Living With A Gang

Chapter 22)

Rowan's eyes flittered down to where three hands were planted firmly on my stomach, his lips curling up slightly. I saw something glimmer from the corner of my eyes and when I glanced down, I started to feel faint.

"It'd be such a shame if Tristan would never be able to see his family anymore," Rowan started in a low and deriding tone. He would've seemed more scary if he was able to walk over but due to his crutches, he was only able to hop. I would've laughed but given the current situation I'm in, I decided against said actions.

"F-Family?" I managed to say, my eyebrows scrunching together in confusion. If Rowan wanted to kill Tristan's family, then why am I here?

Rowan's eyes shifted down to my stomach as he continued to move towards Dylan and I, the both of us shuffling backwards. I, too, looked to where he was looking and stared before my lips parted in shock.

"No, no, no, you've got the wrong idea. Tristan's not the father," I rushed to speak, my arms flailing about the air. Dylan slapped my arm and I felt my face flush, wrapping my arms around my stomach.

"No? Then who might the father be? You certainly don't seem like the type who would just have a fling," he continued in the patronising tone, making me inwardly wince. It was clear he didn't believe me. The thought of Tristan being the father had shocked me to say the right answer and right now, I didn't know if either of us were safe.

"I-I-" I couldn't answer because I honestly didn't know who it was, what his name was. And quite frankly, I don't think I want to know. "He has, uh, he has a scar down his face."

"It was Tom, Rowan," Spencer replied brusquely, my body going rigid. Rowan paused his mid-hopping, his eyebrow raising with a smirk helping his lips curl upwards.

"Tom, hey?" I gulped, silently murdering my elder brother with my mind. The shining object in Rowan's hand only made me tighten my grip on my stomach, turning my head away.

"And you didn't get rid of them? Tsk, tsk," he muttered, shaking his head. In what seemed like a blink of an eye, he was directly in front of my face. An involuntary whimper fell from my lips; one hand dropping to clutch Dylan's tightly.

"How about I do the honours, yeah? Get rid of those pesky things for you," he murmured. He started to raise my jumper and I tried to tug it down. His eyebrow arched up again, his upper lip raised in what I could assume was a snarl threatening to appear.

"They're not pesky," I muttered, looking him dead in the eye. On the inside, my nerves were on edge and my brain was screaming at me to turn away but on the outside, I let my eyes bore into his hard, brown eyes.

"What did you say?" he asked, his grip tightening on his crutches. I felt my posture falter but I cleared my throat, staring him down still.

"My babies. They're not pesky, they're human. I don't care who their supposed father is, I love them, not him," I spat, feeling Dylan's hand tighten on my hand. If Rowan looked dangerous before, he was lethal now.

"Why you little bitch," he growled, raising the knife. I gulped, my tough demeanour crumbling as I tried to twist my body in a futile attempt to get away from him.

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Tristan

My head was buried in my hands, my mind whirling. Just from Skye's one sentence to me, I was feeling like I was going to be sick.

I heard my door open and close, feeling someone sit beside me. They sighed and I instantly knew who it was.

"Tristan, I know this is a lot to take in but right now, she needs you more than anyone," Skye said in a soft tone, placing a reassuring hand on my shoulder. I grunted and shoved it off, standing up.