Chapter 28 Nadya
NADYA
The doctor leaves and the blond man locks the door behind him.
I sit on the floor and press my hand to my stomach, trying to feel if there's anything different.
There's nothing—no flutter, no movement.
Just the nausea that won't stop and the exhaustion that lives in my bones.
I'm pregnant with Xander's child.
The thought actually terrifies me more than anything Arkady Sokolov could do.
Me, a mother?
I'm not ready for this, especially knowing that my child will be born to a hardened criminal who's part of a dangerous underground organization.
Death would be a better alternative to my fractured mind right now.
I can't provide for myself in this world and I can't protect a baby when a man like Xander is the father.
I can run but he'll find me.
If I slip his notice, he'll go after Irina and the children.
Though, I don't think Xander himself would harm them, but his boss—who the fuck knows what that man will do.
Alone, feeling so sick to my stomach, I rest my head against the cold concrete behind me and let tears roll down my cheeks.
Finally they come in torrential waves.
Fear for myself, my situation, and my family is like a tempest buffeting my mind constantly.
I lose track of the time again and doze in and out of sleep, having nightmares of tornados and lions chasing me.
Sometime after I've developed a horrendous kink in my neck, the door opens loudly, and Arkady walks in first, followed by the blond one and the older man with the scar.
All three of them stand over me like my masters, ready to task me with work fit for a slave, and so far I'm grateful none of them have decided to take their liberty with me.
Though I don’t put it past them to try.
"Stand up," Arkady says.
I don't move because I'm shaking, too weak to get up after throwing up so much.
He walks over and grabs my arm.
His fingers dig into my skin as he hauls me to my feet.
My legs shake.
I nearly fall, but he holds me upright.
"You're carrying Morin's child," he says.
"That makes you useful."
"I won't help you," I whisper, shaking my head.
"You already have."
He releases my arm and steps back.
"He'll come for you. He'll walk into my trap because he's weak, and weakness always leads to death."
"He's not weak."
Arkady laughs.
"He's weak for you, stupid woman. Or… should I call you little bird? Is that what he calls you, Ptichka? His pet name?"
I glare at him not knowing where he got that information and feel my body gain some semblance of strength as my courage rises.
"You won't win."
"I already have."
He turns to the blond one.
"Bring her."
The man grabs my arm and pulls me toward the door.
I dig in my heels, but he's too strong.
He drags me out of the stockroom and down a hallway.
The walls are white and stained.
The floor's cracked.
We pass an industrial kitchen, and then another room filled with crates.
When my knees go weak, he uses his free hand to grab me by the hair and hold me up.
Pain shoots down my neck and back and I yelp, but he doesn't relent.
I continue to be dragged farther down the hallway until he stops at a back door.
It's steel, with a deadbolt and a chain.
He unlocks it and pushes it open.
Cold air rushes in, biting at my face.
The alley we step into is narrow and filled with trash.
Dumpsters line the walls.
Snow covers the ground.
The blond one shoves me forward, and I stumble into the snow.
My hands hit the ground as I brace myself and the cold burns my palms.
"Where are we going?" I ask.
"Shut up."
He pulls me to my feet and pushes me toward a van parked at the end of the alley.
The older man's already there, opening the back doors so the blond one can shove me inside.
I fall onto the floor, my shoulder hitting metal, and pain shoots down my arm.
They climb in after me, jostling the entire vehicle and the doors slam shut.
I sit up and look around as the engine starts.
There are no windows or seats. Just metal walls and darkness.
The van lurches forward, and I grab the side to steady myself.
"Where are you taking me?" I ask.
"Shut up," the blond one says again.
I don't shut up because I need to know.
I need to understand what they're planning.
"Xander is going to come. It doesn't matter how many times you move me."
The older man smiles and just like Sokolov's grin, it's cold and empty.
"He'll come. We're going to tell him exactly where you are."
My stomach drops as I realize they're moving me somewhere Xander can reach, somewhere he'll walk into without thinking.
Somewhere he'll die.
I have to get out.
I look at the doors, but they're locked from the outside.
Then I look at the men who are both armed, both watching me.
I have no weapon.
No plan.
Nothing but desperation.
The van turns a corner, and I slide across the floor, bracing myself against the wall, and wait.
Another turn.
Another slide.
The older man adjusts his grip on his gun.
The floor of this van is beating my hips to hell, but I grit my teeth and pretend it doesn’t hurt.
I wait until the van slows again and this time, I lunge.
I throw myself at the blond one, my hands reaching for the gun on his belt.
He shouts and grabs my wrist, twisting it back.
Pain shoots up my arm and I scream and claw at his face with my free hand.
My nails rake across his cheek, drawing blood that stains my fingertips and runs down his cheek, and then he punches me in the stomach.
The air leaves my lungs, rising up into my chest as I double over, gasping, my vision blurring.
