16. Lindsey
16
LINDSEY
S itting bolt upright in bed, I breathe heavily as I shake off the fog of sleep to figure out what woke me. My stomach gives another violent twist, and I know that’s what did it as I practically levitate out of the bed in my rush to get to the bathroom. Blessedly, I make it just in time, pulling the door shut on the enclosed toilet area as I collapse to my knees, pull my hair back, and empty the contents of my stomach into the porcelain bowl.
Lenka’s stew is a lot less pleasant on the way back up, and I moan as the gagging sensation intensifies until I have nothing left to throw up. Only then does the cramping ease slightly, and as the first waves of nausea subside, I slump onto the cold tile, panting heavily as I lean against the wall behind me. Did I get food poisoning? Honestly, with Lenka’s cooking, it doesn’t seem likely—especially when it sounds like Maks is still sleeping soundly, completely unaffected.
Maybe it’s just a stomach bug. I do ache all over, but the throbbing between my thighs tells me it could just as easily be from the rather passionate night of sex. And again, how could I be sick if Maks isn’t? Aside from Lenka, and now Kira, who didn’t seem sick at all, he’s the only person I’ve had contact with for nearly two months now. I’ve lost track of how long I’ve been Maks’s prisoner, but I was probably at the first house for around a week, and I’m confident I’ve been at his house alone for going on six weeks, so catching a cold seems unlikely if he’s well.
The last thought hits me like a bus, and my heart skips a beat as I count back from today’s date to the one I’m fairly certain Maks brought me to his penthouse. Again, I come out to just over six weeks. In that time, I’ve been so out of the loop with my typical reality that I haven’t even thought about my period. But I’m definitely late—like, weeks late. My stomach drops, and I lurch toward the toilet as a fresh wave of nausea hits me, but I have nothing left to throw up but bile. I can’t be pregnant. There’s no way. We’ve used protection every time until tonight, and there’s no way morning sickness would be hitting me from that already. But it’s the only thing that makes sense, really, because now that I’m done throwing up, I feel fine.
Icy dread trickles into my veins as I consider what that might mean. Timing-wise, if I am pregnant, I think it must have happened that first night in his office, but the odds seem astronomical when I’m confident he used a condom. Then again, they aren’t a hundred percent effective. If it had a small hole in it or broke and we didn’t notice, that’s all it would take.
Slumping against the wall once more, I tip my head back and stare at the ceiling. This can’t be happening. Not when I’m more confused than ever about Maks. Just tonight, he confirmed he not only never wants a wife or family but also that I’ll never see him again once he sets me free. That should be a good thing. The admission should have made me feel relieved. I don’t want to be mixed up in all the death and destruction that surrounds him. If I am pregnant, I sure as hell wouldn’t want to put my baby in that kind of danger. But the thought of raising a child all alone is terrifying—and more than that, it makes me want to cry every time I think about going back to a life without Maks in it.
I have no clue what Maks might make of being a father. Maybe he would blame me for getting pregnant and want nothing to do with the child, or he could want me to get rid of it, considering how clear he is on not wanting a family. The thought makes my stomach knot, and I press my fist to my lips as I gag reflexively. I need to find out if I’m carrying his child, and I need to figure it out quietly so he never has to know. I haven’t thought about running again since the night I came back to Maks. I appreciate his protection, and he’s right. I need it. But just this once, I’ll have to risk sneaking out, and my best chance of success is now—when Maks is asleep, the bedroom door unlocked, and his guards at their least attentive.
Taking a deep, steadying breath, I steel my nerves and get up. Slowly, I ease the door open and pad softly across the bathroom tiles. They’re warm under my feet—heated, no doubt, and it reminds me of the wealth and luxury that surrounds Maks. His child would never want for anything, but I can take care of a baby on my own. I would do whatever necessary to protect my baby. My maternal instinct is shockingly strong when I’m not even sure I am pregnant yet, but it sends a thrill through my stomach as I realize I would want to keep this baby—even if the unexpected responsibility terrifies me.
I would love to brush my teeth after throwing up, but I can’t risk any unnecessary noise that might wake Maks. As I reach the open doorway between the en suite bathroom and the master bedroom, I pause to make sure he’s not already awake. The sun is just starting to creep over the horizon, casting a soft golden glow across Maks’s face. He looks peaceful in his sleep, his face younger, somehow, without the stress of what must constantly weigh on his mind. But he still looks powerful and masculine, every inch of his muscular back covered in ink and on full display. His arm is stretched across the vacant space I usually occupy in his bed, and my chest aches with the deep desire to climb back beneath the covers and into his arms. Maybe if I ignore them, my symptoms would just go away. Maybe it is just a stomach bug, and my period is late because I’ve been under a lot of stress lately, what with having a Bratva leader holding me prisoner and all. But my gut feeling tells me it’s not that simple.
