His Dirty Massage Secret - Chapter 2: Chapter 2
You are reading His Dirty Massage Secret, Chapter 2: Chapter 2. Read more chapters of His Dirty Massage Secret.
The infant's cries grew fainter, dwindling from piercing screams to barely audible whimpers.
Damian Royston barely glanced at the sound before turning away with a cruel smirk.
"She's the one choosing to die," he drawled. "Can't pin that on anyone else."
White-hot fury surged through me. Before he could react, I drove my knee straight into his groin.
He crumpled with a howl, writhing on the floor. I hastily straightened my clothes and snatched up the baby.
The poor thing was in bad shape—gagging, barely able to breathe. My hands shook as I fumbled for my phone to call 911.
But Damian, still gasping in pain, saw the movement and lunged. Teeth clenched, he grabbed for me.
Trapped between shielding the baby and keeping my phone, I was helpless. He ripped it from my grip with ease.
"White trash always making problems," he sneered.
The baby had gone frighteningly still, her tiny face ghostly pale.
My chest tightened with dread. Clutching her close, I threw myself at the door, pounding until it finally swung open—revealing Vincent Lowell's startled face.
I tried to shove past him—I had to get my baby to the ER, now—but he blocked me, shoving me back inside before stepping in and slamming the door.
His shock lasted only a second before he hauled Damian up. "What the hell happened?"
Damian, still hunched over, wiped sweat from his brow. "Lock her up," he wheezed. "Get me to a doctor first."
Vincent's expression darkened with understanding.
He rounded on me, voice booming. "You just had to ruin everything, didn't you? Who cares who you sleep with? Your husband won't know! Stop acting like some damn saint!"
"You think this is a charity?" he snarled. "Why do you think I let you drag your kid to work? This was supposed to be easy—but you just had to screw it up!"
His hand shot out for the baby. I twisted away, shielding her with my body.
A brutal kick slammed into my lower back, sending me crashing forward. Instinct took over—I twisted mid-fall, taking the impact myself to keep her safe.
She wasn't crushed. Thank God.
But in that split second of relief, Vincent wrenched her from my arms.
He glared down at me, voice glacial. "No baby, no rebellion. Play nice, and you'll get her back. Otherwise? I'll drop her where nobody will find her."
I scrambled up, desperate, reckless—I had to get her back—
Vincent's foot smashed into my stomach, sending me flying. Pain exploded through me, but I forced myself up again, lunging blindly.
Another kick. Another burst of agony.
Vincent scoffed. "Enough! Just cooperate! Damian's only here for a month. Once he's gone, you're free."
Tears blurred my vision. "She needs a hospital! She's hurt!"
Neither man even looked back.
"Should've thought of that before disrespecting us," Vincent tossed over his shoulder. "With a mother like you? She's better off starting over in the next life."
The door clicked shut. My heart twisted into a knot of pure terror.
Where are they taking my baby?
Damian Royston barely glanced at the sound before turning away with a cruel smirk.
"She's the one choosing to die," he drawled. "Can't pin that on anyone else."
White-hot fury surged through me. Before he could react, I drove my knee straight into his groin.
He crumpled with a howl, writhing on the floor. I hastily straightened my clothes and snatched up the baby.
The poor thing was in bad shape—gagging, barely able to breathe. My hands shook as I fumbled for my phone to call 911.
But Damian, still gasping in pain, saw the movement and lunged. Teeth clenched, he grabbed for me.
Trapped between shielding the baby and keeping my phone, I was helpless. He ripped it from my grip with ease.
"White trash always making problems," he sneered.
The baby had gone frighteningly still, her tiny face ghostly pale.
My chest tightened with dread. Clutching her close, I threw myself at the door, pounding until it finally swung open—revealing Vincent Lowell's startled face.
I tried to shove past him—I had to get my baby to the ER, now—but he blocked me, shoving me back inside before stepping in and slamming the door.
His shock lasted only a second before he hauled Damian up. "What the hell happened?"
Damian, still hunched over, wiped sweat from his brow. "Lock her up," he wheezed. "Get me to a doctor first."
Vincent's expression darkened with understanding.
He rounded on me, voice booming. "You just had to ruin everything, didn't you? Who cares who you sleep with? Your husband won't know! Stop acting like some damn saint!"
"You think this is a charity?" he snarled. "Why do you think I let you drag your kid to work? This was supposed to be easy—but you just had to screw it up!"
His hand shot out for the baby. I twisted away, shielding her with my body.
A brutal kick slammed into my lower back, sending me crashing forward. Instinct took over—I twisted mid-fall, taking the impact myself to keep her safe.
She wasn't crushed. Thank God.
But in that split second of relief, Vincent wrenched her from my arms.
He glared down at me, voice glacial. "No baby, no rebellion. Play nice, and you'll get her back. Otherwise? I'll drop her where nobody will find her."
I scrambled up, desperate, reckless—I had to get her back—
Vincent's foot smashed into my stomach, sending me flying. Pain exploded through me, but I forced myself up again, lunging blindly.
Another kick. Another burst of agony.
Vincent scoffed. "Enough! Just cooperate! Damian's only here for a month. Once he's gone, you're free."
Tears blurred my vision. "She needs a hospital! She's hurt!"
Neither man even looked back.
"Should've thought of that before disrespecting us," Vincent tossed over his shoulder. "With a mother like you? She's better off starting over in the next life."
The door clicked shut. My heart twisted into a knot of pure terror.
Where are they taking my baby?
End of His Dirty Massage Secret Chapter 2. Continue reading Chapter 3 or return to His Dirty Massage Secret book page.