22. Lifesaver
22
LIFESAVER
Many unexpected things have occurred over these past few weeks, but Alice getting pregnant has to be the most shocking.
Really, it’s not. We all came inside of her.
Several times.
I’m surprised that one of our aging swimmers has managed to hit bullseye.
I speed down the highway, maneuvering around traffic.
Peter’s house probably isn’t the best location to be discussing a pregnancy, but Brander doesn’t think about these things and acts illogically in emergency situations. It’s why he’s killed three times as many people as Match and I combined. “Alice is pregnant, get to Peter’s now,” was the only thing he said on the call before he dropped the line.
Fuck. I’ve always wanted kids, but my reasons have always been pretty selfish. It’s about having a mini version of yourself crossed with the woman you love wandering around the house you bought together. It’s about getting to name them and see them grow, and about embracing the adventure that comes with bringing up a child. Doctor’s wages would definitely give the infant a good childhood. I could buy a house with ample land for them to run around in. We could play tag together, and I could build a play area so when their friends visit, they’d be outdoors having fun.
But I can’t be a dad and a member of the Venom Vultures.
It’d be too dangerous.
I’d have to give up the leather jacket, the Harley, and the desert cruising.
And that shit is my life.
Could I do both?
Grizzly sure does. So do a couple others.
But it’s a risk.
A game of what-ifs for the rest of your life.
As we pass the sign for Summerlin , my gut crunches. I see the appeal now. You want to protect your child and keep them safe, and cornering your family away in Summerlin ensures that.
I jump off the Harley when we arrive at Peter’s. Don’t even knock when I get to the front door. Match trails behind me, scratching his arm an excessive amount of times like the nervous wreck he is.
Alice stands in the hallway and Brander, when he turns around to face us, sticks the pregnancy test in our faces.
It’s confirmed.
He’s not just chatting shit.
“Maybe you should do another,” Match says. “Just to make sure.”
“No,” says Alice. Her face is pale. “False positives aren’t a thing.”
“The lines are both clear too,” Brander says.
Match lingers in the doorway behind me, so I step aside.
He doesn’t want to face the fact.
He needs to grow some balls and wake the fuck up. This is our reality now, and as much as it pains us with anxiety, considering the Bratva are currently on everybody’s tail, it’s a blessing. Alice isn’t just some woman we slept with a couple times. She’s the cornerstone in each of our lives.
And she’s carrying our child.
It doesn’t matter whose sperm made it.
What matters is that we’re welcoming a youngster into the world who will be loved dearly by four individuals, not the standard two.
“We could make it work,” I say.
Alice’s eyes soften. God, she’s a beauty, even if her skin looks paler than the tops of the Rockies during winter. She looks like a princess. Her hair, a golden blonde, cascades long over one shoulder, and her emerald-green eyes sparkle in the evening sun. A few tears have slipped from her eyes, ones she must’ve cornered away before our arrival.
I embrace her in a hug.
Two slender arms wrap tightly around me.
“Do you wanna keep it, sweetheart?” I ask. “What’s running through your head?”
She sniffles and looks into my eyes. Like a fish, her lips open and close in an attempt to speak. It’s a difficult question, and maybe one I shouldn’t have asked, but her eyes eventually still over mine so I know she’s come to a decision.
“I think?—”
BANG!
Alice’s eyes go wide.
I whip around to see Match cocking his gun.
A black figure invites himself in, takes two more steps, and then pauses to look at each one of us. At least that’s what I think he’s doing. A balaclava conceals his face, and shielding the eyes are a pair of black Dolce and Gabbana sunnies. It’s the sort of look that wouldn’t even startle a kid, to be honest. Looks like a costume, not a disguise, with the logo bold down one of the temples. It’s something a fourteen-year-old boy would wear to impress the friends he doesn’t have at school.
And for some reason he thinks he’s got rights to swan into Peter’s house with a high neck and crossed arms like he means business.
“It’s him,” I hear Alice murmur between gritted teeth.
Match circles around to assess. Narrowing his eyes, he laughs. “It’s you from the parking lot. The Bratva apprentice. Has Vlad sent you out to do dirty work again for him? What is it this time? Let me guess…” He curls a finger under his chin. “Kidnapping Alice? Am I right in thinking this will be your fourth attempt?”
“Shut up.”
Match snorts. “Or what? You’re gonna punch me again? Fucking psycho.”
“What’s that?” The bastard lowers his hand to the pregnancy test in Brander’s hand.
Brandy slips it into his pocket.
“You. Fatty—what were you holding?”
We all laugh in unison because this guy is skin and bone and probably still has a higher body fat percentage than Brander.
“I don’t have to answer you,” Brander says calmly.
“Is that so?”
Brander stares the attacker down.
He doesn’t budge.
Until he does.
Toward Alice.
Suddenly the Dolce shades aren’t as funny when he presses the length of his knife to her neck. He grips the handle. Edges his face closer. “Death is a funny thing, isn’t it?”
I tense my jaw.