Pressing my lips together, I hold my breath, not daring to even breathe as I pad silently toward the dresser to snag his wallet. Then I tiptoe to the bedroom doors. Resting my hand on the handle, I turn it a millimeter at a time until I feel the latch give. With a final glance behind me, I slip through the doorway, keeping the handle compressed on the outside so I can close it just as quietly.
Only then do I release my breath, and I creep down the hall, keeping one ear focused on the bedroom as I listen and watch for movement ahead of me. Normally, Maks doesn’t keep guards inside the penthouse overnight, and I’m hoping desperately that’s still true. I have no clue how I’ll handle it when I get to the lobby, but my best chance of getting out of here successfully is to take it one step at a time. That means reaching the front door first.
I haven’t crossed paths with a single soul as I arrive at the entryway and press the call button for the elevator. I would take the stairs if I could, but that door is locked at all times, and I’ve never seen the key—I suspect Maks has it locked in his office. The elevator dings, announcing its arrival, and I flinch, glancing over my shoulder as I wonder if the noise is loud enough to wake Maks.
Thankfully, he still hasn’t appeared by the time the doors slide closed behind me, and I glance down at my bare legs and feet as I address my next problem. I’m not trying to run, I remind myself. I’m sure the walk to a convenience store won’t be far. I just hope they’ll let me inside without pants or shoes. I should have thought of that before I left the room.
As I watch the numbers count down on the indicator at the top of the panel of buttons, a thought strikes me, and I press the button for the second floor as I quickly descend toward the ground level. It lets me out onto a long hallway a moment later, and I glance each direction, looking for an exit sign.
There.
If I’m fast enough, I can make it to the first floor and use the arriving elevator as a distraction. Rushing as quickly and quietly as I can, I crack open the stairwell door leading out into the lobby. Maks’s men have their backs turned as they study the empty elevator that stands open before them. I don’t understand a word of their Russian, and I don’t stick around to find out as I close the door and speed around the corner before they can notice me.
Now I just have to make it past the guards at the front door—and not be seen by the porter. He’s working on what looks like a crossword puzzle at the front desk, his attention focused downward, so he doesn’t notice me with my back against the wall on the far side of a thick pillar. I use the towering structures to hide my movement as I make my way to the front door, tucking myself behind one as I reach the revolving glass. At this time of the morning, it’s still—no one going in or out.
I take a moment to assess my options. The two burly tattooed men at the door stare out at the street, their expressions muted, bored even. The dark-haired one to the right says something I can’t hear through the glass, and his curly-haired counterpart must say something funny in response as a grin parts his lips. Another silent exchange, then the dark-haired one gives a sharp nod and gestures to the coffee shop as the Open sign illuminates. He must get confirmation from his buddy because he heads across the street with purpose, glancing either way to ensure no cars are coming before he steps off the sidewalk.
My heart skips a beat at the unexpected sound of a phone ringing at the front desk. The porter answers, his voice low but it carries a definitive note of respect. Then sharp steps snap across the lobby as he marches to the front door and opens it, leaning out to speak to the curly-haired guard. The man frowns and shakes his head, glances across the street at his partner, then follows the porter inside.
I can’t be this lucky, can I? Adrenaline surges through my veins as I watch my window of opportunity open wide before me. As soon as the two men pass my hiding spot, I race toward the side door they were using, catching it right before it closes.
Bitter wind slices across my skin as I step out into the early-morning cold, but I don’t slow down. Instead, I take a sharp left to minimize my visibility from the lobby, and I don’t look back as I hurry down the street. Wearing nothing but an oversized T-shirt and lace panties, I might as well be naked, and goosebumps erupt across every inch of my body.
It’s just over a block to the twenty-four-hour convenience store I’ve stopped in once or twice before during my nights on the town with my work friends. Those evenings feel like a lifetime ago now, as the familiar tinkle of a bell rings above my head, announcing my arrival.
“Good morning,” the clerk says cheerily, his accent telling me he’s probably from India, though the high shelving and ads taped to the glass around the front counter hide him from view.
“Morning,” I respond, gratefully ducking further behind cover before he can see that I’m not adequately dressed for his store.
