The Dom With the Perfect Brats (30 page)

He felt like he’d been skewered in the chest. Cross drew a shaky breath and scrubbed a hand through his hair. “No. I don’t deserve them. But damn it, Q – I want them.”

“Then work on deserving them and maybe you’ll get to keep them.” She hissed out a breath and leaned against Jude again, pressing her face against his shirt. “Fuck, Jude. How can you smell good at a time like this?” She gasped.

“Sorry. Is it distracting? I could try to smell worse.” The poor guy looked helpless and guilty as hell. “Can I do something? Rub your back or...”
He trailed off.

Q was tense, gritting her teeth, eyes squeezed shut.

“She was doing better when you were domming her,” Cross said. “She was calmer.”

Jude gl
ared at him. “I’m not going to dom her through giving birth. That’s ridiculous.”

“Q likes knowing you have things under control, right? She’s in a lot of pain and she needs to know you’ve got this handled, not that you’re just as nervous as she is.”

As Q’s contraction receded she relaxed, looking around. “Where’s my Sabrina?”

“Calling the midwife. Your contractions are getting close together.”

“Nonsense. This is my first baby. It’s supposed to take like eighteen hours, the books said.” She shook her head.

Sabrina came back in, a
phone pressed to her ear. “How far apart?”

“The last two were three minutes apart. You have a high pain tolerance, Q. Remember those Braxton Hicks contractions you’ve been having for the past two days? Maybe they were real ones.”

“Ugh, my stomach is so hard. This is too fast. Make it slow down!” Her nails dug into Jude’s jeaned thigh.

“This is what’s supposed to happen, Q. It’s going to be done soon, okay? Are you going to have this baby for me soon?”

“Yes, Sir,” she mumbled. “Off the couch, off the couch. Help me down.”

Sabrina scrambled to the bookcase and grabbed a blanket
then spread it on the floor.

Jude sighed.
“You’d be more comfortable lying on the couch.”

“That’s not what she wants, Jude.”

“Well, what does she want?”

Sabrina
helped her wife down. Q knelt between Jude’s knees, her hands resting on his thighs. Sabrina knelt beside her and played with her hair. “There. Better?”

Q nodded.

“You should dom her through this, Jude,” she advised. “I think she needs that right now.”

“Hey, that’s what I said.” Cross laughed.

“Fine,” Jude conceded. “But if she kills me later I’m blaming you.”

Q’s breathing got very
deliberate and Sabrina took Jude’s hand and wrapped it in Q’s hair.

“Wow
,” Cross stood and hooked his thumbs in his pockets. “Again, already? Uhh... I’m going to wait for the midwife at the door.”

“Yeah
.” Sabrina looked back at him. “I think it’s turning into a no pants party in here. At least for one girl.”

Cross took that as his cue to get the hell out.

For the next ten minutes he sat on the porch, listening to orders coming from Jude, faint responses from Q, and Sabrina sounding like a supportive pageant mom. He hoped the midwife knew they weren’t exactly a traditional family or this might be a bit of a shock for her.

He’d been
so busy lately he hadn’t noticed August had snuck in. The air was cool, and more comfortable than any August he could remember. Was it about three in the morning now? Hard to tell. A pair of headlights turned onto the street, and he walked down the drive and opened the big, wrought iron gate. The woman drove in, waving uncertainly.

She stepped from the car and Cross assisted in carrying her things into the house. “How is she?”

“Not loud yet.”

“Some women aren’t screamers.” The woman smiled. “I’m
Amber, by the way.”

He schooled his expression into something serious and respectable. Ignoring that kind of opening for an inappropriate joke was difficult. “Godfrey. Friend of the family.”

Amber looked up at him and swallowed hard. He tried to smile winningly, like Jude did, but the woman just looked more terrified and perhaps a little interested.

“She’s in the living room. Jude and Sabrina have been...helping her focus.” He said clearly, hoping to warn Jude there was a vanilla in the house.

“T-thanks, Godfrey.” The girl simpered up at him. She was pretty, but she didn’t at all compare to his women.

