Chapter 22 – Nik
The sex of the child was irrelevant right now; all that mattered was that a baby was on its way. It was my responsibility to ensure everything was in order before the delivery day.
I must be prepared for the likes of Richard Kane, who would seek to make a move on my Dikaya and the child we were expecting. In my world, enemies would do anything just to prove a point. If he could come after me in my club, he would go after those I cared about.
Before Dikaya and this child, I never had to worry about any loose ends. I was invincible—untouchable because I had no weaknesses. But now, I was responsible for not just one but two lives.
My mind was caught in a storm, especially after seeing the little creature’s form on the screen. Its faint heartbeat still lingered at the back of my head, reminding me of the life in Dikaya’s womb—my future. My legacy.
Ever since the visit to the clinic, I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the baby. I’d been quieter than usual and found myself reflexively withdrawing from Dikaya and everyone else. I needed some time to myself to process and plan my next move.
I was doing the same thing I once criticized her for. How ironic!
I finally understood why she demanded some space—the pressure was overwhelming. It had been a few days since the ultrasound, and we hadn’t had our usual banter, let alone a decent conversation. I found no peace or relief at the bottom of the bottle. So, I resorted to the one thing I was good at.
Violence.
Hitting things had always been therapeutic for me; that was why I locked myself in the private gym for hours, burning some steam.
I stood in front of the punching bag hanging from a steel chain in the middle of the room. The air was thick with the smell of leather and sweat, blending with the soft jazz playing in the background.
My white singlet clung to my body, damp with perspiration, the fabric hugging me like a second skin. With a heaving chest, I carefully wrapped a white cloth around my palm, each tug precise and deliberate. I flexed my fingers to test the tension, my breathing steady and controlled.
Overwhelmed by my present situation, I swung the first punch, and it landed with a sickening thud. The bag jerked from the force, the impact doing little to ease my stress. I struck again, harder this time.
Again. And again. And again. Each punch came sharper, faster, and harder than the last as my shoulders coiled with lethal precision. The more I struck the bag, the lighter I felt—the tension was easing off me bit by bit.
I kept going, my breath coming in ragged gasps, sweat beading down my collarbone and flowing onto my chest. My heartbeat has spiked, adrenaline coursing through my veins. The white cloth I wrapped around my knuckles was supposed to protect my knuckles, but my blows were too forceful.
My thoughts became quieter with each strike, the thought of anything bad happening to my child fueling my rage.
I found solace in the horrible things I’d do to whoever was unfortunate enough to come after my loved ones.
They’d wish they were this punching bag because they’d suffer a fate worse than death.
At this point, the bag was already swinging wildly, the chain creaking at the impact of my skull-crushing blows.
The room was filled with the sounds of my thick grunts as I pictured the bag as an enemy.
My knuckles hurt, but I didn’t stop. I embraced the pain, striking even harder.
My heavy punches left traces of blood on the bag with every blow.
I swung more aggressive punches, pissed at myself this time because, for the first time in a really long time, I had no control over a situation. This girl had awakened something in me, ignited a fire that wouldn’t quench, and stirred up the emotions I once buried.
I knew the right thing to do was find who she truly was, but I was afraid of the truth I’d find. Fear was a feeling I was unfamiliar with, yet with her, it seemed to creep into my heart so easily. And hated it—I hated how confused I was—how vulnerable I felt around her.
It felt like I was turning into someone I hardly recognized, someone driven by the emotions he had once suppressed. Why? Because of a woman.
I threw my hardest punch yet, and the bag swung so wildly that I thought the chain was about to snap. Struggling to catch my ragged breaths, I caught the swinging bag with one hand, stilling its movement.
My jaw tightened, eyes narrowing at the blood stains on the bag. My bruised knuckles ached, but it was worth it in the end, considering the calm I felt within. It wasn’t peace, but it wasn’t rage either.
I stared at the bag, my shoulders rising and falling with steady breaths as I reveled in this small sense of calm. Then it hit me: If this were having such an effect on me, it would be worse on Dikaya.
Perhaps avoiding her these past few days was selfish and thoughtless. She shouldn’t be alone right now.
I let out a soft sigh and rubbed my eyes, thinking about my next move, but my mind was blank at that moment. The only thing on my mind was finding my Dikaya and keeping her company, even though I had no idea what to say to her.
It was clear by now that we needed each other because we were both worried about our child’s future. Fighting this battle separately would only make it more painful, and although I could handle the pain, I didn’t want her to go through all of that.
Quietly, I stepped away from the bag and left the gym to take a shower.
Later that night, I found her at her favorite spot in the house—the balcony on the east wing.
She was sitting on the floor with her back against the wall.
One leg was stretched out, and the other was pulled up toward her chest. Her eyes were fixed on the stars, and her expression was soft, with a faint grin tugging at her lips.
Her soft curls were pulled into a messy ponytail, her skin glowing under the moonlight. She looked so beautiful and innocent that just by looking at her, my heart melted like ice cream.
