Page 4 of Damon
“It won’t matter. You don’t need to know,” he replies, then flashes me a nasty smile. “You won’t be here.” His arm rises, and he presses cool metal to my chest. I glance down at the gun then back to him. “Goodbye,” he says, and shoots.
Chapter two
Damon and Connie's Home, London
Emma
Only two weeks ago everything was working out. I was finally on summer break from university before moving into my third year of law studies. The ten thousand pounds host payment I received for carrying a child for someone else was safely placed in my bank account. My pregnancy was progressing well, and, in the process, I’d found people I truly care for in Damon and Connie, and they seemed to care for me.
Then they took her from him—from us, from her unborn child. Connie McKinney was shot dead in cold blood, and no one knows why.
Her final moments run through my mind hourly. She knew she was going to die. The attacker was brazen, lifting the weapon in broad daylight in full view of the supermarket's CCTV cameras. The local news station played the whole event uncensored. Although the image was grainy, the scenario was clear. A premeditated killing. A chosen victim, and a hitman executing the job. She was gone before she hit the ground.
Today is the day that I’ve been dreading. We say goodbye to Damon’s wife and my future baby’s mother. This isn’t where I expected to end up, it's not where I planned to be, but I have nowhere else to go. I can't leave a baby with a father so broken. He doesn't know one day from the next. The past two weeks have shown he’s not the strong, infallible man I believed he was. To have your life partner taken so brutally, just when you thought the plan was coming together…you were getting everything you both ever wanted and now, she’s gone.
He's hardly spoken since it happened, barely uttered a word. I feel like part of him blames me, even though I know that's not true. He wishes it was me left cold on the concrete and not her. This arrangement was meant to end. When I agreed to be the surrogate to their child, the clock was to start counting down to my final obligations once the baby was born, but now I don't know what to do. The Damon I came to know is missing. He's not in a fit state to be a father. He’s a good man, that's obvious, but he’s broken, completely lost without her.
I thought it would be easy to have a child for someone else. I never wanted my own, but being pregnant has changed me in ways I was not expecting. This baby is mine even though the agreement says otherwise, and the little bundle growing in my belly deserves a calm and happy home. I've not asked him about his plans once the baby is here. He will need a nanny. The child will need a mother. Who better than their biological one?
"Are you ready?" Damon calls. He’s standing on the other side of my bedroom door, barking through the wood. His manner is curt. Gone is the kind man of a few weeks ago. "Emma, the car will be here in a few minutes. Are you ready?” he repeats, this time irritation bubbling below the surface. I imagine him standing in the hallway, muscles tense with that now-familiar pained look marring his face.
"I’ll only be a moment,” I reply calmly. “You told me the car wouldn't be here for another hour, why the change?"
"There's not a change, you didn't fucking listen." I snap my jaw shut, not wanting to respond with the sharp words that sit on my tongue. “Get ready and meet me downstairs. If you make me late for my own wife’s funeral, I’ll…” He trails off, not finishing his sentence. I remain silent. He’s hurting. He’s lost. My retaliation will do no good. All I can do is provide silent support, even if he doesn’t realize it.
Once I hear his heavy footsteps retreating, I turn back to the mirror. Sitting at the dressing table, I survey my hair which flows freely over my shoulders. My plan was to twist it up out of the way, but now I won’t have time. The waves at the bottom, which I hate, sway across my bare skin, but it will have to do. I'm not dressed yet, but the black dress hangs on the wardrobe. It’s simple enough with a sweetheart neckline, fitted but not too tight, finishing a fraction above my knees. Plain black pumps sit below it, ready for my already tense toes.
My bedroom, one of the three spare rooms, is beautifully decorated. Connie had an eye for interior design; the whole house looks as if it's straight out of a shopping catalog. As I glance around the space, I take in the stunning furnishings: textured wallpaper, silk sheets, and highly glossed furniture all in tones of gray and silver. Each wall displays beautiful artwork, and everything blends with the perfectly stained wood floor. This house is so far removed from the student accommodations I left to be here, it’s absurd.
My attention returns to the mirror as I finish applying my makeup—simple pink lips teamed with beige shadow and pale skin. I don't want to stand out today. Although my pregnancy is public knowledge, I'm not sure what information people possess. It’s chilling to not know what I'm walking into. Will it be a situation filled with dark looks and staged whispers? After the conversation I overheard yesterday, uneasiness fills my belly. To stay home and hide is far more appealing.
I had been walking past Damon’s office toward the kitchen when I heard raised voices from behind the closed door. Two men, one of which was Damon, and another I didn’t recognize.
“Is it true?” the unknown male voice bellowed.
“Of course it fucking isn’t!” Damon snarled in reply. “How could you accuse me of such a thing? The day before her funeral?”
“Don’t swear at me, you bastard. My daughter is dead, and I know you’re to blame. It’s fucking convenient you have a pretty little thing in the wings to take her place.”
“Father…”
“Don’t ever call me that again. Do you hear me? Your right to call me father died on the same cold ground my daughter did.” There was the sound of smashing glass. I imagined one of them throwing an object across the room. “Listen to me, McKinney. I’ll find out what happened. Someone will pay for Connie’s death with their own blood. And I don’t give a fuck who it is.”
“I swear on my unborn child’s life that there is nothing between Emma and me.” I balked at the statement. “You have it wrong. I’ve loved your daughter since we were kids. She has been the only woman I’ve ever wanted. If you don’t see that, you’ve had your fucking eyes screwed shut for two decades.”
“You better hope that declaration proves true,” the man growled.
The heavy wooden door swung open, the frosted glass designed to allow light to enter the room vibrated frantically as the door bounced off the pristine white wall. I ducked into the downstairs bathroom, not wanting to be caught snooping. From my hiding place, I peered around the doorframe. An exceptionally tall man with peppered gray hair stormed into the hallway. He was smartly dressed in a sleek black suit. Damon appeared behind him in complete contrast wearing red athletic shorts and a matching sleeveless tank top. His strong arms and legs were exposed, covered in intricate tattoos.
“Father,” he repeated. The man who must be Connie’s father spun on his heel to look at him. His face, although aged, was handsome and trimmed with a perfectly groomed mustache and beard. His expression narrowed to one that can only be described as disdain. Damon took a breath, steeling himself before speaking. “You will always be a father to me, whether you believe these abhorrent lies or not. Connie was my world. My rock. I’ve lost her; please don’t take our family from me too based on idle gossip.”
“What is your plan with the walking womb?” Connie’s father’s mouth twisted nastily with the question. The description was like a direct punch to the stomach. “Do you plan to keep her here? Play happily families?”
“I plan to complete the agreement Connie and I made with Emma, because that’s what my wife wanted.” He emphasized the words my wife. “This baby was Connie’s dream.”
“But it’s not her baby. It’s not even her bloody egg. That child has none of my daughter’s DNA. There is no benefit to you keeping it.”
“It?” Damon roared, losing control. He stepped forward, invading the other man’s space. Even though he is tall, he had to look up slightly to meet his father-in-law’s stare. However, his muscular frame overshadowed the other man. “The parentage of this child is irrelevant. Connie will always be their mother. If I can honor her by raising the child she yearned for, I will.”