Vengeance (Burning Beliefs #2)

Chapter Twenty-Five *edited*

GRACIE'S POV

I wake up to the warm fleece blanket wrapped caringly around my shoulders. The wiring of the shotty mattress underneath my body still impales my bones, but I'm used to it now. The light of the world sings into the room. The aroma of honey and granola wafts over to where I'm dozing.

"Morning, sunshine," Demitri chuckles from the table. He flicks the screen of the cracked iPad he's holding in his hand.

I blink wearily at him. "What are you doing?"

He smiles. "Reading the news."

I rub my eyes and prop myself up on my arms. "Why in the name of God are you reading the news?"

He shrugs. "This thing finally started working again —" — he whacks the iPad — "— and I thought, why the hell not?"

I roll my eyes and swing my feet over the side. "Good for you."

I waddle my way into the kitchen towards my breakfast. I'm only five months in, but that's almost into my third term. The little devil likes to kick me. I don't get a lot of sleep, and I have this strange craving for — not a food — reality TV shows. I feel bad for D.C.; he has to deal with me crying over North West losing a beauty pageant.

As always, chocolate is a must. I also discovered this strange liking for vegan food. Chocolate almond milk, oreos, even pancakes. I'll freak out immediately if I see a piece of meat (smelling it makes me throw up) and I'll cry watching PETA propos.

Pregnancy is hell.

"So what made the headlines?" I ask him teasingly.

He laughs in reply. "We've had had another disagreement with Israel about those bombs we want to use against China."

"I wish we hadn't stopped trade with them," I sigh. "The New Korean Alliance is great and all, but I'm kind of tired of all these union strikes in Washington and crap. They should've known that producing products through work requires, you know, work."

"Mick Jagger passed away last week."

"D.C., that's terrible!"

"Please don't start crying."

"Shut up."

"And finally, Selena and Anton announced their second baby is coming."

"How's the Bieber kid reacting to that?"

"Well, his dad doesn't have full custody, and he apparently enjoys life away from him," D.C. smirks.

"Bieber's still in jail, isn't he?"

"Candian jail."

"Hot damn."

I attempt to enjoy some more granola, but the spoon clatters uselessly back into the bowl. My stomach does a sommersault as the baby kicks. A slight pang of nausea shivers up my spine.

"You okay?" he asks.

I giggle. "Fine. He's kicking, feel it."

D.C. reluctantly walks over to the chair I'm sitting on. He puts his hand on the cloth of the oversized t-shirt, the warmth from his palm soaking through the fabric.

His eyes light up as the little tumble starts up again.

"Cool, huh?" I laugh.

"That must feel weird to you," his voice is distant.

"I am a biological washing machine."

Demitri laughs at me. He tilts his head upwards, his eyes immediately locking with mine.