Ultimate Fear (Book 2 Ultimate CORE) (CORE Series) (41 page)

“Chloe,” she repeated, and now, with good reason, panicked. The heat in the unit was stifling and she was already sweating profusely, and she’d only been inside for less than a minute. The poor girl had been locked up for the past hour and fifteen minutes. She just prayed to God the baby was okay. The amount of water the girl had lost could lead to dehydration, which could lead to early labor. This baby couldn’t come yet, not for at least another few weeks.

She quickly opened up several water bottles, which had grown extremely warm. Darn it. She’d meant to buy ice, but had been on such a natural high, and distracted over thoughts about her new baby, it had slipped her mind. But something was better than nothing.

She removed Chloe’s gag, lifted her head, and poured water over her forehead and dirty hair. The girl’s eyelids fluttered. “That’s it. Wake up, Chloe.” She poured more water along her chest and tank top. “Come on, now. Wake up.”

Chloe still wore her light jacket, which she should have removed from the girl right after she’d knocked her out. Goodness, where had her head been? She moved away from the girl and found her dissecting kit. Scalpel in hand, she went back to the mattress, then began slicing the jacket from Chloe.

“Wh-what are you doing?” Chloe asked, her voice thick, sluggish.

“Keep talking to me.”

“Can’t. So tired. So hot.”

She set the scalpel on the cement. “Here, drink this.” She poured the water over Chloe’s mouth. The girl licked her lips and hummed. “Good. Now, come on, open up and really drink.” She pressed the bottle to Chloe’s lips and tilted. She drank, then sputtered and coughed. Water ran down her chin and neck, but she finally opened her eyes.

“Thirsty,” she whispered.

“I know. Ssh. Drink.”

Chloe took in the water, draining half of the bottle. Panting, she said, “More.”

“Slow down. I don’t want you to make yourself sick.” She picked up the scalpel. “Now hold still and let me get this jacket off you.” After tearing the thin, worn denim with the blade, she used both hands to rip the material from her arms, then her back. She poured water on the torn denim and began sponging Chloe, hoping to bring down her body temperature. Ice would be better, but that would have to wait. Once she was confident Chloe and the baby were okay, she’d buy several large bags of ice for the cooler.

As she gently pressed the drenched denim along Chloe’s face and neck, she realized she hadn’t planned well. While she’d already come to terms with having no choice but to come to the unit every few hours throughout the day and evening to feed Chloe, she hadn’t anticipated just how hot the unit would become. When the scumbag owner had said the unit wasn’t climate controlled, she hadn’t thought much of it. Her only concern had been the great location, the cheap price and that she’d been able to pay cash. Now she had to find a way to keep Chloe cool and comfortable. The fans would help, but what if the batteries ran out during the night?

She hadn’t realized keeping a pregnant hostage would be so problematic. And it was only day one.

“I’m going to take off your shoes and socks, and cut your pants into shorts,” she said, and moved to the foot of the mattress. After removing her shoes and socks, she used the scalpel on the tight leggings, then poured more water on the denim rag and dabbed Chloe’s legs with it. As she bathed her, she noticed marks behind Chloe’s knees. Bug bites?

Curious, she stood and retrieved the lantern, bringing it closer to the bed. When she aimed the light to the back of Chloe’s knees, her stomach soured. “What are these?” she asked, rubbing her thumb along the tiny, pinprick marks.

“Thirsty,” the girl responded.

After setting the lantern down, she moved the fan closer to Chloe’s bare feet and legs, then opened another bottle of water. “Chloe, I need you to tell me what those marks on your legs are from.” Pregnant women could have serious allergic reactions to certain bug bites. When she’d been pregnant with Elton, she’d broken out in hives after being bitten by red ants. Chloe had been living on the street and, from the looks of it, in the same, filthy clothes for a while. If the girl had been bitten by something, she might have to buy allergy medicine when she went to the store for ice.

“Remember what I said?” Chloe asked, her voice rough, scratchy. “The streets aren’t a place for you.”

