Chapter Seventeen - Emily
Sinking my head deeper under the pillow, I don’t want to come out. And I’m hoping when I do, I’m going to be back in my cozy apartment sleeping and quietly figuring out how I’m going to hide my belly from my colleagues when it’s going to be getting bigger.
What’s the point now? I’m locked in a castle with a maniacal, hot man who’s desperate to own my ass now he knows I’m having his Bratva child. What’s going to happen to our kid? Are they going to be Bratva, or will they reject the darkness? Sleeping with a random man from a club was not my smartest idea ever, but if a Groundhog Day moment returned, and it was me and Ryurik dressing each other down on the dance floor with the music thumping around us, I would probably open the most dangerous option and do it all again.
Maybe that’s why he felt so good inside me, and why I lost my mind to him. He is danger walking, and I’m the opposite, wanting to take down every person like him.
My head feels as if it’s full of rocks, but it’s time to get up and move around. I might not be eating, but I’ve been drinking copious amounts of orange juice and water between sulks. Ryurik hasn’t visited the room once since he’s caged me and taken my phone, so how much does he really care about his baby? And the kicker is, we haven’t left Chicago. We’re right in the thick of the multilayered city of secrets, smack bang near the Magnificent Mile, and it’s crazy because I’m hidden in plain sight. I don’t understand how Ryurik thinks he’s going to get away with this.
Massaging my throat, I head to the bathroom, noticing the lack of decorations around the massive room. I mean sure, it has large windows, and the Chicago skyline does enough talking by itself—but the walls are bare. Almost as if this isn’t really his true home.
Maybe it’s his downtown apartment for when he’s working, I deduce as I pad to the bathroom with its white marble with gold streaming through. Turning on the gold faucet, I wash my face patting it dry, then staring at possible weapons, things I can use to get out of the place. But I’m too lethargic and mentally tapped out to do anything. All I want to do is walk out of this hellhole. I open the silver lid on the food tray rechecking what’s under it, but I can’t eat. I feel sick inside a little. The scrambled eggs with chives and bacon are still on the plate, but I’m done, and want nothing to do with anything the Utkin kitchen has prepared.
Touching my stomach, feeling horrible, I run through my options. I can’t climb out the window, I’m not scaling a Chicago skyscraper, and I can’t contact my work colleagues or the police because Ryurik took my phone. It’s an Apple, so it’s going to take them time to get in and unlock it, but it’s possible. Mine’s a work phone and there’s tracking on it. My personal phone is back at home safe and sound in my apartment, and I take pleasure in knowing he can’t scroll through my messages to my girlfriends. That would kill me on the inside. The text messages I sent to Stacy and Kiara weren’t for public viewing and were complaining about Ryurik.
My mouth tightens when I think of him, a rip-roaring surge of anger blazing through my system when I think about how dirty he’s done me. I’m not about to give him the satisfaction of knowing how badly he’s affected me and changed the course of my life.
There’s no way Jackson’s not going to look for me. He is. He has too. Willy Dee’s murder is hot, and me disappearing so soon after is going to put me on the radar. Immediately. Smirking to myself, I head out of the bedroom, pacing the floor and thinking it through.
Magnificent Mile. Penthouse. Phone tracking. Milton, Brady. Jeff. Oh yes, baby! Jeff. He’s going to know I’m here. He saw Ryurik manhandle me, and he asked if I was okay.
I let my fingers curl in, calculating the timing and what the department’s move might be. They’re going to have to think through it. Ryurik has gotten off every single time. If they come after him again, it’s got to be blatant. And he won’t be able to get off. Rubbing my belly, the faint glimmer of enthusiasm I harbored dissipates. I’m carrying his baby. I’m liable to be a disgrace to the Bureau of Investigation in Chicago. Fired. I’m so fired with a capital F.
“Fuck. If I can just think about what I can do to get the hell out of here,” but my mind’s running like a freight train and I can’t stop it. And the thumping knocking around inside it isn’t helping either.
But… if I’m out of range and nobody can contact me, maybe they will wipe my phone and contacts to protect the Bureau. They will want to protect themselves first and the department. There’s a lot of tracking information and government database information held on my phone. Even if it has fingerprint ID, I still don’t put it past Ryurik to be able to hack into it.
