Page 201 of The Lazarov Bratva

I’m nothing.

I really am becoming just a human incubator for Mara.

My heart breaks further, and a whimper tears from me as the doctor pats my knee.

“You’re in good health, however, you do need to pull back on the muscle relaxants and sedatives. At this stage in the pregnancy, such things can be dangerous for her, and in turn, dangerous for the baby,” he says, staring over me to Mara. “If you do need a sedative, try something natural. It won’t have the same effect as the drugs you’re currently using, but it will help her rest.”

They talk as if I’m not even here.

“I’ll take that on board, Doctor. How close to the due date can we book the C-Section?”

No!

“You can’t,” I blurt out. “Please, you can’t. I?—”

Mara slaps me hard across the face, then strides out of the room with the doctor in tow. The door closes, and their conversation continues, but it’s only a low hum for me. Nothing clear comes through.

I want to scream. I want to rip my arms out of their sockets and throw myself out the window. The desire to escape pulses through me like the desperate urge for air when underwater. It’s more than a craving. It’s a primal need.

The only problem is—all of that is in my head. Realistically, I’m trapped like a rabbit in a snare and Mara stalks me like a wolf, waiting for the right moment to strike.

Hopelessness washes over me, and I turn my face into my pillow the best I can. A pillow I cried much pain into in my youth, and it still serves me, even now, as my days tick down to nothing.

“Stop crying,” comes Mara’s voice as she steps back into the room. “It’s not good for the baby.”

Rolling my head to face her, she blurs through my tears. Blinking quickly to clear them, her silver belt melts into a tray laden with orange juice and a few other fruits, as well as countless pills that become visible when she sets it down on the bedside table.

“Captivity isn’t good for the baby,” I croak.

“No, it’s just not good for you,” Mara corrects, perching on the edge of the bed.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Oh, please. Don’t give me that, Alena. I have been perfectly clear with you. Do you really need me to explain it all to you again?” Suddenly, she clutches at my wet chin and forces me to look in her eyes. “Maybe those drugs really did addle your mind.”

I wrench my face away from her grip. “I don’t need that. I just don’t understand how you can be so heartless.”

Mara takes a few of the pills and places them on a spoon, then she takes another spoon and starts to crush them into powder.

“Heartless? Alena, you have no idea what it’s like to be a woman in this world. To be under pressure to constantly be perfect, to have ideas, and not have anyone listen. To be nothing more than a mule.”

Her words are so incredulous that I can’t stop the short laugh that barks past my lips. “You’re kidding, right? You’ve turned me into a fucking mule.”

“Because, Alena, you don’t deserve that baby. Did you really think you could waltz out of here and get what you wanted? That you and Kristof could come back to the throne when it suited you, that any taste of power you had was really going to stick?” She scoffs and pours the powdered pills into the orange juice, then repeats with a few more. “I’ve worked myself to the bone for this Family. I deserve that throne.”

“So, you’re jealous,” I croak. “That as a widow, you’d be overlooked because of me. You’re just as power-hungry as the rest of them.”

“And ten times smarter.” She sighs softly. “You’ll be pleased to hear that the other Families have taken the news of your father’s death very well, by the way. They’ve been celebrating his life, and when I announced that I was carrying his heir, those old fucks nearly came. If only they loved their wives as much as they love their old laws.”

“I’m still here,” I hiss, my hands flexing in the ropes. That has to mean something. It has to.

“Well, most people think you are dead, Alena. Think about it. You were kidnapped, and oh, we were so distraught, so you can imagine how much of a miracle it was when I found out I was pregnant. Just in time, too, since poor Aleksander was killed by his psychopathic old friend, Kristof.”

“Paints you as quite the fucking savior, then. You’re fucking crazy,” I mutter, and I tear my gaze away, unable to stomach looking at her for even one more second.

Everything hurts. I’m raw inside, just waiting to die like a sheep in a pen.

“How unkind,” Mara muses. “Crazy is a terrible word for ambitious women. Not that you would understand what it’s like to be looked over, stepped on, and ignored just because you’re a beautiful woman. All people care about are your tits. But I will make them see that I’m the most dangerous thing they ever overlooked.”

---