The heat

I ate a burger three hours after he left. Then another one. Then a whole pizza.

I spent the next two weeks hiding from Linda, sleeping in a shelter, and trying to recover. The bruises on my hips faded. The bite mark on my shoulder scabbed over. I forgot the monster's face, mostly. I just remembered the gold in his eyes and the way he had filled me up.

But my body didn't forget.

I woke up one morning, three weeks later, and the smell of the shelter's stale coffee made me vomit into a bucket. I vomited the next morning. And the next.

Fuck, I thought, wiping my mouth. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

I scraped together some change and walked to a free clinic in the sketchy part of town. A tired female doctor did an ultrasound.

She stared at the screen for a long time. Then she looked at me.

"You're pregnant," she said, her voice flat. "You're a man. But you're pregnant. There's a heartbeat. A strong one."

I stared at the black-and-white screen. There it was. A tiny, flickering light.

The monster's seed had taken root.

"What do I do?" I whispered. "I can't afford this. I'm a sex worker. I'm a street rat."

The doctor sighed. "Legally, I can't tell you what to do. But scientifically, this pregnancy is rare. If you abort, you might never carry another one. It's a miracle and a curse."

I looked at my stomach. I felt a weird, protective surge. A human surge.

"I'm keeping it," I said, my voice shaking.

But I was stupid. I was so stupid.

I went back to Linda because I had nowhere else to go. I thought I could hide the bump under baggy sweaters. I thought I could keep working for another month, save some money, and run.

Linda found out when I passed out in the hallway one night. She dragged me into the office, threw me on the floor, and pulled up my shirt. Her eyes went wide. Then, they turned greedy.

"Well, well, well," she sneered, circling me. "Looks like that john left you a parting gift."

"Please, Linda," I begged. "Please don't hurt it. I'll work double. I'll pay you back."

Linda laughed. It was a nasty, high-pitched sound. "Hurt it? Hurt it? You idiot. That baby is gold. That man? The one who knocked you up? He's a ghost. But I found him. I found out who he is. He's rich. He's powerful. And he's going to pay a fortune to get his bastard back."

"Just let me run," I sobbed. "Please."

"No," Linda snapped. "You're not running. You're going to the basement until I negotiate the deal. And if that baby dies before I get my money, I'm going to cut your throat myself."

They threw me in the basement.

It was a concrete box, no windows, a single dirty lightbulb, and a wooden chair. They chained my wrists to the arms of the chair. They left me there for two days. No food. No water.

And then, Linda came down with a club.

"Time to thin the herd," she said, walking around me. "The buyer is being difficult. He wants proof the baby is his. So we need to do a little… test. If the baby survives a beating, it's strong. If it dies, well… you're useless to me anyway."

"No," I screamed, thrashing against the chains. "Linda, please! I'll do anything! I'll be your slave forever!"

She swung the club. It hit my ribs. I heard a crack. The pain was blinding.

"Shut up, freak," she hissed.

She hit me again. My chest. My arms. Then, she aimed for my belly.

I shut my eyes. I felt the baby kick—a little tap against my muscles.

I'm sorry, I thought. I'm so sorry, little one. I couldn't protect you.

The club swung down—

And the basement door exploded.

It didn't open. It literally blew off its hinges, crashing down the stairs with a deafening roar.

I opened my eyes, gasping.

Men in black tactical suits flooded the stairwell. They were silent. Lethal. They grabbed Linda's thug and snapped his neck with a twist.

Linda froze. The club dropped from her hands. "Who… who are you?"

Then, he walked down the stairs.

The monster. The grey eyes. The gold flecks. The charcoal suit.

He ignored Linda. He walked straight to me, his face a mask of cold, terrifying rage.

He knelt in front of me. He looked at my broken ribs, at the blood on my lips, at the sweat on my brow. He reached out and cupped my cheek. His touch was warm. Unbelievably warm.

"You're hurt," he whispered. His voice was a trembling, violent whisper. "You're hurt, and you're mine."

I sobbed. I was so broken, so relieved. "You came," I choked. "You came back for me."

"Of course I came back." He leaned in, pressing his forehead to mine. "You're carrying my legacy. I would burn this entire city to the ground to protect my legacy."

Linda whimpered behind him. "Sir, I didn't know—"

He turned.

His hand shot out and wrapped around her throat. He squeezed. There was a wet, disgusting crack. Linda's eyes bulged, then went dead. He dropped her like a sack of garbage.

He pulled a gun from his jacket and pressed it to her temple anyway, just to make sure.

"How dare you hurt my child," he spat.

My child. He called it his. My heart shattered and reformed in that second.

The men unchained me. As they lifted me up, the monster grabbed my chin, tilting my face up to his.

"Thank you," I breathed. "Thank you for saving me."

His eyes darkened. The gold flecks caught the light.

He leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. His voice was a low, dirty whisper.

"Don't thank me yet, little freak. I didn't save you out of kindness. I saved you because I own you. Both of you. And my property never leaves my sight."

My relief curdled into ice in my stomach. He was a savior, but he was also a jailer.

"I don't want to be owned," I whispered, tears falling.

He smirked. A cruel, beautiful smirk. "Too bad. Because I'm going to put you in a penthouse. I'm going to feed you, clothe you, and fuck you every single night. And you are going to love it. Because I don't give you a choice."

I stared at him. This man had saved my baby. But he was promising to destroy my soul.

And as I looked into those predatory eyes, I knew—he was going to make me beg for it.