47. Rurik
RURIK
I hear everything through the earpiece. Every word Langford speaks, every explanation he tries to justify, and Emma’s voice cutting through his bullshit with cold precision. The recording device hidden in her jacket is working perfectly, capturing every damning admission.
When the FBI agent steps forward and places handcuffs on Langford’s wrists, satisfaction floods through me. The bastard finally got what he deserved.
Eduard, Artur, and I move from our position across the street, crossing toward the park where Emma stands with her former mentor in restraints.
More federal agents appear from unmarked vehicles, their movements efficient and coordinated.
They must have been monitoring the situation, waiting for the right moment to move in.
Langford stands perfectly still as an agent reads him his rights, his expression blank. No anger. No fear. Just a slight frown, like this is a minor inconvenience rather than the end of his career and freedom.
The lack of reaction pisses me off more than anything else could. This man betrayed Emma, sold her to traffickers, and tried to have her killed. And he’s standing there like he’s above it all, like he doesn’t owe her a single fucking word.
I step closer, my hands curling into fists at my sides. “Don’t you have anything to say to Emma?”
Langford’s dark eyes shift to me, assessing. Then his gaze moves to Emma. For a brief moment, something softens in his expression. Regret, maybe. Or pain. But it’s gone so quickly I almost think I imagined it, replaced by that same blank composure.
He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t apologize. Doesn’t even acknowledge what he’s done to her.
The agents lead him away toward one of the waiting vehicles. Emma watches him go, her gray-green eyes tracking his movement across the park. A single tear traces down her cheek, catching the afternoon light.
I want to go to her, pull her against me, and tell her she’s better off without that bastard in her life.
But I hold back, giving her space to process what just happened.
Eduard and Artur flank me, their expressions hard as we watch the man who destroyed Emma’s trust disappear into the back of an FBI vehicle.
The lead agent approaches Emma, a woman in her forties with sharp eyes and a no-nonsense demeanor. They speak quietly for several minutes, Emma nodding occasionally as she answers questions. Finally, the agent hands Emma a business card and walks away.
Emma turns to face us, her shoulders squared despite the exhaustion written across her face. “It’s done.”
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “It is.”
We return to the estate in silence, the SUV moving through city streets as evening settles over the skyline. Emma sits between Eduard and me in the back seat, her hands folded in her lap. Artur drives, his dark eyes checking the rearview mirror frequently to make sure we’re not being followed.
No one speaks. There’s nothing to say that would make this easier.
By the time we pull through the estate gates, darkness has fallen completely. The main house glows with warm light, and I can see guards moving through their patrol routes.
Inside, Emma heads straight for the bedroom we share. I follow her upstairs while Eduard and Artur give us space, their footsteps fading toward the study.
Emma stands near the window, her arms wrapped around herself as she stares out at the gardens below. The moonlight catches her dark hair, making it shine, and I can see the tension in her shoulders, the way she’s holding herself together through sheer force of will.
I cross the room and stop behind her, close enough that she can feel my presence but not touching. “You did the right thing.”
“I know.” Her voice is tight. “But it doesn’t feel right.”
“It will. Eventually.”
She turns to face me, the pain in her gray-green eyes making my chest ache. “He was like family, Rurik. He was all I had left after my parents died. And he sold me out like I meant nothing.”
I pull her against me, my arms wrapping around her as she finally lets herself break. Her tears soak through my shirt and I hold her tighter, one hand sliding into her hair while the other presses against the small of her back.
“You have us now,” I murmur against her temple. “You’re not alone.”
She clings to me, her fingers fisting in my shirt as she cries. I let her, knowing she needs this release after weeks of holding everything inside.
Eventually, her breathing steadies. She pulls back slightly, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.” I cup her face in my hands, my thumbs brushing away the remaining tears. “You’re allowed to grieve what you lost.”
Eduard and Artur appear in the doorway, their expressions soft with concern. They move into the room without speaking, surrounding Emma with their presence.
