Chapter 6 - The Night They Took Me
The fake nurse dragged me into the hallway with a gun pressed against my ribs.
Everything in my body screamed at me not to move too quickly.
Thirty-three weeks pregnant.
Contractions already threatening to start again.
Bare feet sliding against cold hospital flooring.
A wounded Blackwood guard groaning behind us.
The woman kept one hand wrapped around my arm.
“Walk.”
“You shoot me, the baby could die.”
“Then don’t make me shoot.”
“What does Marcus want?”
“Move.”
She steered me toward the service elevator.
No alarms.
No nurses.
Too quiet.
That meant Marcus had help inside the hospital.
Again.
The elevator opened.
Another man waited inside wearing hospital maintenance clothes.
He looked at my stomach.
“Big.”
“Shut up,” the woman said.
He smiled.
“Boss said the kid matters.”
I memorized his face.
Brown hair.
Broken nose.
Tattoo behind his left ear.
Ethan once told me fear becomes useful when you give it a job.
At the time, he was teaching me what to do if someone followed me.
I had laughed.
Now I understood.
Observe.
Remember.
Wait.
We reached the loading dock.
A black van waited.
The rear doors opened.
The woman pushed me inside.
My stomach tightened.
I inhaled carefully.
Not now.
Please.
Not now.
They zip-tied my wrists in front of me.
At least they had enough sense not to tie them behind my back.
The woman climbed in beside me.
The man drove.
“You know Ethan will find you,” I said.
The woman looked at me.
“That’s the idea.”
Of course.
I wasn’t simply leverage.
I was bait.
Fifteen minutes into the drive, another contraction hit.
I closed my eyes.
The woman noticed.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re in labor?”
“No.”
She looked nervous.
Good.
“You better not be.”
I almost laughed.
“I’ll inform the baby.”
She swore.
The van stopped approximately forty minutes later.
Industrial area, judging by the smell.
River nearby.
Trains in the distance.
They took me into a warehouse.
Marcus Blackwood was waiting.
He looked surprisingly ordinary.
Tall.
Gray hair.
Expensive coat.
The same sharp cheekbones as Ethan.
Family resemblance is cruel sometimes.
“Claire.”
“You murder people and still expect me to call you Uncle Marcus?”
He smiled.
“Ethan always said you were brave.”
“No. Ethan usually said I was dramatic.”
Marcus laughed.
“Marriage.”
I hated him immediately.
He pulled out a chair.
“Sit.”
I did.
Standing was becoming difficult.
“Where is Ethan?”
“Probably discovering the address I left him.”
“You want him here.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because Ethan has something I need.”
“The company.”
“Control.”
“Same thing.”
“No.”
Marcus crouched in front of me.
“Companies are paper. Buildings. Accounts. Control is when five hundred men hear your name and decide whether to obey.”
“You sound insecure.”
His smile disappeared.
“Ethan became weak.”
“Everyone in this family uses that word when they mean human.”
“You changed him.”
“No. He changed himself.”
“Because of you.”
“Then perhaps he needed changing.”
Marcus stared at me.
“You know what your husband is?”
“Yes.”
“No, Claire. You know the version he lets you see.”
“I’ve washed blood out of his shirts.”
“You think that means you understand him?”
“I understand enough.”
Marcus stood.
“The child changes everything.”
My hands moved protectively over my stomach.
“My child changes nothing for you.”
“A Blackwood heir changes succession.”
“This isn’t medieval England.”
“To men like us, blood still matters.”
“Ethan doesn’t need an heir.”
“Every empire needs one.”
I laughed.
“Then your empire is pathetic.”
He slapped me.
Not hard enough to knock me down.
Hard enough to make my cheek burn.
My entire body went still.
Marcus looked instantly irritated with himself.
“Don’t make me do that again.”
I tasted blood where my tooth had cut my lip.
“You hit an eight-month-pregnant woman and somehow I made you do it?”
He stared at me.
And in that moment, I understood why Ethan hated him.
Men like Marcus believed responsibility belonged to everyone except themselves.
My father had once told me the most dangerous people weren’t those who knew they were cruel.
They were the ones who believed cruelty was always someone else’s fault.
A contraction wrapped around my abdomen.
Stronger.
I bent forward.
Marcus frowned.
“What?”
I didn’t answer.
“Claire.”
The contraction ended.
I breathed.
“You should call a doctor.”
His face tightened.
“You’re not due.”
“Babies are famously respectful of calendars.”
He called someone.
“No answer.”
Good.
Maybe Ethan’s people were already interfering.
Marcus looked at me.
“If something happens to that baby—”
“What? You’ll blame me too?”
His jaw tightened.
Outside, an engine roared.
Then gunfire.
Marcus immediately pulled a weapon.
Every man in the warehouse moved.
My heart exploded.
Ethan.
It had to be.
Marcus grabbed my arm and pulled me upright.
Pain shot through my back.
“Careful!”
“Move.”
He dragged me toward a metal staircase.
Gunfire echoed below.
Men shouted.
I recognized Daniel’s voice somewhere.
Then Ethan’s.
“Marcus!”
Everything stopped for half a second.
Marcus pressed the gun against my neck.
Ethan appeared at the far end of the warehouse.
Black coat.
Gun in his right hand.
His wounded left shoulder clearly hurting.
Blood already darkened the bandage beneath his shirt.
His eyes found me.
Then my bleeding lip.
Something terrifying entered his expression.
“Let her go.”
Marcus laughed.
“You came.”
Ethan lowered his weapon slightly.
“You wanted me.”
“I wanted what belongs to me.”
“Nothing belongs to you.”
“This organization should have been mine.”