For a moment, I see stars, and I can't even manage to suck in a breath again.
I'm flailing, grasping for anything to steady myself as the older man grabs me by the hair and slams my head into the side of the van.
Stars explode behind my eyes as my vision dims and goes dark for a second.
"Stupid bitch," the blond one snarls.
He wipes the blood from his face and spits at me.
"You think you can fight us? You think you can escape?"
I can't breathe.
I can't think.
All I can do is curl into a ball on the floor and try not to vomit as the van rocks back and forth, hitting potholes and continuing to make turns.
When my vision returns and my breathing almost normalizes, I understand how foolish my idea was, but I'm terrified.
If I didn't try to run, it would mean succumbing to death willingly.
The van stops and the doors open. Hands grab me and drag me out into the snow.
I'm back in an alley, this time at a bakery—probably connected to the factory or warehouse we were in before.
This is all part of their cover business.
They haul me through the door and down the hallway, throwing me into the stockroom.
I hit the floor hard.
My ribs scream.
My head throbs and blood drips from my nose onto the concrete.
Arkady's already there, waiting.
He looks down at me with a dangerous, sardonic smile.
"You tried to escape?" he asks.
I don't answer because there's no point.
This man is sin incarnate.
Asking for mercy from him is like asking the devil for an apple.
"Stupid girl…" He clicks.
He crouches in front of me and grabs my chin, forcing me to look at him.
His fingers are rough, his grip brutal.
"You're carrying his child," he says.
"That's the only reason you're still breathing. But if you try that again, I'll kill you myself. Do you understand?"
I spit in his face.
The saliva hits his cheek and drips down.
For a moment, he doesn't move. He just stares at me in utter shock that I'd be so brazen as to spit on him.
Then he slaps me.
The blow snaps my head to the side.
Pain explodes across my face and I taste blood, but it's worth it.
Just to know I've pissed him off and he lost his temper all because of me.
"You think you're brave?" he asks.
"You think defying me makes you strong?"
I glare at him.
"I won't help you kill him."
He stands and pulls a phone from his pocket.
He dials a number and holds it to his ear.
My heart stops as I see whose phone it is.
A knot forms in my throat, and my head throbs so hard I can't see straight.
He has my phone.
"Morin," he says when someone answers, "I have your whore. And I have your baby."
I hear Xander's voice on the other end screaming profanities.
I can't make out the words, but I hear the rage in them.
Arkady smiles.
"You want them back? Then come and get them… You can enjoy a pirozhok while you watch me kill her. Come alone, or I'll cut the child out of her womb before I kill her."
He hangs up and then looks down at me, still smiling.
"See? You've been so helpful giving us your phone. Morin will come," Arkady says, "and when he does, I'll put a bullet in his head while you watch."
I start sobbing.
I can't help it.
The tears come in waves, choking me, drowning me. I press my hands to my stomach and curl into a ball.
"Please," I whisper.
"Please don't hurt him."
"Too late for that."
The nausea rises again so violently, I can't stop it.
I lean to the side and vomit onto the floor.
It splatters across the concrete and across Arkady's shoes even as he backs away to avoid it.
I heave again.
And again.
Until there's nothing left inside me but terror.
Arkady curses at me as someone tosses him a towel for his shoes.
Then he nods to the blond one.
"Lock her up."
The blond one grabs my arm and drags me to my feet.
I'm too weak to fight.
Too weak to do anything but stumble as he pulls me back to the corner.
He shoves me down and steps back and as they retreat I hear a lock engage.
I sit in the darkness, my arms wrapped around my stomach, and I cry.
I cry for the child growing inside me.
I cry for Xander, who's walking into a trap.
I cry for myself, because I don't know if either of us will survive the night.
Time passes.
The cold presses in.
My tears dry on my cheeks, leaving tracks through the dirt and blood.
I lean my head back against the wall and close my eyes.
I think of Xander.
His gray eyes.
His rough hands.
I think of the child.
The tiny life inside me that I didn't plan for, didn't ask for, but would die to protect.
I think of Anya and Mikhail and Irina.
My sister, who warned me this would happen.
Who told me I was making a mistake.
She was right.
But it's too late now.
I open my eyes and stare at the door.
Somewhere out there, Xander's coming for me.
He's loading guns and gathering men and preparing to walk into certain death.
Because of me.
Because I was stupid enough to answer a help-wanted ad.
Stupid enough to jump into bed with a man who kills people for a living.
Stupid enough to fall for him.
I press my hand to my stomach again.
I whisper to the child I can't feel yet, the child who might not survive long enough to be born.
"I'm sorry," I say.
"I'm so sorry."
I close my eyes and try to breathe through my nose.
I have to survive.
I have to find a way out of this.
For the child.
For Xander.
For myself.
And all I can do is pray that Xander's smart enough not to come alone.