I leaned against the door frame, arms crossed over my chest as I silently watched her, taking in the details of her incredible body. She was wearing a worn, checkered shirt with baggy jeans, like a character from one of those adventure movies.
“Did you know that a star is twice the size of the Earth?” she asked without turning to face me. “Yet, millions of light-years away, they look so small—like tiny dots in the celestial canvas.” A soft chuckle escaped her lips. “Isn’t that fascinating?”
I figured it was rhetorical, so I didn’t bother responding.
“Sometimes the precision of the universe makes me wonder if there’s….” She paused and continued, “If there’s really a designer behind all of this, you know.”
“You mean God?” I asked her.
She turned to face me and then nodded. “But if he is out there, then he must really hate me.” Her voice dropped to a low whisper, tinged with traces of pain.
Silence.
She continued, “He must hate all the girls that were kidnapped and shipped off to God-knows-where. I mean, look at me; my life sucks—I was bought like a piece of property by a man who cares little for me. And now I’m stuck in his violent world with his child in my womb.”
Her words hurt more than bee stings, and when she looked at me, all I saw in those stormy eyes was pain.
“You think your life sucks?” I asked her, my voice calm and gentle.
“Why don’t you ask your best friend, Katerina, to tell you the story of her life?
” I drew closer without breaking eye contact.
“The housekeeper is like a grandmother to you, isn’t she?
Ask her what she’s had to endure all her life. ”
She blinked back the tears that welled in her eyes, her chest rising and falling with even breaths.
“When you hear their stories, Dikaya, you’ll realize just how lucky you are.” I towered over her.
She shook her head, wiping the tears that streamed down her cheeks. “I don’t feel lucky, Nik.”
My heart broke when I saw those tears in her eyes. “May I?” I gestured to the space beside her.
She nodded.
I sat on the floor beside her, my gaze sweeping over the horizon. “You’re wrong, you know. You are lucky.” I glanced at her. “You think he doesn’t care about you, that he’s a monster, cruel and heartless.”
“Is he not?” she asked, looking right into my eyes.
“He is,” I answered. “But not to you.”
Her expression softened, warming my heart. And she wouldn’t stop staring as if she were searching for something—a lie, perhaps.
“He cares about you. More than you think.”
She blinked a few times, then glanced away. “Well, he sucks at showing it.”
“Men like him aren’t trained to be emotional. They’re monsters, remember?” I teased.
And for the first time, she smiled at me—raw, genuine, and unrestrained. Her eyes sparkled like a thousand sapphires, lighting up her mood. I felt good about myself for bringing that beautiful smile to her face.
For the longest time, all I did was piss her off and bask in her anger because I saw this as a game. But things were different now—I no longer delighted in her pain. All I wanted was to see her happy. She’d been through a lot already; a little happiness would do her a lot of good.
Her gaze flicked to my bruised knuckles. “What happened to you?”
I glanced down at them. “Nothing you should worry about.”
We stared at each other for the next few seconds, and although neither of us said a word, we could feel the spark in the silence. Strange how my heartbeat escalated quickly, then gradually steadied the longer I held her gaze.
She broke eye contact, and we both redirected our focus to the night sky. My heart was warm with affection. And when her hand touched mine, it stirred something inside me, something that made my breath hitch.
“It’s Blair, by the way.” She glanced at me.
My brows rose subtly.
“My name,” she added. “Blair Blake.”
My lips curled into a faint, self-satisfied grin. “You’ll always be ‘Dikaya’ to me,” I teased, grateful that she finally trusted me enough to disclose her name even without me asking.
She drew a deep breath and returned her gaze to the sky. “Sometimes I can’t stop thinking about Maria and all those trafficked girls.”
Maria?
I’d heard that name recently. But where?
That was when it hit me: That was the name of the girl Richard had brought to the gathering the other night.
“Maria is the friend you said you were looking for when those men jumped you?” I asked her.
“Yeah.” She nodded, clueless as to why I asked.
I paused for a second, trying to connect the dots here. “Is she a redhead?”
Dikaya turned to face me, suspicion sneaking into her gaze. “Yes.”
“Tall, hazel brown eyes, no older than you?”
Her brows knitted together, her head tilting to the side with a solemn expression on her face. “Nik, did you see her somewhere? Did someone buy her? Who?” She stared at me with desperation, her words tumbling out in a rush.
I contemplated my response.
“Nik, tell me who.” She pressed her hand against my fingers, her eyes fixed on mine.
“Don’t worry,” I said to her. “I’ll handle it.”
She paused, shocked by my words. “You’ll…I don’t understand.”
“Maybe it’s too soon,” I answered, “but I need you to trust me when I say I’ll handle it.” My voice was low, calm, but laced with confidence.
Her gaze lingered on me, as if to be sure she interpreted it correctly.
If Maria were her friend and she was the reason Dikaya ended up in this mess in the first place, then Richard Kane wouldn’t know what hit him.
Her lips parted like she was about to press on, but no words came out. She just watched me closely with a glint of gratitude in her eyes.