“We’ve got you, sweetheart,” Artur says quietly, his hand finding her waist.
Eduard’s fingers brush along her spine. “Always.”
Emma looks at each of us in turn, and something shifts in her expression. The pain is still there, but underneath it is something else. Trust, maybe. Or acceptance.
“Let us take care of you,” I say, my voice low. “You’ve been carrying this weight alone for too long.”
She nods, exhaustion evident in the slope of her shoulders. Eduard moves behind her, his large hands settling on her upper back, and I feel the tension radiating through her body.
“You’re wound tight as hell,” Eduard murmurs, his thumbs pressing into the knots along her shoulder blades. “When’s the last time you relaxed?”
Emma lets out a shaky breath. “I don’t remember.”
Artur guides her toward the bed and she sits on the edge. I kneel in front of her, unlacing her boots while Eduard continues working the tension from her shoulders. His fingers dig into the muscles with practiced pressure and Emma’s eyes flutter closed.
“That’s it,” Eduard says. “Just breathe.”
I pull off her boots and socks, then my hands find her calves. The muscles are tight beneath my palms and I work them slowly, feeling the knots give way under my touch. Emma’s head drops forward, her hair falling like a curtain around her face.
Artur sits beside her, brushing the hair back from her neck. His lips press against her temple, then her cheek. “We love you. You know that, right?”
“I know,” she whispers.
Eduard’s hands slide down her arms then back up to her neck. “Lie down, sweetheart. Let us do this properly.”
She shifts onto the bed, lying on her stomach. I move to sit beside her hip while Eduard straddles her thighs, his weight careful and controlled. Artur positions himself near her head, his fingers threading through her hair.
Eduard’s hands work up her spine, pressing into each vertebra with firm, deliberate pressure. Emma makes a soft sound, somewhere between a sigh and a moan, and I feel my cock harden in response. But this isn’t about me. This isn’t about any of us.
This is about her.
I run my hand along her calf, then up to her thigh, feeling the lean muscle beneath her jeans. “These need to come off,” I say. “They’re in the way.”
Emma lifts her hips slightly and I unfasten her jeans, sliding them down her legs. Her ass is perfect, round and firm in simple black panties, and I have to force myself to focus on the massage rather than the urge to grab her.
My hands return to her legs, working the tension from her thighs. Eduard continues along her back, his thumbs digging into the tight spots along her spine. Artur watches her face, his fingers stroking through her hair with gentle reverence.
“You’re safe here,” Artur murmurs. “Always safe with us.”
Eduard pulls her shirt up, and she lifts enough for him to remove it completely.
Her bra follows, and then she’s lying there in just her panties, her skin golden in the lamplight.
Eduard’s hands spread across her bare back, and I watch the way her muscles respond to his touch, slowly releasing the tension she’s been holding.
My hands move higher on her thighs, my thumbs brushing the edge of her panties. Emma’s breathing changes, becoming deeper, and I glance up to see her eyes are still closed but her lips are parted.
“Turn over,” I say softly.
She does and the sight of her steals my breath. Her breasts are full and perfect, nipples already tight. Her stomach is flat, and I can see the slight tremble in her muscles as she looks at the three of us.
“You’re fucking beautiful,” Eduard says, his voice rough.
I lean down and press my lips to her ankle, then her calf, working my way up her leg with slow kisses. Artur cups her face, his thumb brushing across her lower lip before he kisses her. It’s deep and claiming, and I watch her melt into it.
Eduard’s hands slide up her sides, his thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts. Emma arches slightly and he takes that as permission, his palms covering her completely. He kneads the soft flesh, his fingers finding her nipples and rolling them gently.
I kiss along her inner thigh, feeling her legs part for me. Her panties are damp, the scent of her arousal making my cock throb painfully against my zipper. I ignore it, focusing instead on her pleasure.
I hook my fingers in her panties and pull them down, exposing her completely. She’s already wet, her core glistening, and I spread her thighs wider. My tongue finds her clit, and she gasps, her hips lifting off the bed.
