Page 40 of Emerald Malice

When the car finally stopped, Andrey was carried in by two huge men, leaving me to stare up at the gorgeous stone mansion nestled between acres of thickly clustered red maples.

Shura led me to a room on the ground floor and bowed out quietly. I think he meant it to be peaceful—but the moment the door shut, the memories began to unfurl.

I tried to outrun them. I tried to wrestle them back into the special box in my head, the one marked Repressed Memories: Do Not Open, but the gunshots grew louder and my heart raced faster.

The next thing I knew, I was lying in a bed, huddled and shivering beneath the blankets, slipping slowly beneath the dark waters.

A kindly older woman walked in with a basin full of water, but I couldn’t even summon the energy to greet her.

“Alright there, dear?” she asked.

It’s not like I had an answer for her. A little too much gunplay, I’m afraid. My PTSD is resurfacing with a vengeance. See you in a few hours.

Sure enough, I was out like a light.

It was God-only-knows-how-much later when I came back to my body. To water. A bath. Warm hands, caressing and stroking feeling into my limbs again.

As the sensation slowly returned, it came with the nagging thought that the person bringing me back was the last person who should have the power to.

Now, Andrey pulls a chair to the side of my bed and sits down. His gray eyes are cloudy as they stare down at me. His hair is plastered to the back of his neck.

Why is he wet, too?

Oh, right. He was in the tub with me. The weight I felt at my back… that was him.

I shudder at the thought.

“How are you feeling?” As usual, his expression is perfectly unreadable.

I have no idea how to answer his question, so I ask one of my own. “How long was I out for?”

“Two hours, give or take.” He’s watching me like I’m a ticking time bomb that could go off at any second. “Does that happen often?”

I shake my head. “Only twice before.”

I’m glad he doesn’t ask what triggered the previous two episodes. That’s a whole can of worms I have zero interest in opening with him.

“We need to talk.”

All the warmth I felt in the bathtub has all but disappeared. He’s looking at me as though I’m a problem that requires fixing. In his defense, he might not be wrong.

“How long have you known about the baby?”

My hand flickers to my stomach. “I’ve suspected it for the last few weeks. But today was going to be the official confirmation.”

“Why did it take so long?”

“Because, believe it or not, I didn’t actually want to be pregnant by some random crime boss. Shocking stuff, I know.”

He looks thoughtful. It’s making me more nervous than if he was simply angry.

“You can’t keep me here,” I blurt suddenly.

He looks surprised, then amused. “Why would I keep you here?”

“Does that mean I can leave?”

“You’re not a prisoner, Natalia. You can leave whenever you want. I’ll take you home when you’re ready.”

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