Resent, Reject, Regret

Chapter 4 Miss McKinney Is Awake

his furrowed brows relaxed. “She’s here. Collect her blood.” ‘Collect her blood?’ Deirdre did not have any time to react. Someone leaped from the couch and closed their fingers around her arm. “What are you doing?!” Deirdre cried out and tried to wriggle her way out of that grip. Brendan narrowed his eyes in impatience. “Charlene’s unconscious, you mewling pest. Someone has to donate blood, and that someone is you. You’re going up there right now, so stop wasting precious time and save Lena’s life!”  Deirdre could not believe her ears. “You… You told me to come… because you wanted me to donate blood?!” “Why else could I have asked you to come?” Brendan sneered. “Because I give a sh*t about you? Because I want you to come back and rest?” Deirdre’s face paled. Her hopes—her wishes and imagination—had been fanciful fantasies all along. “I’m pregnant, Brendan! Can’t you just get emergency blood bags from the hospital or something? It’s more reasonable than asking a pregnant woman to give blood!” she said. Her lips were trembling, and she felt her heart sinking into a pit of shards and needles. “You’re asking me to die, Brendan!” “And? You think I give a damn about you dying?” Brendan had always hated how easily she mentioned her death—it was just so irritating. His attention focused on her waist, and a sneer crept onto his lips. “I’m not forcing you to do anything, though, am I? You’re free to say no, but you’ll be saying no to your kid’s survival too. I’ll make sure it won’t live to see tomorrow.” Deirdre felt a chill seizing her body, and yet she could not fight him. She felt his men pushing and jostling her upstairs… toward the second floor. She had never been there before—not even once—despite being married to him for two years. Nor had she ever imagined being granted the opportunity for the sole, cruel purpose of being someone’s blood donor. They shoved her down on the bed, pinning her. That was when Deirdre’s eyes fell on Charlene’s features next to her. She had always believed that they just looked alike. An eighty-percent resemblance, maybe. But that was not the case at all. It was like staring at herself—a clone whose features mirrored her own with absurd accuracy. They were like twins. But that did not mean they enjoyed the same treatment. Charlene alone was the object