Chapter 8 Kiren #2
His breathing is rough now, the effort of the shove pulling against the injury that holds his shoulder stiff in the sling. He stares at me with a mixture of fury and disbelief, like he’s still deciding whether shoving me was enough.
“You were supposed to protect her,” he says, his voice tight with anger.
I briefly consider responding the way I would with anyone else who put their hands on me. Instead, I let it pass. He earned that much.
“I’m bringing her back,” I tell him.
Ethan searches my face as if he’s trying to decide whether the certainty behind those words is real or just another promise that won’t mean anything if Rowan doesn’t come home.
After a moment, I gesture toward the house. “Come inside,” I add. “We’ll talk in my study.”
For a heartbeat, it looks like he might refuse. His eyes move briefly toward the men surrounding the entrance before returning to me. Then he exhales hard and nods once.
“Fine.”
I turn toward the door and start up the steps. Behind me, Ethan follows without a word. I can hear the uneven pull of his breathing and the muted scrape of his shoes on the stone, the sound of a man forcing himself forward through anger that hasn’t found an outlet yet.
Inside, the house is quiet. The study door stands partially open at the end of the hallway, warm light spilling across the floorboards. Ethan moves past me as soon as we step inside.
Mikel stops near the doorway, his attention fixed on Ethan the way a man watches something that might turn dangerous again.
I glance toward him. “Give us a minute.”
He hesitates only briefly before nodding and stepping back into the hallway, pulling the door closed behind him.
By the time the latch clicks, Ethan is already pacing across the carpet in front of the desk, his steps restless and uneven. His injured shoulder remains stiff in the sling, but the rest of him moves like a coiled spring that hasn’t decided whether to snap or hold.
He stops a few feet away from me, his breathing still uneven from the confrontation outside. His hands remain clenched at his sides, knuckles pale against the dim light of the study. He stares at me. Anger burns in his eyes, but beneath it sits fear.
“You told her she’d be safe around you,” he says finally, his voice rough with frustration.
The words scrape through the quiet room like broken glass. I don’t answer immediately. The accusation deserves more than the first response that comes to mind.
Ethan exhales sharply and turns away, pacing once across the carpet before dragging his good hand through his hair like he’s trying to grab hold of a thought that won’t stay still.
“Rowan trusted you. She trusted you, and now she’s gone.”
I rest my fingers against the edge of the desk beside me, the polished wood cool beneath my palm as I lean against it. The contact gives me a moment to regain my composure before I answer.
“Yes.”
The blunt confirmation affects him more than any argument would have. Ethan stares at me like he expected something else; denial, excuses, or some version of the truth that might soften the reality of what happened.
“You’re just going to admit that?” he demands.
“I’m not interested in pretending otherwise.”
He almost looks like he might laugh, but the sound that leaves him is closer to disbelief than humor. He turns away once more and begins pacing the length of the room, the carpet muffling his footsteps but not the agitation behind them.
“Do you even understand what kind of people come after men like you?” he presses, turning back toward me. “Do you understand the world you dragged her into?”
I meet his gaze without shifting. “Yes.”
This time, the word is harder to say. Because I do understand it. I understand every corner of this world, and every man who survives inside it by being more ruthless than the next. And I dragged Rowan straight into it anyway.
“Then why the hell was she anywhere near it?” he demands.
The question lingers long enough that I hear the faint ticking of the clock mounted high on the wall behind the shelves.
“Because Rowan made choices,” I reply finally. “And I didn’t stop her.”
Ethan’s jaw tightens so hard the muscles along his neck stand out. “You think that makes it okay?”
I shake my head once. “No. But it makes it real.”
The silence that follows thickens as he studies my face, clearly trying to decide whether shoving me again would change anything.
“She’s missing because of you,” he says more quietly now.
“I know.” I fold my arms loosely across my chest. “And I will get her back.”
Ethan exhales slowly, the anger still simmering beneath the surface but beginning to change into something darker. The burst of fury that drove him to shove me outside has burned off just enough for the reality of the situation to start pushing through.
“Who took Rowan?”
“Arkady Voronin.”
The name means nothing to him. I see it in the brief hint of confusion that crosses his expression, but the tone behind it is enough to tell him the man matters.
“And Arkady is… who exactly?”
“A man who thought he had leverage,” I say matter-of-factly.
Ethan narrows his eyes. “Thought?”
“Yes.”
Something in my voice makes him pause.
“You’re talking about this like you already know how it ends.”
“I know how it has to end.”
Before he can respond, headlights sweep suddenly across the tall study windows as a vehicle approaches the estate gates. The brief wash of white light slides across the bookshelves and the far wall before disappearing again.
I look toward the window immediately. Ethan notices and glances that way, too.
“Are you expecting someone?” he asks.
“No,” I reply slowly, pushing away from the desk.