Cross made a pot of coffee, poured a cup, and sat his butt down at the kitchen table.
Jude was right at dinner when he’d said the icing was still on the tile. The pink splotches in the grout were vivid. He smirked, but the amusement only lasted a minute. Why wasn’t he leaving? He wasn’t sure. That he loved the three of them like family, there was no question. Being present for this was an honor.

But in reality, he was afraid to go back to his apartment and walk the floors alone all night, waiting for the girls to call him. They’d been staying over almost every night for
months, watching movies, talking, playing dumb games, prying into his past and messing up his place. Now it was empty. Somehow, dirty dishes on his counter was a pleasant thought, even though it used to be a spankable offense. It meant the girls were where they belonged. With him.

Cross could
’ve sworn that only a few minutes had passed in the kitchen when the squall of a baby interrupted his thoughts. Kids whining at the mall drove him crazy, but this was different. The sound of a soul joining the breathing world. His eyes welled and he gulped at the knot in his throat. He prayed for the baby, and that Q was alright.

For the next hour he waited while the little family got acquainted. He did the dishes from the supper they’d been served earlier
. His fingers lingered on the lipstick Izzy had left behind on her wineglass. He swept then wiped down the dining room table.

“You need an apron.” Jude chucked from behind him. “Sorry we left you out here for so long. I forgot you were here.”

“As it should be. So?”

“I’ve been sworn to secrecy. Let Q tell you herself.”

They strolled into the living room. Q and Sabrina were curled up together under a blanket on the couch, a tiny bundle cradled between them and any mess that might have been made cleared away. Amber gave him a shy smile and told Jude she’d be back in a few hours, reminding him that he had her phone number if they needed her.

“I think you have a fan.” Jude
said, laughing quietly after she’d left.

Cross ignored that and followed him to the edge of the couch. He squatted beside the couch so he could look at the baby’s face. Pretty.

“How did you manage to make the only pretty newborn I’ve ever seen? Usually they’re all scrunchy.”

“Have you looked at Jude and Sabrina? It was a win
win, no matter which one got me pregnant.” Q looked tired, but she glowed. “She’s a girl.”

Cross scrutinized the baby again. “I think she looks more like Sabrina. If the baby had Jude’s genes, it’d look a little stunned most of the time. This kid looks
bright.”

“Jeez, Cross. Talking smack about me in front of my newborn daughter? Harsh.”

“She was bound to find out sooner or later, man. Better to hear it from me than a stranger.”

“Good point.”

“So a girl, huh? Jude has girl nuts.”

“I wouldn’t trade her for a mi
llion of your ugly boy children.” Jude grinned. “Not that any have turned up yet. In fact, I hope all of our kids are girls. Eight girls sounds good to me.”

“The mall will never survive,” Cross intoned in mock terror. The baby wriggled and turned her head, looking for something. She made a tiny sound of annoyance that made him want to give her whatever she wanted.

Damn. He was in love with a baby. He wiped the schmooky look off of his face and nodded in the most macho way he could muster. “Seriously, though, what are you guys calling her?”

Q grinned. “Zenobia Serafina Evans.”

“Whoa. Big name for such a little girl.” He laughed. “It suits her, though. Tough kid, she hardly cried at all. Takes after her moms. How’d you pick her names?”

“Zenobia I took a fancy to early on. Sabrina picked Serafina, after her grandmother. And Evans because the rest of her family is non-traditional, so we figured giving her
daddy’s last name would make life easier on her. That and we couldn’t trust Jude to pick names, so we used his last name so he didn’t feel left out.” They snickered and Jude arched a brow.

“Here, Cross, hold her.” Q handed the baby to Jude, who placed her gently in
his arms. He stood there, both spellbound and petrified.

“Maybe I should have sat down first. I haven’t done this before.”

Jude beamed at the infant. Cross looked from his friend to Zenobia, wondering how much more intense he’d feel about this if she were his child. He couldn’t imagine it being better. How many adults did one kid need wrapped around her finger anyway? And such itty-bitty little fingers they were...

“You’d better get used to holding her,
Cross. We want you to be her godfather.”

