Page 11 of A Monster Is Coming

She looked exhausted. This morning, I had worked her body, trying to do the whole muscle-memory trick. I didn’t know if it would work, but it would be better than allowing her to drown.

My cell phone began to buzz, and I didn’t even bother to look at the caller. There was only one person who would call me.

“Hello,” I said.

“Settling in?”

“Yes.”

“Have you put a baby inside her?”

“I know you think our sperm is magical, Volkov, but remember, it still takes time.”

“So what you’re telling me is you’re losing your touch?”

Even though I couldn’t see the bastard, I knew he was finding this humorous. I wasn’t entertained, not even a little. This was a job. Nothing else.

“I’ll get it done,” I said.

“What is your progress?”

“I’m teaching her how to swim,” I said. “That is my job.”

Ivan laughed. I didn’t find the humor in this.

“Do I even want to know?” Ivan asked.

“No.”

Again, the laughter.

“Do you need me to come home? I could just grab her, we could lock her up in one of Ive’s cages, and we could get what we want that way?” That sounded way more logical to me than getting a woman to fall in love with me so I could knock her up.

It wasn’t a solid plan. This was Ivan’s plan, and I knew he had a reason, but I didn’t see how this was gong to work. Niamh was skittish, for good reason. I needed to break down those walls she’d built. This was going to take fucking time.

“Yes, that would be an easy plan, but it’s not what I want, and seeing as I’m the boss, and I like to get what I want…”

“Then I better hang up and get the job done,” I said.

“Time is ticking.”

Ivan hung up before I did.

Staring at the phone, the urge to crush it was strong, but that would cause more problems.

My only problem was a brown-haired stubborn woman who looked so freaking tired. Niamh was twenty-five years old, and as I looked at her, I couldn’t help but remember the pictures Ivan had shown me. She’d been beaten, not too badly, but enough. I imagine having Finn Byrne as a father wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

Something told me that Niamh had been used to a few hits in her time. Also, I had seen the scars on her thighs, at the back, front, and some disappeared under the swimsuit she wore. Those were the kind of scars you got from the metal end of a belt. There was a lot more to Niamh than met the eye.

I know, because I had them myself. The ink helped hide them, but if I ran my fingers across that part of my skin, there were still raised scars.

The minutes ticked by, and I watched as the last customer left. Niamh didn’t leave right away. She stayed behind, helped clean up, and then at nine-thirty, she stepped out of the diner.

I climbed out of my car, and she spotted me, even though she tried to pretend she couldn’t see me.

“Anyone ever tell you that you’re a terrible actress?” I asked.

Niamh sighed, glanced at me, and then took several steps toward me. “What do you want?” she asked.

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