If Ryurik takes two days to come and check on me, then maybe he’s planning a way to kill me and keep the heat off him. He already told me that’s what he’ll do.
The only comfort I’ve got is the bleak gloom of a slate gray Chicago sky, and the rain falling against its glass panes. I plop myself on the cream couch, turning on the TV for background noise and sipping water. I’m not watching the TV, just staring at it. There’s not much else I can do, but Ryurik can’t keep stalling, he has to do something.
An hour later, I’m granted my opportunity, standing up to the creak of the door, Ryurik walking in, startling me. He’s unassumingly diabolical with his wild, shaggy hair and green eyes. He looks nothing like a Russian Mafia killer should, not at first glance, especially if he decides to smile, but it’s the details that slip unnoticed that reveal the truth. The tension held like a loaded spring ready to pop. The big fireball of passionate intensity you feel when you stand next to him, and the laser beam of heat that sears like a warm fire as it burns through you with one glance. Yes. That’s Ryurik, standing in front of him now, the heat is almost unbearable.
Crossing my arms, I take my own form of a stand the best way I can. “What do you plan to do with me?”
Ryurik’s eyes bear down on me, a dirty smirk on his lips. “What do I plan to do with you? Hmm, that’s a good question.” His eyes shift up and down my body, leaving me feeling vulnerable and naked. I hold my arms tighter against my chest.
“You can’t keep me here without a problem coming up. They’re going to come looking for me.”
“Who?”
“Don’t play dumb, Ryurik. The FBI. The Chicago police force. You killed Willy Dee. What do you think they’re going to do?”
Challenging him, I stand in place, holding what little ground I can. Ryurik startles me, tucking his finger under my chin, thinking the same way I have, bringing my closet of fears to the surface.
“And what do you think your boss is going to do when he finds out you’re carrying my baby? If I’m a cop killer, then you’re a Mafia lover,” he hisses aggressively, a tiny sprinkle of spit landing on my lip.
“I didn’t know who you were then.”
Ryurik scoffs, the heat between us palpable enough for us both to catch fire. “You think they’re going to believe that? Do you really think if this thing goes to trial, you’re going to get off? You never will. You’ll have to leave the force. It would be a gross misconduct.” Anger steams off the top of my head as I grind my teeth together. I hate feeling powerless and Ryurik is determined to strip away all parts of my dignity.
“I should arrest you. Right now,” I tell him, but my body reacting with a longing ache for his deft touch. It’s some weird type of muscle memory that makes me want to touch the curve of his chest—to lay my head there in the same position as when we slept together.
Ryurik laughs for a hot second, but it quickly whips into a barren stare down. “Listen, Wilson, you’re the one under house arrest, and you need to take care of your nutrition. If something happens to my child, I won’t ever let you find peace. Do we have an understanding?”
Wanting to defy him, I consider how much fuel I have in the tank, taking a wrong chance, but not caring. Pushing him in the chest, I throw him off balance, and as soon as I feel him under my palm, I want my hand to stick. Ryurik withstands the push, grabbing my hand and snatching me in so hard to his chest, the wind’s knocked out of me. I feel him breathing on me, his nostrils slightly flared, my wrist burning from the stronghold.
“You can’t keep me here,” I tell him again softly, the pressure of his hard body against mine exciting me in such a wrong, wrong way.
“It looks like it’s too late for that. You’re mine.”
“I’m not a toy for you to keep.”
Ryurik lets go of my wrist, wrapping his hand around the back of my neck. “No, you’re not a toy, but you are carrying my child, and that makes you mine. Don’t you want to be mine?” he whispers, my breath catching in my throat as my arms light up with goose bumps.
Ryurik notices the shift in my body language, skimming a finger down the side of my body with a cocky grin. “No,” I reply with mild pushback, my body and mind betraying me, reminding me of the shower gel sliding with the slippery entry of Ryurik’s hand between my thighs.
“No?” his voice lifts, his green eyes considering me with wry amusement, his hands starting a hypnotic massage at the base of my neck as I let out an involuntary groan, surprising myself. Shit. This isn’t the plan. I’m a cop, and he’s a criminal. No. Resist. Don’t let him touch you.