“What does that mean exactly?” She set down the water bottle and began dabbing Chloe’s bare shoulders. “Here, let’s roll you on your side so I can get your back.”

“It means things happen.”

She thought about the men who had abused Chloe’s body. “Yes, but that doesn’t explain—” She gasped and grabbed the girl’s arm. There were at least half of a dozen marks, same as on her legs, near the crook of Chloe’s elbows. She bent and looked at her other arm. More marks, only these were larger and had been scratched open.

Letting go of Chloe’s arms, she stepped away from the mattress. Sweat trickled from her hairline and onto her cheek. Not just from the heat, but from fear. She stopped and faced the girl. “I demand that you tell me what those marks are from, or I will turn off the fans and let you roast.”

A slow smile tilted Chloe’s lips. “If you do that, you’ll kill the baby.”

She glanced to the Gymboree bag that held the adorable outfit she couldn’t wait to put on her son. “Then I’ll find another pregnant woman.”

Chloe’s soft laughter gave her chills despite the heat. “Good luck with that. Besides, I thought you said this was God’s plan. You know,
our
destiny.”

She had said that, and still firmly believed God had placed Chloe in her path for a reason. This girl could never care for or love her baby the way she and Wayne could. She was young and homeless, and not fit to be a mother.

“You’re right. I do believe this is our destiny,” she said with a wave of her hand. “I also won’t let you roast. But I will smash your fingers and toes. Do not doubt that. I suggest you make this easy on yourself and be truthful.”

Chloe licked her lips and nodded. “I suppose it doesn’t matter at this point.”

She moved closer to the mattress. “Good. Now tell me.”

“They’re track marks.” She looked away. “I told you things happen.”

This was not an explanation she understood. “I don’t know what that means.”

Frowning, Chloe looked at her. “Are you seriously that naïve?”

“I’m a good Christian.”

“I’ve known
good
Christians
who not only love to chase the dragon, but do a hell of a lot worse.”

“Chase the dragon? Has the heat boiled your brain?” She stepped closer. “Proverbs 12:22 states, ‘Lying lips are an abomination to the Lord, but those who act faithfully are his delight.’ I will not tolerate your lies or deceit. Be clear and truthful or I will break your toes. Now.”

“You seriously are clueless,” Chloe said with a slight shake of her head. “Okay, since I want to be in
His
delight, how’s this for an explanation? Heroin.”

“Heroin?” she repeated.

“Yep. Track marks are where I pressed a needle into my veins.”

“You’re a drug addict?” She eyed the girl with disbelief. While she might be naïve when it came to drugs like heroin or crack, she’d seen people smoke marijuana. Chloe hadn’t acted high. She hadn’t been giggly or all smiles. She’d been down, had come off defeated. “I don’t believe you.”

Chloe slowly blinked. “Now you’re just being stupid. I’m telling you the truth so you don’t smash my fucking toes.”

“What did I tell you about your language?”

“Get over yourself. Instead of being so concerned about my swearing, you should be more worried about when I start to detox.”

Detox? Oh, dear Lord. She picked up the lantern, brought it closer to the bed and studied Chloe’s face and eyes. Her glassy eyes, the dark smudges beneath them, the pockets of acne covering her pale, thin face. If it hadn’t been for the track marks, she would have gone with her original assumption. The girl was malnourished and exhausted from living on the streets.

“What will happen when you…detox?” she asked, still not truly convinced Chloe had been using drugs. Drugs cost money and, from the looks of it, Chloe had none. Plus, she didn’t act drugged. Sure, she’d been a little out of it this morning, but she’d spent the night being attacked by cruel men.

“Don’t know. I’ve been using for three years.”

How could the girl be so matter of fact about her drug use? How could she, knowing she was carrying a baby, continue to pollute her body?

Is she lying to me?
Maybe. Maybe Chloe thought that if she made it seem as if the baby could be born with complications, she wouldn’t want him.

Would
she still want the baby if it were true?

She quickly turned away, bowed her head and closed her eyes.
Oh, Lord, please help me. Why have you led me to this woman? What plan do you have in store for us? What is your design? Please give me the strength to—

“Praying isn’t going to help you figure this one out,” Chloe said, amusement in her tone. “If I thought that would work, I wouldn’t be stuck in here.”

