Page 35 of The Bratva Queens' Kings

With my other hand, I squeeze the shampoo bottle I'd forgotten I was holding. Aim and fire. The contents blast out, hitting him squarely in the face. He howls, the sound muffled by the mask, as the shampoo finds its target, seeping into his eyes.

He staggers back, flailing blindly, arms swinging wildly. One of his strikes lands hard against my shoulder, sending me crashing into the wall tiles. The impact sends shocks of pain radiating through my body, but the fear and the fight in me don't dim.

I start screaming, top of my lungs, hoping, praying someone hears me. But I'm not just a sitting duck; I'm fighting back. With the little space his temporary blindness affords me, I ball my fist, swinging with all the might my precarious position allows, and land a punch right in his gut.

He doubles over, coughing, the knife clattering to the shower floor. I don't waste a second. Grabbing the shower hose, I turn it into a weapon. Water sprays wildly, but I don't care. I loop the hose around his throat, pulling it tight, every ounce of strength I possess focused on this one act of survival.

He claws at the hose, at me, his movements desperate as he fights for air. I can feel his strength waning, but mine doesn't falter. Not now. Not when there's so much at stake.

I can't remember the exact moment I lost hold of the hose. It was either the pain in my shoulder, or the sudden realization that I was standing in a puddle of blood, the sharp stench of iron filling the air. But in that moment, I knew I had to fight for myself and for the life growing inside me.

Time seemed to stretch and twist as I struggled to keep the masked man pinned. My heart pounded in my ears, drowning out the sound of his panicked gasps. My vision blurred, and the pain in my shoulder intensified. I could feel the sweat pouring down my forehead, mingling with the water still cascading from the showerhead.

As my strength began to falter, I heard a noise from outside the bathroom. Then, like a scene straight out of an action movie, Grigori crashes through the door.

He's on the intruder like a hawk on a mouse, all swift movements and deadly intent. Grabs the guy's arm, twists it back in a move that probably doesn't feel like a gentle caress. The knife? Grigori has it now, and with a precision that's frankly a bit alarming, he ends it. One swift motion across the guy's throat, and suddenly, it's over. The intruder slumps, and Grigori yanks off the mask.

Shit. It's Twitch from Roman's crew. A kid, really. I've seen him grow up, always a bit too eager, always trying too hard to prove himself. And now, here he is, his life bleeding out on my bathroom floor.

Grigori collapses next to him, the realization hitting him like a truck. He knew Twitch since he was a little tyke, running around, trying to keep up with the big boys. Seeing him like this, a boy turned assassin, it's a gut punch.

"Fuck," Grigori breathes out, the word hanging heavy in the steam-filled room. He looks at me, his eyes a mix of anger, sorrow, and something else—guilt, maybe? Hard to tell with all the water still spraying everywhere.

"This... this wasn't supposed to happen," Grigori shakes his head, voice barely above a whisper, his eyes never leaving Twitch's lifeless form. "Not like this."

I can't find words to respond, my mind still reeling from the events that just unfolded. Everything happened so fast, and now I'm left with the horrifying reality of what occurred. I back away, my hand still stinging from the knife.

After the adrenaline fades, my stomach churns, rebelling against the night's events. I lurch towards the toilet, the reality of what just happened hitting me harder than a freight train. Grigori, ever the unexpected knight in a tarnished armor, holds my hair back.

Once the wave of nausea passes, I sit back, feeling like the world's been flipped upside down. My eyes find Grigori, searching for answers in his gaze. "Did Roman send Twitch?"

Grigori's eyes, usually so full of resolve, are clouded with uncertainty. He shakes his head, a silent admission of his own confusion and fear. "I... I don't know," he admits.

I'm on the floor, a mess of emotions, the shock of the attack, the betrayal, all crashing down on me. The tears start, unbidden, tracing paths down my cheeks. Grigori's there, though, his thumb gently wiping away the tears, his presence a silent promise of protection.

"It will be okay," he murmurs, though it sounds like he's trying to convince us both. With a strength that seems to come from somewhere deep within, he picks me up from the floor, carrying me to the bed.

Grigori hesitates at the door, his silhouette outlined by the dim light of the hallway, a clear sign he's torn between dealing with the aftermath and staying.

"Can you... can you stay?" I ask.

He pauses, a moment of indecision that seems to last forever. Then, without a word, he nods. He makes his way back.

Carefully, Grigori lays down next to me. I hug him tight, seeking solace in his embrace, a safe harbor in the storm that just passed and the ones yet to come.

Chapter 18

Julia

I'm running around, doing a dozen things at once, but my mind's stuck on one: helping Lana. After the horror in the shower, there's blood, fear, and a heavy silence that fills the air like a bad omen.

We're in a different bathroom now, one that doesn't remind us of the nightmare she just had. Lana stands there, her skin streaked with red. She stands out against the white tiles. My hands are steady, which is different from how crazy I feel inside.

I can't believe Twitch, of all people, could do this. It's like knowing someone your whole life, then realizing you've been looking at a stranger.

I dab gently at her skin, the water tinged pink as it swirls down the drain. "We'll get you cleaned up," I murmur, more to myself than to Lana. She's silent, the kind of quiet that screams. My heart aches for her, for us, for everything that's suddenly become so complicated.

As I help her wash away the physical reminders of the attack, my mind races. The baby. We need to make sure the baby's okay. "I'm arranging an emergency appointment," I say, my voice a mix of determination and worry. "We need to make sure you and the baby are fine."

---