That alone tells me something is wrong. I cross the room and pull the curtain aside just enough to see the front drive. The gates are opening, the heavy iron bars sliding apart as a single black SUV rolls forward beneath the security lights.
It isn’t one of mine.
Mikel appears in the doorway behind us, his posture alert.
“You’ll want to see this,” he says quietly.
Ethan follows us out of the study without waiting to be invited.
The cold night air greets us the moment the front doors open, snow crunching beneath our shoes as we step out onto the wide stone steps overlooking the drive.
Below, the SUV rolls to a stop beneath the floodlights, its engine idling while my men close in around it from every direction. No one inside moves.
Beside me, Mikel glances over. “Driver refused to explain himself,” he murmurs.
I walk down the steps slowly. The driver’s door opens before I reach the vehicle. A man I don’t recognize steps out with his hands slightly raised, his posture cautious but not panicked.
“I was instructed to deliver something,” he explains.
“By who?” I press, stopping a few feet away.
“Ivan.”
The name slices through the quiet night.
“Open the back,” I instruct.
He hesitates before walking to the rear of the SUV and lifting the hatch. The smell of blood reaches us immediately. Mikel inhales sharply behind me.
Arkady’s body lies inside the vehicle, his coat soaked dark with blood where the bullet tore through his chest. His head rests awkwardly against the metal frame of the cargo area, his eyes open but empty beneath the harsh spill of the estate lights.
A note has been pinned to his chest. Mikel reaches in and removes it carefully before handing it to me, the paper folded once, clean and deliberate in a way that tells me this wasn’t an afterthought.
I unfold the note slowly while my men hold their distance nearby. The handwriting is precise and controlled, exactly the kind of detail I would expect from Ivan.
Arkady misunderstood leverage.
Rowan and the child she carries are alive. For now.
If you want them to remain that way, you will come alone.
No men. No surveillance. No delay.
Warehouse 17
Old Stowe Yard
Midnight
For a moment, the words remain perfectly clear. Then the meaning reaches the part of my mind that hadn’t yet considered the possibility.
The child she carries.
My hand tightens around the paper.
Behind me, Ethan’s voice breaks the silence.
“What does it say?”
I don’t answer right away. The sentence repeats itself in my head.
Rowan and the child she carries.
Shock arrives first. It’s brief, slipping through my thoughts like cold water before vanishing almost immediately. What follows replaces it completely.
Rage.
Not the kind that explodes outward. The kind that builds slowly, gathering heat beneath the surface until every thought sharpens into something dangerous.
Mikel studies my expression carefully. “That bad?” he asks quietly.
I hand him the note. He reads it once, his eyes moving across the page quickly before returning to the beginning. His jaw clenches when he finishes.
Ethan steps forward. “What does it say?” he repeats.
Mikel hesitates before handing him the paper. Ethan reads it faster, confusion crossing his face before the final sentence lands.
“What child?” he blurts.
I stare at Arkady’s body in the back of the SUV while the answer takes shape in my mind. Rowan didn’t tell me, which means she only found out recently.
Ethan lowers the note slowly beside me. “You’re telling me Rowan is pregnant?”
The word echoes through the night. Pregnant. My child. For a moment, the world around me seems to narrow, not quieter but more focused.
Ivan knows. Which means he intends to use it.
Ethan drags a hand across his face, disbelief still written across every line of it. “She’s carrying your baby and you didn’t even know?”
“No,” I answer, my voice lower now. “Which means she only found out recently and didn’t have time to tell me.”
“Jesus Christ.” Ethan stares at the paper again like the words might rearrange themselves if he looks long enough. “It says you have to go alone.”
I take the note, already thinking three steps ahead of the trap Ivan expects me to walk into. “That’s the condition he wrote down,” I reply evenly.
Ethan lifts his hand sharply. “You’re not actually considering that?”
I glance once more at Arkady’s body lying in the back of the SUV. Ivan has already removed one obstacle tonight, and the message pinned to Arkady’s chest makes it clear he intends to remove the rest just as efficiently.
“My focus is bringing Rowan home,” I reply, my voice firm.
“And your baby,” Ethan adds quietly.
The words change the shape of the moment. Until now, Rowan had been leverage in someone else’s plan, a piece on a board that men like Arkady and Ivan believe they control. But this is different. She isn’t a strategy, pressure, or anything that can be traded.
She’s mine.
Mikel steps a little closer, his expression thoughtful as he glances from the SUV then back to me. “You’ll want time to think this through,” he remarks.
“I already have,” I reply, sliding the folded paper back into my pocket.
Mikel exhales slowly and drags a hand through his hair while looking out across the drive, the lights from the estate reflecting faintly off the SUV where Arkady’s body still rests in the back.
“You’re really going to walk straight into a trap?”
“Yes.”
Mikel studies me before giving a small nod. “Then we better bring her home.”
Ivan made one mistake tonight. He told me Rowan is carrying my child, and that means this is no longer a negotiation.
Now it’s war.