“No,” I reply with a touch more command, but it’s got nothing behind it.
“Feel good?” Ryurik asks, defying my answer, a cute, almost endearing smile rising on his face, his eyes on my mouth. Yes. Kiss me. Do something to take me out of this. That’s something I’ll accept.
“Yes,” I admit, because my body’s already told a lie to him.
“Good. Did you like the bed,” he whispers in a lullaby, his hand travelling down my spine, making me want to fold and head to bed with him.
“Yes. It’s comfortable, but that’s not what we’re talking about here,” I tell him as he tucks my hair behind my ear, open tenderness in his eyes.
“No. It’s not, is it?” he purrs back, his hand dipping dangerously low to the top of my ass. Yes. Ryurik touch me. The same way you touched me when we met. My mouth parts as Ryurik stares down at me through his lashes.
“No,” I croon as he licks his lips, his mouth forming a crooked smile, and I expect it now. The caress of his hands are telling me so. Pressing my eyes shut, I wait for Ryurik to kiss me, but there’s nothing but air between us. Slowly, feeling shunned, I open my eyes.
“You will wait.”
Gasping, I shudder, loathing my craving for him. “Wait for what?”
“Until we get married.” Confused, I look at him, straining and repeating back the sentence I want nothing to do with.
“Excuse me?” Staring at him incredulously, I balk. “Did you mention marriage? Is that what you just said?”
“Yes.” Ryurik takes his hands off me, but I can’t get my brain to compute what he just said to me.
“But what—how?” I rush out, wanting to bang my head against the room wall. “We are fucking enemies. I’m a cop, and you’re a criminal.”
Ryurik stands still looking down at me. “But before you knew that you were in bed with me,” he replies in an overpowering tone that ripples down my spine. “You’re attracted to me, and I’m attracted to you.”
“ Ryurik! You can’t keep me here. This isn’t logical or rational.”
Ryurik stares at me unblinking and it’s clear to him it’s completely normal and rational. “This has nothing to do with being logical or rational, Ms. Wilson. We are going to be married and there’s nothing you can do about it.”
“Why?” I ask him, my voice strained.
He shrugs nonchalantly, letting out a deep sigh. “This is the Bratva, and it’s the way things are done. September 18. One week from today, we marry.” Swaying on my feet, the life and career I’ve decided to build for myself flash before my eyes.
“Wha—wha.” The word floats off my tongue and somewhere, somehow, they become tangled up in the process. I’m not going to make it and maybe neither is the baby. I can’t marry Ryurik. He’s the enemy, the one I’ve been hunting, and Jackson—he’s going to kick my ass. The police department is going to turn on me. I’m going down, collusion with a criminal, let alone having a baby with one is not a good look.
“If you fall in line and comply with my rules and conditions, I will give you the money you need for Laura’s surgery.” Ryurik reaches inside his jean pocket, pulling out a folded letter, handing it to me. Shakily, I open it noticing the logo from the hospital in the top corner.
Oh shit. He’s got access to the hospital. How did he get her medical records so fast? I want to say something to him, but don’t have the right words. At first the words are all jumbled up on the page and hard to read, but I blink as Ryurik waits in front of me patiently. Studying the letters on the page, I read down further, part of me dying on the inside.
Please, no. The words hammer home in my brain. If Laura’s condition doesn’t improve and continues to decline at such a rapid rate her condition will become life threatening.
Handing the letter back to him, I let the numbness take over my body, a single tear sliding down my cheek. Everything I’ve worked for is running down the drain, and I can’t do anything about it. I wonder if Stacy and Kiara will begin to worry and come looking for me. And how long will it take for them to forget I ever existed.
“Keep the letter,” I tell him croakily as I keep my eyes from Ryurik.
“I’m sorry it has to be this way, but it’s tradition. You will bear my child, and we will be married. That’s the Bratva way. The Bratva don’t have children out of wedlock and there’s nothing you can do about it.”
The finality of my doomed future hits me hard as I stand with the rain and wind pummeling the windows behind me in the epicenter of Chicago.
It’s over. My life is completely done for.