“Who slapped you?” I questioned. I was so angry at whoever raised a hand to my children. It was taking all of my control to try and remove my hand from the handcuffs to smack the hell out of the culprit. The girls looked scared and sidled up to me. “Babies, I need to know so I can stop them from doing it again. You’re not in trouble.”
“The lady, Wenee,” Marie muttered, pressing her face against my neck and trying to crawl inside of my body. Marie whimpered quietly like before, when she wouldn’t talk. She whimpered when she was in distress. The whimpers would escalate to moans, moans to crying and crying which would escalate to a full-on tantrum.
“She said we were too loud and that if we didn’t shut up, we’d be caught,” Lizzie explained. “But we’re hungry, Mommy. After the crash, we drove forever to here and told to go to bed.”
“How long was I out?” I asked, trying to see if there was a calendar or a clock or something.
“Since the crash…yesterday,” Lizzie answered. “Mommy, can you tell them that we need to eat?”
“RENEE!” I screeched.
My mom skulked into the room where I was handcuffed to the bed. She crossed her arms over her surgically enhanced breasts, glaring at me. “What?”
“Why have my children not been fed since yesterday?”
“We needed to get far away from Sherryville,” she spat. “We only had a certain amount of time to get you pulled out of that car and away from your beloved husband, thanks to a friend of ours. Food was not high on our list of priorities for you or your little brats.”
“But, I bet you ate,” I retorted.
“We need to take care of you and your children until your worthless husband obliges by our demands, Isabella. You’re good fortune with Dr. Moneybags is going to set Mike and me up for life. Plus, hearing you admit that you killed his son in cold blood, putting you in jail for the rest of your natural life is a nice little bonus.”
“I didn’t kill Mike in cold blood. He shot at my husband, Renee. I was well within my rights to shoot the man who was inside our home in self-defense,” I growled, glaring at my incubator. She was not my mother. Sue was my mom and Renee was the woman who housed me until I was born. Looking at my daughters, I frowned. “Girls, go into the bathroom, okay?”
“We want to stay with you, Mommy,” Lizzie whispered.
“Go, baby,” I murmured, encouraging her to take Marie into the bathroom so I could really lay into my mother for being an epic bitch.