Total pages in book: 187
Estimated words: 177397 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 887(@200wpm)___ 710(@250wpm)___ 591(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 177397 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 887(@200wpm)___ 710(@250wpm)___ 591(@300wpm)
“You’re puking enough to cover the scent of my cum, so suck it up.”
I almost laugh when her bottom lip drops into a pout.
A groggy Zoya is almost as fun as a drunk Zoya.
I dunk my head under the water that’s yet to reach a pleasant temperature to rid my head of the inappropriate thoughts bombarding it.
The coolness sees Zoya clinging to my chest more firmly and sends a second round of goose bumps breaking across her skin. They’re not the same type as earlier.
“Are you cold?” I don’t give her a chance to answer. I check her forehead for a temperature before sticking my head out of the shower stall and yelling, “Get the doctor! She has a fever.”
The doctor’s diagnosis this time around hits me like a bag of bricks. “Zoya is pregnant.”
“No.” If I deny the truth often enough, it will eventually make it untrue, right? “That isn’t possible. She’s infertile. She has endometriosis.”
The doctor pushes his glasses up his blackhead-covered nose. “Which makes conceiving difficult but not impossible. Her uterus is extended—”
“Because her friend was giving her fertility drugs. That’s why the test came up positive.”
“I thought the same. That’s why I did an ultrasound with Zakhar’s portable heart equipment. The fetus is a healthy size for its gestation. She is approximately ten weeks along.” He shows me footage of a jelly bean-shaped blob before storing the tablet back into his medical bag. “With her condition, she still has a little way to go to be in the safe zone. Her uterus is badly scarred with fibroids, but from what I saw, her pregnancy looks viable. I will continue monitoring and keep you updated.”
Before he can leave, I snatch up his wrist. My hold startles him, though not as much as what I say next. “Is there a way to check if the child has anything… wrong with it?”
“You are both young and healthy, so the chances of an abnormality is low.”
He can say that because he doesn’t know why I’m asking.
Sibling relations ended centuries ago for a reason.
“But there’s still a possibility?”
The doctor slants his head. “A low possibility.”
I continue pressing until I get the answer I need. “But still possible?”
“But still possible,” he eventually parrots. “There are tests we can conduct to check, but that won’t be for a few more weeks.”
“What happens if it brings something up?” I ask, convinced a sick child is my punishment for lusting over my half-sister.
“There are a handful of options at your disposal.” When I glare at him, over needing to pry answers from him, he stammers out, “Mo-most couples choose to abort.”
“Abortion?”
“Yes.” He nods sternly. “The procedure is relatively simple. It can be undertaken at a doctor’s clinic, and she will be home within the hour.” He steps closer as if our conversation isn’t being held in private. “Is that something you’re considering?”
“No,” my heart answers before my head. “I was just curious.”
He smiles. “Good. Because I’ve already told them they were mistaken earlier, which means Zakhar is only days away from getting a new heart.” He slaps the tops of my shoulders before shouting, “You should be celebrating! This is the miracle they’ve been seeking. An heir and a spare to return the Dokovic bloodline to the glory it once held.” He makes a fatal mistake. “And I didn’t have to remove your swimmers from your sack under general anesthetic and steal her eggs to achieve it.”
“Her?”
His pupils widen so much, even with them not shooting to the door he walked through only minutes ago, I know who he is referencing.
A shocked gasp ripples his lips when an antique statue pierces his stomach well enough for its pointy tip to graze his spleen. Then he stumbles back when I remove the corkscrew-like artwork and aim it several inches higher.
I don’t stab him in his heart.
I want him wounded, not dead.
You can’t get answers from a corpse.
“I…” He gargles on the blood trickling from his mouth as he falls to his knees. “Please…” He grabs at the instrument he’s certain is seconds from being pierced through his jugular before lifting his pained eyes to my face. “I’ll… do… anything you ask.”
“I don’t want you to do anything.” My voice is incessant with rage. “But you are going to speak.” When his head flops forward, I bob down low, grip the measly strands of hair he has left, and then yank his head back to ensure he can see the sheer honesty in my eyes when I say, “You’re going to tell me everything. Starting with her…”
He follows the direction of my head nudge before returning his pained eyes to me.
He nods. It is for the best. I may have taken my time with him if he had tried to disagree.
Time isn’t in my favor.
It isn’t for him either, though he won’t know that until he’s given me answers to questions I hadn’t considered asking until now.