“It was never yours.”
Marcus pressed the gun harder against my neck.
“Then perhaps the future will be.”
Ethan’s face changed.
“Don’t look at her.”
“Why? Afraid I’ll hurt your precious wife?”
“You already lost.”
Marcus smiled.
“I have your heir.”
Ethan’s eyes flicked toward my stomach.
Another contraction started.
I gasped.
He saw it.
“Claire?”
“I’m okay.”
“You’re not okay.”
Marcus looked down.
“Oh, hell.”
My water broke.
There was no dramatic movie moment.
Just warmth.
Shock.
Then terror.
“No,” I whispered.
Ethan’s face drained.
Marcus swore.
“You’re in labor?”
I glared at him.
“Apparently kidnapping is stressful.”
Ethan took one step.
Marcus raised the gun.
“Stay.”
“You need a doctor.”
“We’re leaving.”
“You move her now, you could kill both of them.”
For the first time, Marcus looked genuinely uncertain.
Another contraction hit.
I cried out.
My knees buckled.
Marcus’s grip loosened.
Ethan moved.
The next seconds became chaos.
Daniel fired.
Marcus turned.
I dropped.
A bullet struck metal above me.
Ethan crossed the distance faster than I thought possible.
He slammed Marcus against the railing.
The gun fell.
Daniel kicked it away.
Marcus punched Ethan’s injured shoulder.
Ethan grunted.
Then hit him hard enough to send him to the floor.
I curled around my stomach.
“Ethan.”
Everything stopped for him.
He came to me.
His gun disappeared somewhere.
His coat came off.
He knelt.
“I’m here.”
“Hospital.”
“Yes.”
“Now.”
“Yes.”
His hands shook as he lifted me.
“I can walk.”
“No.”
“Your shoulder.”
“I don’t care.”
“You were shot.”
“I don’t care.”
He carried me anyway.
Behind us, Daniel handcuffed Marcus.
This time, there would be no mysterious hospital escape.
Federal agents arrived before we reached the exit.
Real federal agents.
Ethan had planned the entire operation with them.
Marcus screamed his name as we left.
Ethan never looked back.
The drive to the hospital became the longest twenty-three minutes of my life.
Contractions every three minutes.
Then two.
I crushed Ethan’s hand.
“You did this.”
He stared at me.
“I believe biologically we both participated.”
“I hate you.”
“I understand.”
“This is not funny.”
“No.”
“You’re smiling.”
“I’m terrified.”
I looked at him.
He was.
His face was pale.
Sweat lined his forehead.
The famous Ethan Blackwood looked more frightened by childbirth than by armed men.
“You’re scared.”
“Yes.”
That honesty steadied me.
At the hospital, doctors rushed me upstairs.
Hannah was already there.
Thirty-three weeks and two days.
Too early.
But not impossibly early.
They gave medication.
Monitored the baby.
Tried to slow labor.
It didn’t work.
At 6:14 a.m., Hannah looked at me.
“This baby is coming.”
I cried.
Not from pain.
From fear.
“No.”
“Claire.”
“It’s too early.”
“We have an excellent neonatal team.”
“No.”
Ethan stood beside the bed wearing hospital scrubs someone had forced him into.
He took my hand.
“Our baby is going to be okay.”
“You don’t know that.”
“No.”
Tears filled his eyes.
“But I’m here.”
I gripped him.
“Don’t leave.”
“I won’t.”
“Promise.”
“I promise.”
Labor lasted four hours.
I screamed at Ethan.
Swore at him.
Nearly broke two fingers.
He never complained.
At 10:27 a.m., our daughter entered the world.
Small.
Red.
Furious.
And screaming.
That sound became the most beautiful thing I had ever heard.
I collapsed against the pillow sobbing.
“A girl,” Hannah said.
Ethan stared.
Our daughter weighed four pounds, eleven ounces.
The neonatal team took her almost immediately.
I panicked.
“Why?”
“She’s breathing, Claire. We just want to support her.”
“Can I hold her?”
“In a moment.”
They wrapped her.
Then brought her to me for less than thirty seconds.
Tiny face.
Dark hair.
My nose.
Maybe Ethan’s mouth.
I kissed her forehead.
“Hi, Lily.”
Ethan looked at me.
“Lily?”
I nodded through tears.
“Lily Grace Bennett.”
His eyes filled.
“You remembered.”
“You liked it.”
“I love it.”
The nurse looked between us.
“Dad?”
Ethan froze.
I could have said no.
I could have told them our divorce was pending.
I could have protected the wall between us.
Instead, I whispered, “Yes.”
They placed Lily in Ethan’s arms.
His entire body became still.
This man had held weapons.
Controlled companies.
Signed deals worth hundreds of millions.
Ordered men into dangerous places.
None of it prepared him for four pounds and eleven ounces of sleeping baby.
“Hello,” he whispered.
Lily opened her tiny mouth.
Ethan laughed and cried at the same time.
“I’m your father.”
I watched him.
Something inside me broke open.
Not forgiveness.
Not yet.
But the memory of why I had once loved him.
The nurse took Lily to the NICU.
Ethan sat beside me.
Neither of us spoke.
Then he took my hand.
“I almost lost both of you.”
“We’re here.”
“I know.”
“I need sleep.”
“Yes.”
I closed my eyes.
Before sleep took me, I heard him whisper something.
So quiet I almost missed it.
“I’m sorry I made you become strong enough to leave me.”
I opened my eyes.
He thought I was asleep.
His head was bowed.
And for the first time, I realized Ethan finally understood the problem.
May you like
He had spent three years admiring my loyalty.
He had never understood the cost of earning it.
