His Pregnant Queen in The Death Game

The sound of tearing flesh and growling dogs stopped.

I lay in a pool of blood and water, covered in wounds.

"This pregnant one can't last much longer," Scarlett's voice came over the speakers, filled with a sick excitement.

"That belly's ripe for the picking. Let's cut her open. See if it's a boy or a girl."

My blood ran cold.

A paralyzing fear seized me.

"No!" I screamed. "No! Please! I'm begging you!"

I hugged my stomach, as if that could protect my unborn child.

The broadcast went silent for a few seconds.

Then came Alex's low voice.

"Forget cutting her open."

A tiny spark of hope.

He had a line. He wouldn't hurt the baby.

"The killer can die for all I care," Alex continued. "But leave the belly. It’s bad luck to harm an unborn child. My own is due any day."

The hope died instantly.

He wasn't protecting me.

In his eyes, I was just some damn killer.

"You're no fun," Scarlett said, her voice laced with disappointment.

But she quickly perked up.

"I have a better idea, though."

"These assassins have been hiding in New York for a long time, targeting our family. Since we're not killing the pregnant one, I'll interrogate her myself."

"I'll dig out every secret she knows."

My heart sank to the floor.

"Do what you want," Alex replied, his voice indifferent.

A few guards ran over and grabbed my arms roughly.

"No!" I struggled. "Alex! I'm Valentina!"

No one listened.

They dragged me into a shipping container that had been converted into an interrogation room.

The heavy iron door slammed shut.

A single, harsh light bulb hung over a chair in the center of the room.

They tied me to the chair and finally ripped the hood off my head.

A few minutes later, the door opened.

Scarlett walked in, poured into a tight black leather outfit.

Her eyes gleamed with a twisted excitement.

"We finally meet," she said, circling me. "Let's get a good look at the killer who dares to impersonate Valentina."

She crouched in front of me, studying my face.

"The disguise is good, I'll give you that. Almost the real thing."

"I'm not a killer!" I cried. "I'm Valentina! I'm Alex's wife!"

Scarlett burst out laughing.

"Still acting? You really think he loves you?"

She leaned close to my ear, her whisper laced with venom.

"He can't even recognize you. And even if he doesn't want to kill the baby in your belly for the sake of that face, you're not leaving here alive today."

My eyes widened.

"It was you... you set all of this up?"

Scarlett smiled, pleased with herself.

"You're just figuring that out?"

Scarlett smirked, deliberately lifting her wrist to show off a brand-new, diamond-encrusted bracelet—one I recognized from a design Alex.

“He came to me last night after you were asleep.” She stepped closer. 'I told him I was in a terrible mood, that nothing in New York was fun. So you know what he did? He arranged this whole game, just for me. While you’ve been running for your life, he’s been right here, holding my hand and making sure I’m entertained.'"

Every word was a dagger in my heart.

"He only loves you for these hands, right?" Scarlett said, grabbing my hand with a vicious grip.

"Let's see what he likes about you after I destroy them!"

She walked to the wall and picked up a hammer.

The heavy iron head glinted under the light.

"No!" I struggled wildly. "Don't touch my hands!"

"It's the only thing I have! It's my life!"

Scarlett slammed my right hand onto the table.

"Your life?" she sneered. "An assassin doesn't get to talk about art."

She raised the hammer high.

From the control room, Alex watched the screen.

I looked desperately at the camera.

"Alex! Look at me! It's me, Valentina!"

The hammer came down.

"CRACK. The sound of my own bone snapping shot up my arm."

"Aaargh!"

My index finger bent at an impossible angle. The pain almost made me pass out.

"That's for the first finger," Scarlett said, raising the hammer again. "Nine more to go."

The second blow landed. Middle finger.

The third. Ring finger.

Each impact was met with my blood-curdling screams.

In the control room, a frown creased Alex's face.

"'She's got guts for an assassin,' he said, his voice cold as ice. 'Finish it.'"

The fourth blow.

The fifth.

My right hand was ruined. Five fingers twisted into unnatural shapes.

Blood stained the tabletop.

The agony was so intense I felt like I was going into early labor. My stomach contracted violently, and more fluid ran down my legs.

"Now for the left," Scarlett said, lifting the hammer.

"No!" I screamed with my last ounce of strength.

"Alex!"

My voice tore through the night.

"Look at me! Look at who I am!"

In the control room, the cigar in Alex's hand suddenly snapped.

He stared at the screen, his brow furrowed.

"Wait."

His voice held a trace of uncertainty.

"That voice... it's identical to my wife's."