She glanced at Chloe and shook her head at the pathetic girl. Although her heart raced with concern, for now, she had to do what was necessary to keep the girl cool and hydrated. Later, she would pray on all of this and decide how to handle Chloe’s possible drug issues. “I’m going to leave again,” she said. “We need ice. I won’t be long and will give you your lunch when I get back.”

Chloe closed her eyes. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Except for Wayne’s evil father, she’d never hated anyone in her life. But she was beginning to dislike Chloe. The girl was right. She was naïve when it came to some things—like drugs. Since Chloe had been homeless, to have been able to survive on her own, she was likely quite street smart. She would have to be strong and not allow Chloe’s lies and taunts to sway her from God’s plans.

After opening, then closing and locking the door, she quickly made her way from the storage facility. The girl obviously didn’t understand that God worked in mysterious ways. She knew in her heart that this—Chloe and her baby—was her chosen path. God had given her a young, pregnant girl who was alone in the world. Chloe might believe that God had forsaken her, that her prayers have gone unanswered, but she knew otherwise.

God had blessed Chloe with the child she couldn’t carry, and would reward the girl by welcoming her in to His loving arms.

Chapter 16

WHEN THE GARAGE door slid shut, Chloe opened her eyes. Holy shitballs. Had Heather grown up living in a frickin’ convent? Did the woman not know anything about what went on in the world?

She grinned. Wait until Heather found out what she did for a living. She’d probably drop to her knees and start spouting out all kinds of prayers. Her smile fell. Damn, she itched everywhere. The water Heather had dabbed on her skin hadn’t helped cool her off, and only intensified the need to scratch.

Since she couldn’t do anything about the itching, she closed her eyes and tried to sleep. But her legs were restless. She stretched them and pointed her toes. The puny fan blew hot air along her feet and ankles, while the other one continued to stir air across her face. She wished Heather hadn’t left before setting up the others. Even with the pathetic fans, the hot air had grown stagnant. The strong smell of her body odor and mildew from the mattress made her nauseous. When a cramp seized her calf, she mustered the strength to push herself upright.

Sweat trickled down the side of her face. She used her shoulder to rub away the itch, but it did no good. Fuck, it was hot and she was still thirsty. Kind of dizzy, too. The roar from the L—likely the Red Line—vibrated the unit. She looked to the water bottles. They called to her, teased her. She couldn’t reach them, and even if she could, she wouldn’t be able to open them.

The bag near the waters caught her attention. Gymboree. Wasn’t that a baby store? Oh, my God. Had Heather bought baby clothes?

Bitch.

She would not take her baby.

The day she’d discovered she was pregnant had been a bad one. Winter hadn’t been about to give up and the temperatures that February night had plummeted to the teens. Roman hadn’t cared. While the wind and snow had blown through the streets, he’d made her and the other girls stand outside wearing next to nothing. As she’d worried about winding up with frostbite on her ass, her stomach, like now, had grown queasy. Bile had risen in her throat, but she’d kept fighting it back down. The last time one of them had come down with the flu, Roman had made the girl sleep in the gross, rat infested, detached garage. Because she hadn’t wanted that to happen to her, she’d kept her cool, kept telling herself the nausea would pass. It hadn’t, and she’d ended up throwing up on the John she was blowing.

She half-laughed at the memory. The John had been horrified and started gagging. After he’d controlled himself, he pulled up his pants, then smacked her in the face and demanded his money back. She’d already passed it off to Roman, and had told the man to take it up with her pimp. For whatever reason, the guy hadn’t bothered. Instead, he’d hit her again, then kicked her out of his car and driven off. When Roman had asked her what happened, she’d lied and said the guy was finished with her. But Roman had smelled the puke and begun questioning her.

She’d wound up in the gross, rat infested, detached garage anyway. But, later that night, Roman had brought her a pregnancy test. When she’d asked him why, he’d said, “Dumbass, when was the last time you had a fucking period?”