“Fuck off – really?” He covered his mouth with his free hand. “Oops. Sorry. Seriously, though?”

“Yes, seriously.” Q grinned.

The three of them were looking at him, waiting.

“Have you thought it through? I’m not exactly the best role model.”

Sabrina’s eyes crinkled in the corners. “I don’t think she’s going to pick up your bad
language yet, Cross. You’ve got almost a year to clean up your act.”

“I need
back-up. There are going to be boys lining up at the door starting tomorrow morning, I swear,” Jude said, his voice desperate.

“And girls,” added Sabrina.

“So I’m going to be a bouncer for the little princess? I can handle that.” He gazed down at her. “No boy is ever going to touch you. Ever.”

Jude sat on the couch at the girl’s feet. “That’s the right attitude. Now give me my baby. I’m going into withdrawal.”

Izzy

She closed and locked the front door, thinking how only a few hours ago, when she’d done the reverse, the world had seemed to be sinking fast into some awful pit of black ooze or quicksand and maybe Mount Doom as well...if the world could fit in there. Now though, she had hope.

The day was even starting cool and the sky
was a pristine cloudless blue. All she needed was bluebirds singing the trees. As long as they didn’t do like that one did in
Shrek
and explode.

Gemma dragged out Cross’s phone, dialed and waited with it held to her ear. “Nothing.” She shook it. “
He said we’d talk in the morning, didn’t he? So why isn’t he answering?”

“
It’s six in the morning, Gemma. He’s probably sleeping. Like the rest of the world.” She yawned. “Like we should be doing. Besides, he probably doesn’t even know you have his phone.” Izzy watched as Gemma grimaced and squeezed the phone. Her fingers went white. “Why are you doing that? It’s not a lemon. Shaking it and squeezing it does not make a phone work better.”

Her face slumped and she sighed. “I’m frustrated. You convinced me I was wrong. That
...” She eyed Izzy sadly. “That I should talk to him.”

“And for that I’m grateful.” The sun behind Gemma limned her in light, like she was some angel
...a very impatient angel. “Come on. It sucks that you stole his phone but it was an accident. We’ll drive over and knock and hope he’s willing to talk. And you know what, if I’m right, if he’s the patient, adaptable man I think he is...or could be, he will do that.”

“Yes. Guess so. And if he kicks us out at six
AM, I’ll know he’s a dickhead.”

She rolled her eyes. “You need a dose of optimism. Maybe it’ll come with the coffee I’m getting you on the way there.”
They went down the spiraling concrete stairs, their footsteps echoing in the well, and out to the long row of under-building car parking. “You’ll have to wait here while I back out. The passenger side door doesn’t have room to open.”

She indicated
a spot next to a small unhappy garden of ferns and weird plants that might have come from Mars for all she knew.

Gemma curled her lip. “
Ew. I’m not standing there. That thing looks like it might try to eat me. I thought my place was bad but after this, and that noisy argument your neighbors had last night, I think you’ve topped my horrible apartment.”

“
I know. But the place is cheap.” Her keys were caught on a thread in her jeans pocket and she had to fiddle to free them.

For a second, Gemma weighed her up. “We
both need a new place to live.”

Izzy froze, hoping, wondering what Gemma was angling for. “And?”

“We should get an apartment together.”

A little spark of joy lit up inside and she smiled. “I like that idea. Wait.” As she ducked down the side to squeeze into the driver’s seat of her
ancient Honda Civic, she realized there was another alternative. Would Cross ever want them to move in with him?

First things first. Repair the break in their relationship. Like she’d told Gemma, that was her mission. Her mind on automatic, she backed up, one eye on the rearview mirror, the other on the concrete to the side. But her thoughts were on how she could get Cross and Gemma to be nice to each other.

When she’d maneuvered around ready to drive off, she gestured to wave Gemma in.

The
back door was wrenched open and Gemma plopped into the seat. A muffled word was said.

By who? Gemma?
Why was she back there? In one of those awful moments of realization, as she fully turned her head to look, she clicked, and understood. This was something bad. Like a horror movie that lets you glimpse a black thing skitter out of sight, or a wrinkled face in a dark alley, or a multitude of cockroaches scuttle across a pristine children’s bed, she knew.
Bad.

