Free AFRICAN AMERICAN URBAN FICTION: BWWM ROMANCE: Billionaire Baby Daddy (Billionaire Secret Baby Pregnancy Romance) (Multicultural & Interracial Romance Short Stories) by Carmella Jones

There isn’t much for me to nibble on here today,” I called over my shoulder.
                  Once I reached his bedroom, I popped in the shower to get the water running at the right temperature. As it heated up I tried to feel around his pockets as best I could.
                  Empty.
                  I saw his wallet and keys on the dresser, but nothing unusual. Whatever he received had already been put away or discarded. I made one last quick search of his drawers. They were so neatly arranged I could tell quickly that nothing had been disturbed.
                  I didn’t want to get my hair wet, but I didn’t have anything to wrap it in or pull it up with so I had to adjust the head of the shower and stand farther back so water didn’t hit and splash above my shoulders. When I finished bathing I wrapped the nearest towel around myself. I styled my hair as best as I could with Anthony’s comb and my fingertips. As I opened the drawer to replace his comb, I saw what Anthony must have received the night before.
                  A handkerchief was folded around something and had slid forward from where it had been tucked toward the back. As I unfolded the cloth I began to feel nervous, not of Anthony catching me snooping, but of what I might learn he was keeping from me.
                  Once the content of the handkerchief was in my hands, for a moment I was speechless. Then, I just wanted answers.
                  “Anthony,” I called, sitting on the bed, holding the kerchief and what was inside.
                  “Yeah,” he called back.
                  “Anthony, please come here,” I said.
                  I heard his footsteps coming quickly down the hall.
                  “Are you okay?” he asked, looking concerned.
                  “I am, but someone is not,” I replied.

Chapter 8
                  “What’s the matter?” Anthony asked.
                  He still hadn’t noticed I was holding anything in my hands. I guess he thought I felt sick or maybe something was wrong with the baby, because he knelt and started putting his hand on parts of my face as if checking for a temperature.
                  “Why were Donte and Jerome at your family house last night?” I asked.
                  “They just wanted approval to follow up on a lead,” he replied, shrugging like it should have been obvious.
                  “No, why were they at the house last night,” I repeated myself without changing tone or position.
                  “Jayne,” he said.
                  “Anthony,” I replied.
                  He could tell this was the calm before a possible storm. He sat back and thought to himself. Then he sat beside me on the bed, took the handkerchief and its content, and spoke.
                  “This is a pair of pocket knives,” he said.
                  He opened the smaller knife.
                  “The tip of this one is recently broken,” he said, showing me the damage, then closing it again. “I need to make sure it is properly discarded to ensure it does not find its way into police evidence. I have a few things I was going to pack up and ship today. I think you should join me.”
                  He stood and began pulling other small items from things in his room that I didn’t even realize had openings, storage, or compartments. Then again, when I was in his room I was typically otherwise occupied. There were dirty icicle-style earrings I remembered Cassidy from the office saying she’d lost, a woven leather belt that someone had unraveled and cut cord from, bloody shoe laces, and more.
                  I was still sitting on the bed. I felt nauseous. Every item he pulled out had blood, hair,