Page 32 of Forced Pregnant Bride

Now, it made sense. I caught on before another word left Arlo’s mouth. Adjusting on my seat, I crumpled up the pictureand dunked it in the trash can by the corner of a wall. “Great. Enzo knows we had his daughter; he got mad, literally blew someone’s brains out, and is coming for us. Is that it?”

“It is,” he nodded. “But we’ve got this. We won’t play the odds; we’ll play the man.”

After a moment of silence and waiting for the continuation of whatever that was, I quirked a brow.

He looked stunned. “Come on, Harvey Specter?”

I shook my head and he tried again.

“Suits?”

“No, Arlo. I don’t even care to know what the fuck that is. Now, if you’re done goofing, I need you to take this seriously. I know we’ve got this, but you and I know that Enzo is unpredictable and can be irrational. He won’t care that his beloved daughter stuck her nose in shit that doesn’t concern her. I want eyes and ears all over the place to know the next shit he’s up to. If he strikes, we’ll have to know how to bring him down.”

With that annoying smug grin, he was off his seat and already walking toward the door. “On it.” He tipped his fingers on his forehead in a mock salute and cast a thoughtful pause over his shoulder. “And…this is completely off the fucking records, but living in here like a caveman isn’t going to help you do shit.”

The door clicked shut behind him, and I was left to myself to deal with my thoughts dancing around the place. With Enzo knowing, we had an open target on our backs, and the Italians weren’t going to relent if they had to throw a bomb. That should have been a big enough distraction to take my mind off the temptation Arlo managed to fucking stir.

Truthfully, he didn’t have to stir shit. Even before he walked through those doors, I’d been battling not to walk out—not to go home. It didn’t matter that the Italian Don could spin a surprise ambush; my mind was still clouded, reliving those long,stretched days and nights I’d spent with the woman who was now my wife. I batted to stop myself, but it was already too late. Like wildfire, the urge burned, spread violently, and licked up every piece of reason left until I was snatching my jacket off the rack and taking the car keys off the desk.

Chapter 13 – Serena

Fingering the hem of my dress, I stared at the soft fabric and looked back at the mirror. Blue eyes met mine, golden hair poured below fair shoulders, and I blurred out the image of soft curves and bare hips.

Countless times, especially in high school, I’d been called a prude.

It wasn’t true. Or maybe it was. I didn’t squeal or gush over pictures of slippery hard abs or full naked men as they did or swooned over R-18 magazines they snuck into class. I couldn’t remember ever being a big fan of nudity, not even where I was concerned. I just didn’t know how to…reactto provocative images or thoughts.

Sad, but needless to say, it contributed a lot to my not having many friends.

I shook my head in an attempt to get rid of the distracting thoughts. Then, I stared again at the mirror.

Throughout everything I’d been through in recent times, I was still me. I was the same person who watched her parents break apart, the same girl who had to step into the shoes of both parents to cater to her brother, and the same young woman who’d grown up to love teaching and taking care of children. But there’d been a shift; that same woman had a debt hanging over her head. She had to give herself in the place of her brother, and now, here she stood, naked in the bedroom she shared with her absent husband, a man who was the terror both by day and at night.

And yet….

I couldn’t convince myself to block him out. A few times, when I thought about him, pictures of my mother swam up to the surface like oil in water.

My heart squeezed.

Most of my memories of her were sad ones, and after she left, I tried to hate her. I really did, but I couldn’t. To this day, Jay and I have no idea what caused their rift, but I remember how I’d spent nights wishing upon the stars for her return and silently praying that they’d rediscover their love and come back together.

It never happened.

In that same way, I found myself hoping Timur would one day snap into becoming normal—thatIcould mold him into an ordinary person. It shouldn’t pose a challenge; I’d taken care of young ones that had been labeled as the most difficult and catered for Jayden Skye, too.

Except, I knew more than anyone else that Jayden and Timur weren’t the same. Just like oil and water, they were cut from different cloths.Verydifferent materials.

I couldn’t justfixhim; he barely even listened to me. The life we both led was one hundred percent more like “follow the leader.” He was the leader, and I was the wife who was expected to do nothing more than obey whatever he said.

After a heaving sigh, I murmured under my breath, “I should really put these back on.”

Twisting to the side, I ogled my reflection, and a voice at the back of my head nagged that I was stalling.

Honestly, I didn’t really want to put those clothes back on. Standing in front of the mirror had been a tough decision on its own; peeling off my yellow dress had been a tougher decision, but putting them back on after my body tingled at the mere thought of him…now, that was the toughest call to make.

For two weeks, after the first week of our marriage, he’d been playing the game of hide and seek: leaving the house before I was out of bed, getting home when I was asleep, or not coming home at all. I wasn’t about to admit it to anyone other thanmyself, but I missed him. My body missed his. He’d handled me well enough to leave imprints of his touch branded in my mind, and I doubted that they would ever leave.

And that was when the crazy immoral thought sprung up—something that would have never crossed my mind before my encounter with the Russian mob ring leader: What if I recreated the moment we’d shared?

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