “Where the—?”

  “Had to give back the key, psycho.” She glares at me. “Can’t leave me alone for one fucking second, can you?”

  Her venom catches me off guard. Key? What key? But in my panic, I’m already stumbling over an apology.

  She turns and waves me off like a fly. “Take me home.”

  “Wh—what?” I hurry after her, catching her elbow. “What about the doctor?”

  “I’m fine,” she snaps, tugging herself free. “And I’m fucking starving. This thing is sucking me dry,” she adds, pointing at her belly. She looks up, and for the briefest moment, it’s as if the heaven’s open just enough to glint from her blue eyes. My stomach twists but, for once, it’s because I suddenly can’t bear the thought of not seeing those eyes every day; storm lashed or crystal clear, I couldn’t give a fuck.

  “Make me pancakes when we get back?” she asks through a tiny smile.

  Chapter Forty

  Clover

  Kane’s Jeep is in the driveway when we get back to Hunter’s house. The instant I spot the sand-colored vehicle, my body goes rigid. Hunter sees it a second later, and the Jag loses power as if his foot has slid off the gas pedal.

  “What now?” he mumbles.

  “He probably came to say hello to his baby,” I say woodenly.

  Hunter glances at me, but I don’t bother turning to him.

  He doesn’t know it, but I’m already dead inside; I can’t fucking wait for that nothingness to spread all through my body.

  Kane gets out of the car. For once, Zee’s not with him.

  “Where’s Ziggy?” Hunter calls out. Then he drops his head and gives it a shake. “Zee?”

  “Left her at home.”

  “Why?”

  I move around them; I couldn’t give a fuck about anything they have to say right now. Plastic sticks to my palm, coated with sweat and guilt.

  I’m at the door, hand on the handle, when Hunter calls out. “Clover!”

  I spin around, my heart choking me. Hunter waves his phone and then presses something. I hear a subtle click behind me and realize I’d been trying to open a locked door. But then Kane’s talking, and Hunter turns away from me to answer him.

  I dart inside.

  Inside, it’s deathly quiet.

  My eyes dart first to the powder room, then the stairs. Both have locks, but I know for a fact they wouldn’t withstand more than a few kicks before they’d give in.

  Hunter’s lab? But, no, I don’t have the passcode for that any more than I do for his office. My gaze skips to the kitchen.

  The back door.

  I’m through it before I can second guess myself. In a minute, I’m stepping into the cool darkness of the forest ringing Hunter’s house in its botanical embrace.

  Birds go quiet as I stomp through the foliage, snapping twigs and leaving branches swaying in my wake. I have no doubt he can follow me easily, but I’m hoping I’d be on my merry way to Fuck-it-all-Ville by the time he actually finds me.

  I give myself another minute of trudging through the forest before I start looking around for a clearing. I find one seconds later — nothing more than a trio of rocks so precisely laid out, they look like a druid’s version of a sculpture.

  In my rush, I didn’t bring anything with me. But I’ve been this desperate before, been this hungry for the nothingness more than once in my pathetic life.

  I perch on the smallest rock, using the largest one as a makeshift table. I put the balloon on it, and glance around. Stretching, I snap a big, waxy leaf off the closest bush. I flatten it with my palm and use my nail to scrape a bit of the heroin out of the twisted plastic.

  The baby kicks.

  I swallow bile and then turn and heave on the moss beside me. When I straighten, the world takes a slow spin, and never seems to settle again.

  There’s a buzzing in my ears. A dryness on my tongue. I stare at my pinkie-nail full of powder the color of my underwear as my heart begins racing in my chest.

  I got to this point on automatic. I had the desperate need to silence my fears, and this was always the best remedy.

  But now I can’t bring myself to snort it.

  As much as I crave that omnipotent solace I know it will bring, I can’t bear the thought of having that same craving every minute of every hour again.

  But I won’t, will I?

  I laugh, the sound maniacal, panicked.

  No, of course not.

  This is the last time.

  The very, very last time.

  I lay a hand on my stomach, and the baby kicks as if she doesn’t want me touching her.

  “Shh,” I whisper, my eyes never leaving that heap of grubby powder. “It won’t take long.” I stroke my belly and then look down, my vision swimming with tears. My voice is thick a
s I hold back a sob. “You wouldn’t want to live in this fucked up world, anyway.”

  I lift a finger to my nose and close off my other nostril. “Trust me,” I whisper, squeezing my eyes shut.

  Chapter Forty-One

  Hunter

  “You can’t keep showing up here like this,” I say to Kane. I have my hand on his Jeep’s roof, barring his way. He can go around me if he wants, but lucky for him he’s picking up on my murderous vibe.

  It’s his kid, sure, but it’s my Clover. I saw how he looked at her last night. How much he wants her. But she’s mine. Nothing will ever change that.

  “I just wanna see my kid,” he says. His eyes move erratically, frantically, hunting behind me for Clover. But I know she’s already inside, the door closed behind her. He can’t see her through the glass.

  “You will, Kane.”

  “When?”

  “When we’re done at the church.”

  He slumps. “Father will never let us both in there, you do realize that, right?”

  “It’s already been arranged.”

  He gives his lips a quick swipe with his tongue. “How?”

  “Clover’s my fiancé. You’re the father of her child.” I shrug. “Father can be reasonable, at times. Especially if he’s getting what he wants.”

  “But he’s not,” Kane says through his teeth. “He’s not—”

  “Kane.” I lay my hand on his shoulder. “You have to trust me. I’ve worked this all out. Nothing can go wrong.”

  He laughs bitterly, tearing away from my grip. “Listen to yourself,” he says. “You think nothing will go wrong?” He’s in my face an instant later, fists in my shirt. “Everything will go wrong. Clover will die, my baby will die, fuck…all of us are gonna die.”

  His voice takes on a manic tone that sets my teeth on edge. I search his face for a sign of madness, but I don’t find any.