Chapter Sixteen
Nikolai
I want to wrap my arms around Lauren to stop her from shaking, but I restrain myself.
She looks petrified but I guess that’s the consequence of her own actions. I told her to stop what she’s doing. Not once. Maybe this is where she finally decides to be smart.
She wraps her two shaking arms around herself, her chest rising and falling in rhythm with her shallow breathing. She’s trying to hold it together, I can tell—she tips her chin when she wants to look confident, but it’s not working. The woman is clearly terrified.
I cross my arms over my chest and wait. Is she scared of me, or the lifeless body on the ground? Maybe it’s both.
After shaking like a leaf for a few more moments, she turns around, heading for the street.
I pull her back. “Where do you think you’re going?”
Her breath hitches, her eyes filled with terror. “You killed a man, Nikolai.”
“So? Would you rather he killed you and our unborn child?”
This makes her shake even more, causing her to tighten her arms around herself. There’s no color to her face, her lips a gray hue like she’s suffering from hypothermia.
“This is no longer a game, Lauren. You’re coming with me and you’re staying at my place.”
“What?” she snaps. “Are you out of your mind?” Her voice comes out sharp, controlled despite her fear.
Instead of answering, I nod at the dead guy. “Do you think they won’t send somebody else?”
She swallows thickly, eyeing the man on the floor. She wants me to be wrong, but she knows I’m right.
“Next time I might not be around to save you.”
She stares at me, her jaw set. I know what she’s thinking. I always fucking know what she’s thinking. Is it just the baby’s life I’m concerned with, or is it her life, too? Would I still have intervened and snapped a man’s neck if she wasn’t carrying my child?
I know I would have…
She purses her lips, gazing up at me. She wants to say no, to walk away and pretend she doesn’t need me, but she does need me.
Lauren might be hot-headed, reckless even, but she’s not reckless enough to put her unborn child’s life at risk too.
Stubbornness flashes across her face. “Who is after me?”
I shrug. “Maybe, if you work with me, we can find that out.”
Her eyes remain defiant. “So now you’re willing to share information? How convenient.”
Jesus Christ, this woman!
She’s infuriating.
I raise my tone. She has left me with no choice. “Will you ever stop arguing? This isn’t about control and who can get the last word in. This is about your safety.”
She says nothing, just continues staring at me. The defiance dies in her eyes, something softer replacing it.
After a long silence, she nods curtly. “Fine, I’ll go with you.” She points a finger at me. “But don’t think this changes anything.”
I almost laugh. “Whatever you say, lapochka.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
Instead of answering, I place a hand at her lower back, guiding her back through the alleyway. As expected, she steps away from my touch, preferring to maintain her independence. So I follow behind her, checking over my shoulder to make sure they haven’t sent another assassin already.
It’s a good job I’ve been keeping a close eye on her.
Today’s attack has shown that I can never let her out of my sight. Ever. Aslanov is clearly after her, which just confirms what I already suspected. Lauren is digging into something he doesn’t want her to discover.
I readjust my shirt sleeves. The one I rolled up before is still a bit wonky.
The great thing about breaking a neck is that it leaves no blood, but I catch a bit of saliva on my sleeve that must have dribbled down from the guy’s mouth the second before I cracked his bones.
Fucking bastard. I only picked this shirt up a few of hours ago from the dry cleaners.
There was a time when I used to react the way Lauren does to killing. I was barely a teenager when I first saw my father shoot a man dead. He always had enemies spawning at his back. At the time, I never knew why, but now as Bratva leader, I realize the title comes as a package deal.
Anyway, back when I was a child, I saw death the same way Lauren sees it now—terrifying.
I always thought there must have been another way to win, but when my mother died because of my father, I reached the conclusion that sometimes there isn’t.
Sometimes the only way to win is to show your teeth and make a statement.
And in my world, that doesn’t happen without taking a life or two.
My father won for a time before his death—he was cold-blooded, and therefore a natural. He didn’t care much that he lost his wife. All he cared about from that day to his last was power and principle. He kept on winning until his death, when he was finally captured and killed by the Italians.
But my cause of death isn’t going to be the Italians.
It’s going to be Lauren and our unborn child.
Yesli eto tak, to pust’ tak i budet.
I keep an eye on her as she walks through the alleyway, arms still huddled around her torso. People aren’t supposed to make me feel things.
But she does.
People are supposed to be two-dimensional, women especially.
Women aren’t supposed to distract me from my work.
I want to think that I’m only invested in her because she’s carrying my child, but deep down, I know it’s more than that.
I knew that Lauren was a huge fucking liability from the beginning.
I still entertained her. I fucked her, thinking it would release all of the sexual tension and set me straight again, but I couldn’t have been more wrong.
I fucked up, and it’s going to cost one of us. But the worst part is that I don’t want her to pay the price.
It will have to be me.
And whether I like it or not, things have already been set in motion.