14. Laila
14
LAILA
I must be dreaming.
My dreams of Arsen usually involve him already in my bed, not climbing through my window, but I guess I don’t mind a burglar fantasy every now and then.
I scramble to the window, my heart lodged in my throat. Even as I lift it, I expect him to disappear. I expect to wake up. Instead, Arsen throws a leg over the sill and pulls himself inside.
“We have a pretty nice front door, you know. You should know—you paid for it.”
The first time I’ve seen him in eight months, and that’s my opening line?
The first time he’s seeing me in eight months, and he crawls through my window?
What a pair we make.
Witty as my opener is, Arsen doesn’t smile. He’s too busy staring down at my stomach like he’s never seen anything like it.
I’m still not used to my new shape—that shape being spherical—so I cross my arms over my abdomen like I might be able to hide myself.
“Arsen, what are you doing here?”
His eyes lift, finding mine like a heat-seeking missile, which is apt, because my cheeks are burning with warmth.
I’m glad the lights are off.
I’m glad he can’t see how much his presence affects me.
“I had to come,” he breathes, and maybe I’m still dreaming, after all. He’s actually here to see me. He wants to see me.
Then he looks over my shoulders, scanning the room like he expects someone else to be lurking. “You have to come with me.”
Scratch that. He wants to kidnap me.
This particular fantasy played itself out more quickly than I would’ve thought.
“What are you talking about?”
He walks to my closet and tears it open. “Pack a bag.”
My hands tighten over my stomach protectively. “It’s been months—literally months—of silence, and now, you show up in the middle of the night and expect me to pack and leave with you?”
“We don’t have time to argue. Trust me.”
I bark out a bitter laugh. “That’s the last thing on Earth I plan on doing.”
How many times have I sat under the tree in the backyard and planned what I’d say to Arsen if I had the chance? I’ve rehearsed ranting and sobbing about how he used and discarded me, or hitting him with an I’m-not-mad-just-disappointed frown. On dark days, there was begging—for the contract to be void, for the two of us to work out some kind of shared custody.
But now, he’s here in front of me, and I can’t drum up a single word.
The worst part is that he’s not here because he’s overcome with missing me. Or because he regrets not being there for his own daughter.
He’s here because he expects to snap his fingers and get his way.
Well, fuck that .
I flick on the lamp next to my bed, blinking against the sudden brightness. “I’m your surrogate, but that doesn’t mean you get to waltz into my life and—” I turn to face him and gasp. “Oh my God, you’re bleeding.” Everything I was going to say drains away as I rush towards him. “You’re covered in blood. You’re hurt?—”
“It’s fine,” he says.
“‘Fine’?!” I grab his arm, twisting it towards the light. Blood streaks across his forearms and is soaked through his sleeves. “This is not ‘fine’! There’s blood everywhere. You need to get to a hospital.”
Is this why he’s here? He got hurt, and he wanted to see me?
“It’s fine because it’s not mine.”
I go cold. His green eyes are hooded but clear. He’s not weak from blood loss or fading towards unconsciousness.
It’s not his blood…
Which means it belongs to someone else.
And if Arsen is here and needs me to leave, it must mean the house is no longer secure. Which means…
I stumble back, shaking my head. “Not Dominik.”
His eyes narrow. “That would upset you, would it?”
“What kind of question is that? Of course it would upset me! Dominik is my friend.”
“Is that all the two of you are? Friends ?” He says it like it’s a dirty word. Like he’s never had a friend.
Hell, maybe he hasn’t.
“What do you care? You’re married.”
“Not anymore.”
Too much is happening too fast. I can’t keep up.
“Where is she?”
He holds out his bloody arms like that’s all the evidence needed. “Dead.”
The possibility that Arsen is responsible doesn’t even cross my mind. Nor does the possibility that he’s lying.
Instinctively, I reach for him. “I’m… I’m so sorry, Arsen.”
He pulls back. “I don’t need you to be sorry. I need you to pack a bag.”
“How did she die?”
“She was assassinated for no other reason than she was my wife, which means you—” His voice breaks, and he wheezes out a harsh breath before starting over. “You could be a target, and I need to get you out of this fucking house, Laila. Now.”
Assassination ? Target ? I feel lightheaded.
I probably should have asked this question a long time ago but… “Who the hell are you?”
“That’s an explanation for another time. Right now?—”
He makes a move towards me, but I jerk away. “I’m not going anywhere with you until I know exactly who you are and why we have to leave.”
His green eyes sizzle and crack. His hands clench like he’s planning to scoop me up and squeeze my pregnant ass through the window with or without my cooperation. “Fine. You want an explanation? I’m Arsen Adamov, CEO of Adamov Liquor?—”
“I know that al?—”
“And pakhan of the Adamov Bratva, the biggest cartel in this city,” he finishes.
It feels like something is closing in around my throat. “You… you run a gang ?”
“My enemies took out my wife tonight. There’s a good chance they’re going to come after you next.”
“But I’m not your wife,” I squeak. “I haven’t even seen you since we…”
I don’t finish. What we did is large and obvious between us.
Arsen looks down at my stomach. “You’re carrying my heir.”
“I must be dreaming,” I whisper, a burst of manic laughter exploding out of me. “This is just a very realistic dream and soon, I’ll wake up and— ouch !” I cry as he grabs my arm and twists me towards him.
“You’re not dreaming, roza, but this could turn into a goddamn nightmare if you don’t listen to me. You’re in danger and so is my child. Now—” He pulls me closer, his eyes boring into mine. “—pack a fucking bag before I pack it for you.”
I manage to stuff exactly three things into a duffel before my hands are shaking too much to continue. Arsen zips it up and flings it over his shoulder.
“Fuck it. I’ll send someone for the rest of your stuff later. We don’t have time.”
“I can’t just leave!”
“Did you not just hear me?”
“I heard you!” I say. “But my mother is here. If I’m in danger, then she?—”
“Your mother will be fine. No one will be concerned with her. In any case, I have security watching the house for her.”
“I can’t just disappear in the dead of night without an explanation. She’ll worry.”
“She’ll feel worse if you’re dead, Laila.” He grabs my arm and pulls me towards him. “I will not watch you die like Natascha.”
My heart aches for him—for everything he’s been through.
But I’ve been through a lot, too.
“I’m going to speak to my mother before I leave with you,” I insist.
Again, his hand tightens around my arm, and I’m sure he’s about to bundle me up in my comforter and drag me out of the room.
Instead, he releases me. “Make it fast.”
He scrapes a bloody hand through his hair, and a gold watch flashes on his wrist. A priceless gold watch, streaked with blood. Subtlety in symbolism is for the fucking birds, apparently.
The proof has been there all along, but I only saw what I wanted to see.
“Arsen?” I hesitate in the doorway. I know the answer before I even ask, but I have to hear him say it. “You’re a dangerous man, aren’t you?”
“Not to you, roza. ” His green eyes are shrouded in shadow. “Never to you.”