Her eyes took extra time to focus, for all she saw was Gemma there in the seat, with
...fuck...tape on her mouth , blood on her neck, and desperate eyes.

Again came that muffled noise from through the gag.

Run
. Gemma was saying
run
.

Her heart hurt. Her throat closed in. Her pulse thudded hard in her temples. A man had slid in next to Gemma, and the knife at her throat was the cause of the blood. The trickle ran from where he had it dug under her chin, pushing in her pale skin.

“Don’t fucking move. If you run or scream, your friend dies, got it?” he said through taut lips, almost hissing in his fervor. With a hand on her forehead, he pushed Gemma back into the head rest.

Izzy catalogued what she saw. Dark hair. Crazy eyes.
Business casual attire. And a hand with a knife. Gemma had her hands behind her. A stiff plastic strip said a zip tie of some sort. The man had been prepared.

Possibilities swarmed in. Run? She could fling open the door, and run. But that meant leaving Gemma with him. She might disappear with him. Be killed. But staying was bad too. Throw herself on him? The knife looked fearsome. The tip seemed to drink at Gemma’s throat. One thrust and it would sink in. She’d seen enough movies and dreaded the spurt of red liquid. Sickening. To see her girlfriend die. Leave and die, stay and die. Leave and hate herself forever. She wanted to vomit.

“Stop fucking thinking! Drive. Go out to the street. Do not attract attention. Do not do any-fucking-thing except what I say to.”

Where were the neighbors? Tremors ran up her arms. She dared a quick look outside the car. Six
AM on a Saturday. Shit. Everyone was probably sleeping.

“Drive!” His hand with the knife swiveled a fraction and Gemma whined. “Drive. You want to live
?” His teeth showed. “Drive.”

As she slowly drove along to the street, she made a plan. She had to take a chance. He was unhinged. Letting him tie them both up or letting him make her drive somewhere isolated had a high chance of him raping or killing them, or both. She had to dredge up the courage to stop in the middle of a street and holler for help. Maybe after she knocked away the knife? Could she kick it? Kick and yell out the window. Except the window motor was so slow. It wound down like a snail on valium.

Sometimes there was no perfect solution. If she got Gemma killed she’d never ever get over it. But doing nothing might get them both dead.

Courage.

“Stop when I say,” he growled.

Confused she glanced across at him. “Here? It’s the middle –”

“Now!”

She applied the brake. Was this the time to run? But the side street was deserted.

Before she could do anything, he leaned across into the front and slammed his fist into her stomach. Breath rushed out. Pain tore in. She gulped, wanting air but her muscles refused to do anything. Her surroundings hazed as she coughed and clutched where he’d hit her. Though she could hear Gemma squealing, that cut off too. Her ears seemed pumped full of mud, her mind wasn’t thinking. Another thump of his fist in her stomach stopped all thoughts of resisting.

Dimly, past her desperate need for air, she was aware of him binding her hands, taping her mouth and eyes, and dragging her somewhere. The hard road surface scraped her shoes. Doors slammed. Darkness as something fluttered and covered her head. Another slam – overhead this time.

There was the sound of a car engine, then nothing. Then another engine started – this vehicle, since she felt the vibrations. She heard the rasp of her breathing and someone else’s nearby. Hair brushed her face, and a head knocked on hers. Gemma was here too. They were under a blanket.

Terror seemed determined to knock a hole in her chest – her heart was beating like a mad jackhammer.

She couldn’t see, she couldn’t talk, she could barely move, and breathing...

Fuck.

She coughed into the tape and tried to raise her head, only to bump on metal. She accidentally tried to suck in some air through her mouth, and the tape didn’t give. That and the musty smell from the blanket sent more panic skittering through her. Hay fever, if it blocked her nose, it could kill her. For a few seconds, all she was aware of was the air rushing harshly in and out through her nose.

I can breathe. I can. Calm down.