Eduard lowers his head to her breast, his mouth closing over her nipple. Artur continues kissing her neck, her jaw, and her lips, swallowing every sound she makes.
I work her slowly, my tongue circling her clit before dipping lower to taste her. She’s sweet and perfect—I could do this for hours. Her thighs tremble against my shoulders, and I feel her getting closer.
“That’s it,” Artur murmurs against her lips. “Let go for us.”
Eduard’s hand slides down her stomach, and his fingers join mine, pressing inside her while I focus on her clit. She’s tight and hot, and I feel her clench around his fingers.
Emma’s breathing becomes ragged, her hands fisting in the sheets. I increase the pressure of my tongue, and Eduard curls his fingers inside her, finding that spot that makes her cry out.
“Oh god,” she gasps. “I’m going to—”
“Come for us,” I say against her skin.
She shatters, her back arching off the bed as the orgasm crashes through her. I don’t stop, working her through it until she’s trembling and oversensitive. Only then do I pull back, pressing a kiss to her inner thigh.
Eduard withdraws his fingers, bringing them to his mouth and sucking them clean. “Fucking perfect.”
Artur kisses her deeply, and I move up the bed to lie beside her. My cock is hard enough to hurt, straining against my pants, but I ignore it. This isn’t about getting off. This is about showing her she’s loved, that she’s safe, and that she’s ours.
Emma reaches for my belt, but I catch her hand. “No.”
“But you’re—”
“This is for you,” I say firmly. “Just you.”
She looks at Eduard and Artur, both of whom are clearly hard, the bulges in their pants obvious. “But—”
“We don’t need to come to enjoy this,” Artur says, brushing hair back from her face. “Watching you fall apart is enough.”
Eduard nods. “More than enough.”
I see the moment she understands, the way her eyes soften with emotion. She pulls me down for a kiss.
We spend the next hour touching her, kissing her, bringing her to orgasm over and over. Each time, we hold back our own release, focusing entirely on her pleasure. By the time we’re done, she’s boneless and sated, her skin flushed and her eyes heavy with satisfaction.
I pull her against my chest, and Eduard and Artur curl around her from either side. My cock is still hard, aching, but I don’t care. The look on her face, the peace in her expression, is worth any amount of discomfort.
“I love you,” she whispers.
“We love you too,” I say, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
She falls asleep between us, and I lie there watching her breathe, feeling the steady rhythm of her heartbeat against my chest.
The next evening, we gather around the dinner table. Emma seems lighter somehow, the weight of yesterday’s confrontation still present but no longer crushing her. She picks at her food, and I notice she’s barely eaten anything.
“You feeling okay?” I ask.
She sets down her fork and looks at each of us in turn. There’s something in her expression I can’t quite read, nervous but also determined.
“I need to tell you something,” she says.
Eduard leans back in his chair. “What is it?”
Emma takes a deep breath. “I’m pregnant.”
The words hang in the air for a moment. I feel like I’ve been punched in the chest, but in the best possible way. Artur’s fork clatters against his plate, and Eduard goes completely still.
“You’re sure?” I ask, my voice rough.
She nods. “I took three tests. All positive.”
I’m out of my chair before I realize I’m moving, pulling her up and into my arms. Eduard and Artur are right behind me, surrounding her with our bodies.
“Fuck,” Artur says, his voice thick with emotion. “We’re going to be fathers.”
Emma laughs, the sound watery but genuine. “Yes, you are.”
Eduard cups her face, his thumb brushing across her cheek. “When?”
“About seven months, I think.”
I press my hand against her stomach, feeling nothing yet but knowing our child is growing inside her. The possessiveness I feel is overwhelming, primal.
Emma pulls back slightly, looking at each of us with that determined expression again. “And there’s something else.”
“What?” I ask.
“We’re getting married,” she says firmly. “Within a month. I’m not having this baby without making this official.”