I head toward the back of the convenience store, where the refrigerated drinks line the wall and the collection of travel toiletries are held. Next to that is a single row of pregnancy tests, and I snatch one off the shelf along with a small bottle of mouthwash, then I grab the largest bottle of water I can find. Taking them all up to the register, I stand as close to the counter as I can while he rings me up to hide my legs as best as I can.
His sidelong glance tells me he noticed my odd choice in wardrobe—or maybe it’s the fact that I’m not wearing a bra and I’m cold enough I’m sure he can tell. Either way, he’s nice enough not to mention it as he rings up my items and gives me my total. Digging into Maks’s wallet, I take out the appropriate amount of cash, my heart pounding as I realize he has nearly a thousand dollars in large bills just casually stashed in his wallet.
“May I use your restroom?” I ask as the cashier hands me my receipt.
“Sure. You need a key.” Reaching across the counter, he passes me a tiny gold key attached by a string to a large blue-and-white plaque of a stick-figure woman in a triangle dress.
“Thanks.” Taking it and my small bag of purchases, I avoid his eyes as I rush toward the bathroom to deal with my business before I go back to Maks’s condo. This way, I can dispose of any evidence.
Locking myself in the bathroom, I start by chugging the water, then as I give myself a few minutes to digest it as I crack open the mouthwash and head to the sink. My reflection is worse than I anticipated, my hair a tangled mess around my face, and I comb the tangles out of it with my fingers as I swish the mouthwash around my teeth. Lastly, I head to the toilet and take a seat as I unwrap the box of pregnancy tests. I’ll take both—just in case.
Capping them, I set them on the back of the toilet to wait for my results, and those three minutes are the longest of my life. I wash my hands and bite my nails, anything to keep myself occupied while I wait. Then I tentatively step forward to read the small window on each stick. Two little pink lines glare up at me from each.
“Fuck.”
I’m definitely pregnant. I had a pretty strong feeling before I took the tests. But knowing with certainty is something else entirely, and buzzing shock numbs my body as my ears start to ring. I’ve never really thought about starting a family before. The idea of being close enough to someone to want a child was a bit outside the stretch of my imagination, so I hadn’t considered it closely. But now that I am, without doubt, going to have a child, a tingling anticipation warms my belly. I press a palm against my abdomen, looking down at it as I truly considered what my body is capable of for the first time.
I’m going to have a baby, and knowing that upends everything I thought I might be coming to terms with about Maks and his world. All the inner dialogue I had sitting on the floor of his bathroom feels completely irrelevant now. Because this isn’t about me or him anymore. The only one who matters is this child. Should I tell Maks about it when he doesn’t even want to be in my life?
I’d intended to go back to the condo after I had my answer, but suddenly, the realization that I could run hits me with full force. I have enough cash from his wallet to get out of town. I could hop on a bus and be gone before he even wakes up. And if I don’t do it now, I won’t likely get the opportunity again. Yes, Maks said he would let me go, eventually, but what if he changes his mind? What if he finds out I’m pregnant? Am I willing to gamble my baby’s life on the word of a man who has both the means and the determination to kill someone in cold blood?
It’s not even a question in my mind. Squaring my shoulders, I toss my spent purchases in the trash and head straight for the front counter. “Thanks so much,” I say again, dropping off the key on my way out the door. It’s too early to buy a jacket, and I shouldn’t waste time going in and out of stores this close to Maks’s condo. I’ll head straight to the train station, get on the first bus out of town, and make a plan once I’m on the road. I just hope I don’t freeze to death before I get that far.
Arms wrapped tightly around my waist, I clench my teeth to keep them from chattering as I walk briskly down the sidewalk. I keep my head on a swivel as I go, looking out for any sign that Maks or his men have caught on to my absence. As I reach the next intersection, I glance across the street, and the hair on the back of my neck stands on end as I find someone watching me. A tall, lean man with dark hair and a hooked nose. His caramel-colored gaze and angular features remind me of a hawk, and the way he’s following me with his eyes only reinforces the visual.
Stomach knotting anxiously, I pick up my pace—and he pushes off the wall he’s leaning against to walk in the same direction. Several lanes of traffic stand between us, but at this hour, it wouldn’t be too difficult for him to cross if he is, in fact, following me. The possibility makes my steps falter, and he slows to match my speed.
Damn it.
Chills race down my spine as I come to an abrupt halt and he turns to face me, no longer even trying to pretend he’s not following me. I was a fool for thinking I could make it on my own. Like Maks warned me—I need his protection. I couldn’t even make it a mile without catching unwanted attention. I have to get back—and hopefully, I can make it in time.
Spinning on my heel, I don’t bother hiding my intentions as I sprint toward Maks’s penthouse.