“That is, until it comes to someone you love.” He eyes Match. “Isn’t that right, Grandpa? Fair play, I must say, for marrying a girl half your age. I hope we can all take a page out of your book. It’s pretty impressive. Unfortunately for you”—he teases the knife closer—“you’re gonna have to find yourself another chick, but it’s not gonna be easy. There’s not many girls out there like Alice.”
I reach into Brander’s pocket and retrieve the pregnancy test.
Then I throw it toward the bastard. “Here. You can let go now.”
And fucking hell, he does. Not just from Alice. From reality completely.
The guy crashes into the wall, hands shaking as he directs his face to the test. Can he even see properly with the shades on? Looks like it, judging from the sharp breaths and the shocked “You’re pregnant?!” that exits his mouth.
His head turns to Alice.
She doesn’t reply. Instead she steps forward and rips the balaclava from his head.
Attagirl .
“Oh my god.”
That’s not the kind of response I expected from her.
Match, Brander, and I eye one another.
Her eyes soften into something that concerns me. They look at him familiarly, like they have history. Good history, because enemies don’t look at one another with dilating pupils, holding their breaths.
“Levi?”
Her face crumbles into an expression I’ve never seen her pull before. Anger pulls at the corner of her lips. They open. Press together. Open again.
I suppose speechlessness in this situation is normal. What are you supposed to say to a cheating ex-lover who has tried to kidnap you multiple times? Curse words don’t cut it, but if she wants me to beat his ass, for Match to pull the trigger, or for Brander to scald his face until it turns even uglier, all she has to do is say the word.
I expect Alice to slap the guy, but she instead breaks out into a belly laugh. Then she’s bending down to pick up the Dolce glasses, examining them in her hands.
“Seriously? The Bratva?” she asks Levi.
“Seriously?” he retorts. “This guy?” He gestures at Match.
“Actually”—she steps forward—“it isn’t just Match.” Her eyes turn to me and Brandy.
Levi scoffs, realization catching up with him. “You married all three? They’re ancient.”
“And somehow a much better fuck than you ever were.”
Mic drop.
I stifle a laugh.
“I can’t believe you married three men twice your age, Alice.”
“And I can’t believe you fucked another woman up against the wall,” she says.
“It was a mistake.”
“Let me guess. Your dick deceived you? You saw tits bigger than mine and had to act because you have zero fucking self-restraint?” She throws the sunglasses to the floor and crushes them, shattered pieces of glass spreading across the marble floor. “See this as a favor, by the way. You look bad, but a little less terrible without these on your face.” She inches closer. “I see now why you’re wearing them, though. How much sleep did you get last night? Last year , even? You call Match Grandpa but you look older than him.”
She’s not wrong. Black circles ring around his eyes. It looks like somebody has punched him, but not quite, because there’s no sign of swelling or bruising.
The same can’t be said for his nose—a bandage wraps around it. Patients at the hospital have looked in better condition. Either the bastard’s recovering from a cosmetic nose surgery—which he probably needs if his nose is anything close to the size of his ears—or he’s been punched. Hard.
She folds her arms over her chest. She tries to hide it, but she’s upset. She clenches her jaw to stop it from quivering. “How long have you been working with the Bratva, then?”
“For,” I correct. “There is no with.”
“Indeed,” Brander says. “The Russians don’t work in collaboration. Recruits think they’re in partnership, but they’re not at all. They’re pawns. ” He stares at Levi. “Spare parts, at that.”
I wouldn’t put the guy at a day older than thirty. Despite the blemished skin and severely tired eyes, Levi’s skin still looks youthful. Fine lines started developing on my face when I was twenty-three, one year after signing with the Venom Vultures, because unlike Bratva bastards, we actually dare to show our faces. None of us have owned masks. Not even Bane—the dude with scars plastered across his face—has ever once hid his identity.
The Venom Vultures’ HQ is the desert.
These guys play in the shadows.
Levi shuts his eyes and exhales a breath like he feels sorry for himself.
“Tough day in the office?” I ask.
That gets a laugh from the other two.
Alice manages a smirk.
“Look, you have to let me explain,” Levi says.
Alice hitches her crossed arms further up her chest. “You expect us to believe you?”
“I saved you, Alice,” he says. “I was the one that got you out of the hotel room.”
“My savior ,” she falsettos. “Is it time for me to bend the knee, curtsy and owe you my life?” The amusement fades. “You threw me into a strip club. How is that saving?”
“I couldn’t go against Vlad’s request.”
I knew he was Vlad’s little pet.
“Why not?” Alice says. “What are you trying to achieve?”
The bastard runs a hand through his brown hair. Deep fryers have held less fucking grease than his mop-looking hair.
Levi exhales another breath and focuses his eyes on Alice. “Let me explain.”
Alice doesn’t bite back this time. Instead she gestures him further into the house he probably knows better than the back of his hand from visiting when they were together.
The whole ordeal makes my skin crawl.
Alice hadn’t been with another man before us.
Shouldn’t have ever been with another man.
But it’s okay.
Apparently he’s shit in bed. Looks it, to be honest. He’s as scrawny as they come. Clearly doesn’t know how to treat women either.
Alice turns around, signaling all three of us to come in.
We all share the same worried look, striding into the house after her, because Peter could walk in any second now.
And then we’d all be toast.