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him.
    His knees dug into the dirty tile, his hands gripped the grimy toilet seat, and he hunched over the bowl as he vomited until he couldn’t breathe any longer.
    “Oh, Christ—it’s starting again,” he grunted before his stomach lurched and he was on round two of heaving up what should’ve stayed buried, along with his past.
    “Goddamn fucking woman, messing with my scrambler.” His abs contracted then his face heated and was damp with sweat as that sickly green feeling swamped him, almost taking him down completely.
    The moment he threw up the device he’d made to thwart the tracker and had it in his hands, he managed to get up and wash it off with what was left of the little sliver of bar soap he had. Next he found some antacids, chugged them down with some water.
    Faster. He had to move faster before they found him.
    The second his stomach felt quasi-normal, he swallowed the metal contraption back down. He knew he should run, but his legs were uncooperative and his head foggy.
    “Oh, God!” he moaned when he felt the jab and pin pricks of it anchoring into his belly’s inner lining.
    He lumbered back out into his bedroom, crashed on the bed and made unintelligible sounds until sleep pulled him down into one of his many nightmares.
    It was night. Always night—always the darkest, bleakest, scariest night ever.
    “Get rid of it. I told you this was dangerous,” he whispered in the deepest part of the shadows.
    “Liam, I want to keep it,” the woman cried, tears racing down her cheeks. “I didn’t free you for this! We’re gonna be a family.”
    “I know you think you should keep it, sweetheart, but you simply can’t. It’s not okay.”
    She shoved his hand off her shoulder and glared.
    “You think you know all the answers, don’t you?” Her eyes twisted into a painful grimace.
    He covered her mouth with his, trying to keep her from saying too much or being too loud.
    This was unsafe. Everything about it unwise.
    The next thing he knew, she was crashing him into the tree behind him, she was tearing his clothes off, and that familiar burn on his skin took over.
    But he needed this.
    He’d die without it.
    “Yes, fuck, yes—your mine,” he ground out, ripping her jeans down her legs, just far enough so he could gain access.
    He turned her around, shoved her chest into the trunk of the tree so she couldn’t touch him, and in the process, something pricked into his hand and stung as she dragged her hands down his. Had something bit him?
    He ignored it, pushed her panties aside, and he was inside her, thrusting and panting in her ear, “Don’t you dare touch me. If you do, I’ll stop. And you fucking love it when I invade your pussy, don’t you, my little slut?”
    “Liam, please . . . God, keep going,” she whimpered, digging her nails into the bark of the tree to keep herself steady.
    He was vicious, and he came hard from slamming himself inside her, but he thought she could take it.
    She had before.
    She always had.
    This time though, her whimpers turned to sounds of excruciating pain, like he was ripping her up inside.
    His body stopped right away.
    He pulled out.
    Blood.
    Everywhere.
    On her legs, on her feet, on the tree, and even on him.
    “Oh, fuck! No! I told you—I told you this would kill you!” he said in a hoarse whisper, backing away from her while putting his clothes back on; eyes lifted up as high as they could go from the horror of it all.
    She slowly turned around, tripped for a moment as she shuffled toward him and then she screamed.
    Her body doubled over, and something red, slimy and disgusting dropped out of her pussy.
    It squirmed, and then she was gone.
    She fell like a lump with a loud crashing sound; the life sucked out of her eyes.
    “My baby!” he choked out, crawling on the ground over to the mass of bloody flesh between her legs on the ground.
    He touched it, but it no longer wiggled, and it was cold.
    A moment later, there were cars squealing around the