10 Days to Surrender (Ozerov Bratva #2)

8. Ariel

8

ARIEL

When we finally reach the highway at the edge of town, I rip free of Sasha’s hand.

He turns and glowers at me. “The car is ten feet away, and now , you’re stopping?”

Blood is rushing in my ears as I square off with him, my belly jutting between us like a physical reminder of all the reasons that I need to stand my ground. “We’re safe now. You don’t get to drag me back into hell just because you’ve got a hero complex.”

Sasha’s stare drops to my stomach for half a heartbeat—the first real acknowledgment—before snapping back to mine. “We’re not anywhere near safe. You think your self-righteous tantrum matters right now? Get. In. The. Car.”

“No.”

Jasmine steps between us, hands raised. “Ari, please?—”

“We’re not going with him, Jas!” My voice falters. The twins kick hard, like they’re trying to burrow out. “We’ll find another way.”

Sasha’s jaw muscle thrums as he glares at me. I try not to catalog him the way he’s clearly doing to me, but I can’t help it. I can’t help the sinking gut feeling I get when I see scars I know weren’t there before. His posture is stiff, like he’s been pieced back together with masking tape and hope.

What broke him?

“You’re pregnant,” he snarls.

“Observant.”

“For how long?”

“Long enough to know you don’t get a say in what I do.”

I resent the implication that they aren’t his—and then I resent myself for resenting that, because it’s not like I owe Sasha anything. We weren’t married. We never made promises. If I wanted to get pregnant by some other man, that would be well within my rights.

But you didn’t want that, did you? croons the voice in my head that belongs to a sniveling little instigator who likes stirring up drama for no good reason. You still felt that tether to him like you’d never left. You thought putting an ocean between you would sever it, but it didn’t do anything of the sort. If anything, it only made you feel that much more how deep his hooks are buried in your heart.

I tell that voice to shut the fuck up.

Sasha steps closer. I smell blood on him—Serbian blood. Old violence, fresh sweat. “You think I’d hurt my child?”

“I think you’ll use anything you could get your hands on,” I fire back. “Just like you used me.”

His scowl deepens. He opens his mouth to reply—but before he can, a thunderclap of distant motorcycles grabs all our attention.

In unison, all four of us look down the road. It’s a long, straight highway, so we can see a mile or so into the distance.

And in that distance, headlights shine bright.

More Serbians.

“This is fucking ridiculous,” Sasha growls. He stomps away and yanks the car door open. The lights flick on and catch the scar around his throat, pulsing red as his jaw clenches. “You can argue, but you’re going to do it in a moving vehicle. Not standing on the side of the road like a sitting fucking duck.”

“Or what?” I jab a finger into his chest. His scarred, ruined chest. “You’ll drag me? Chain me to your bumper?”

“I’ll do what’s necessary to keep you safe.”

“Try it.”

He does.

One second, I’m glaring up at him; the next, I’m scooped up in his arms like a baby. He’s careful to keep my belly safe—but I have no intentions of treating him anywhere near as carefully.

“Put me down!” I beat his back. “You psychotic Neanderthal?—”

“Keep hitting me,” he interrupts calmly, striding toward the car. “You might fix all the shit that’s broken.”

Engines snarl in the distance. Closer. Too close.

Over Sasha’s shoulder, I see Jasmine and Kosti looking nervously at each other. Then, as the bark of accelerating motorcycles rings out again in the night, they both jump into the car.

Sasha dumps me into the passenger side, then slams the door and locks it before I can crawl my way out.

“Seatbelt,” he orders, sliding into the driver’s seat.

“Go to hell.”

He reaches over and yanks the belt across me himself. As he does, his knuckles graze my belly—and we both freeze.

His eyes meet mine. It only lasts a second, but some seconds last centuries. This is one of them. I feel like I’m hallucinating as the last six months replay in my mind—only this time, Sasha is there for all of it.

Hugging me to his chest when I bring out a pregnancy test cradled in my palms. I can feel his proud grin without having to look.

The first scan—fingers interlaced with mine, patting me on the thigh. “It’s all gonna be okay. We get to meet our baby soon.”

The reveal of twins. Twice the amount of love to give and share. Not shock, but pride and joy doubling, just when we thought we’d already maxed out on both emotions.