Echoes, then rumbling under her body as the car went over bumps in the road. They were in the car’s trunk.

The muffled noises must be Gemma trying to say something. If they could remove the gags and especially the tape over their eyes, they had a chance. Maybe. Seeing was important, wasn’t it? Already the zip ties were cutting into her wrists.

Someone had to stay calm. She’d climbed the Eiffel Tower, travelled all the way from Australia and now she was to be murdered without a fight? Not bloody likely.

Calm
down. Breathe. It became a mantra as she rubbed her head against some rough canvas and felt the tape move. It seemed to be paper tape and not duct tape, so although it caught on her hair and made her skin sting, slowly it peeled away.

The car stopped and started, stopped and started, then drove for what seemed hours at a fast speed. They’d left town and were going into the country. Where? Her mind went in crazy circles, worrying.

So she started the mantra again, seeing her mind had fucking forgotten. The f word was getting a good workout in her head and she didn’t fucking care.

By the time they arrived somewhere with roads that made the car wind in curves and go slower, then crackle over what might be gravel, she had her eyes free and the corner of her mouth too. Her lips could part a little and breathe through the gap. Such a relief to have another way to breathe. Her nose, stupid thing, wasn’t as likely to kill her anymore.

Note to self – next time, before being abducted by serial killer, take antihistamine.

Yup. Though maybe an Uzi or a shotgun would be more to the point.

Why had they been kidnapped?

The car door opened, and slammed shut. Footsteps crunched on the dirt.

He was coming.

The trunk opened and light blasted in making her blink. The dark haired, stubble-chinned man looked down on her and on Gemma.

Gemma lay on her back, closest to the man. She had no blindfold at all, and was blinking back at Izzy with frightened eyes. The gouge on her throat had stopped bleeding.

Poor thing.
If anything, she wanted to be free right then to cuddle her. To stop this asshole from doing anything more to her girlfriend. She’d kick his balls in. Izzy glared up at him.

“Awake and you got your tape off your eyes, h
uh? Too clever for your own good. Let’s get you both inside.”

At least he was calmer now. Perhaps they could talk him into letting them go? But when she tongued at her gag, and made sounds, he merely laughed.

“Both of you behave and maybe we’ll all survive this. Cross has to know he fucked with the wrong man.” His hand appeared with the knife in it, the blade dull in the diffuse light coming down through the trees. “But I got this to deal with you two if you annoy me. So fucking behave!” On the last word, he screwed his face up into a savage mask.

Izzy flinched.

Then he reached in and hauled Gemma out. After one frenzied wriggle from her, he punched her side, hard enough to make Gemma grunt then gasp and go limp. But she was okay, just quiet, because she raised her head and her eyes pleaded with Izzy as he turned.

Pleading? As if she could do anything, lying zip-tied hand and foot.

But she so wanted to. How she wanted to. Tears squeezed from her eyes when she shut them, opened them.

Watching him walk away with her over his shoulder, sent the saddest, most helpless feeling leeching into her. What the hell could she do?

Something caught her attention – a square of brightness tucked under the overhang of the trunk near the lock. A phone...Cross’s phone and it was vibrating. Gemma must have dialed it before she was taken away. And here she was a couple of feet away, but helpless.

The ringing stopped and she thought she heard a voice.
Shit.

Desperate, she writhed closer, rolling her shoulder, pushing with her feet, and scraping her nose on the folded canvas. She
tried to talk and found she could form words, though only the corner of her mouth was free.

“Help! We’ve been kidnapped. Gemma and me. We’re in a car trunk.” Though it came out m
uffled and not understandable.

Fucking frustrating. So close to help. She could
see
herself springing free and holding that phone in her hand.

Need to be closer!
But her lunge made everything worse.

She’d pushed the canvas forward and it had buried the phone.

No! No, no, no.
She shut her eyes for a second in despair. Damn it, no. She rolled again and ended up half on top of the canvas listening to a muffled someone, maybe Cross, on the other end.

So she again attempted to talk, and kept making noises, grunts and all, in a vain hope there was someone on the other end hearing her
...someone.
Please God, let there be someone
.