Sasha doting. Sasha guarding. Sasha loving. Sasha there.

I see all of that in his eyes. I don’t know what he sees in mine, and I don’t want to ask. I’d rather just rip my gaze away so these visions I didn’t want disappear.

The engines roar louder.

“Sasha,” Kosti warns.

He snaps the belt into place. Peels out before I can breathe.

Tires screech. The car lurches forward, throwing me back against the seat. Behind us, headlights swarm—motorcycles, four, five, six, more—charging down the one-lane highway like a horde of wasps.

We’ve got a hundred yards on them, maybe less, and this rental car isn’t exactly Need for Speed material. Sasha guns it even harder.

“You’re going to kill us!” I scream.

“You’d prefer Dragan does it?” He downshifts, veering onto a coastal road. Cliffs drop to our left, hungry waves below.

Another bullet shatters the rear windshield. Jasmine screams, ducking. Glass rains.

“Hold on!” Sasha wrenches the wheel. The car fishtails, tires spitting sand. For one heart-stopping second, we teeter on the cliff’s edge.

Then he mashes the gas.

I close my eyes and scream. Sasha’s hand flies to my knee, squeezes once— I’m here —before snatching back like I burned him.

But the maneuver works. We straighten out and take off like a cannonball, soaring down an adjacent road that the motorcycles can’t follow. For a few minutes, there’s no sound but the tires chewing up highway and our own softening breaths.

The road curves inland. Olive groves whip past. Finally, Jasmine speaks up. “Where are we going?”

“East,” Sasha grunts. “Geneva. There’s a plane?—”

“No.”

Sasha looks at me, brow furrowed. “Ari?—”

“Stop the car.”

“Ari—”

“Stop the fucking car, Sasha!”

Gritting his teeth, he finds a side road, pulls off, and cuts the headlights. We’re still out in the countryside, so darkness plunges around us. Clouds block out most of the moon. It’s vague suggestions of shapes around us, nothing more.

Sasha’s voice, though, is very clear. “What the fuck, Ariel?”

“We’re not going east—or north, south, or west, either. We’re not going anywhere with you.” I reach out to find Jasmine in the darkness and clutch her close to me. “Come on, Jas.”

She hesitates. “Ariel, be reasonable?—”

“He’s the reason we’re in this mess!” My voice breaks. “He’s the reason Baba’s dead!”

Sasha goes very still. “Leander knew the risks.”

“He knew you !” I shove the door open. Cool air floods in. “You’re a plague, Sasha. Everything you touch dies.”

His face shutters. “Then run.”

“Gladly.”

“But,” he adds, “if you run, I’ll chase you. Is that what you want our kid’s first memory to be? Daddy tackling Mommy into a ditch?”

Daddy. What a fucking word.

I jump out of the car and stride away. Sasha follows, leaving Jasmine and Kosti marooned in the car behind us. “They’re twins,” I say quietly when he catches up to me. “And you don’t get to call them yours.”

“Twins.” Sasha’s voice is stunned. Then the bite comes back. “Fine. Twins. They’re mine, aren’t they?”

“Says who?”

He’s close enough that I can feel his breath pluming across my face. “Look me in the eye and tell me they aren’t.”

Tension ripples between us. I don’t have to see Sasha to know he’s brooding, glaring, that slanted V of his eyebrows sharpening to a knife tip.

“I hate you,” I whisper.

“Don’t bother. I hate me enough for the both of us.” He shifts, gravel stirring under his boots. “But I’ll be damned if I leave you out here to die, Ariel. Like it or not, you’re coming with me. At least until I can ensure you’re safe.”

“Sash—”

“You owe me this,” I say. “If those are my children—and I know in my bones they are—then it falls to me to keep them safe. Let me do that much. Choose us. Choose them. ”

His hand—just one fingertip—kisses my belly. For as long as it’s touching me, I let myself hope.

Then he pulls it away. Tears sting my eyes. “Fuck you, Sasha Ozerov.”

A cloud thins out and lets enough moonlight through to pick out the blue of his eyes. They’re locked onto mine like they’ll never, ever look away.

He nods once. Then he turns and stomps back to the car.

And, God help me…

I follow.