Page 9 of Forced Pregnant Bride

She ignored them, keeping her focus on me. Her lips moved, perfectly proportioned and full. “What is it that you want?”

Lush blonde hair, the color of the warm sun shining over a meadow, fell below her shoulders, matching the vibrant yellow striped on black on her pajamas. Thick, dark lashes curled above her eyelids.

So fucking cute and soft. Probably too soft for her own good.

Women like these needed more armor to survive in a world like ours. Being fragile and driven by your petty sentiments wasn’t going to cut it.

Like now.

I adjusted my sleeves, and briefly, her eyes flitted to the inked designs around my fingers. Cautiously, her throat bobbed before her eyes found mine again.

“We are here because of something very important. Something that concerns your father, Oliver.”

Tentatively, and with her fingers clasped over her knees, she watched me but didn’t bat an eyelash, her emotions well hidden underneath a placid expression. But the eagerness in her eyes meant she waited for a full explanation.

I kicked a leg out, flexing my jaw. There was nocuteway to put this. “You see, many years ago, specifically four years ago, your father needed my help. And I helped him.”

“When you say help…?”

I held her curious gaze. “It means he needed a huge amount of money, and only I could give him it.”

The placid expression wobbled, and her eyes were downcast. “Great, a loan,” she murmured under her breath before her eyes rose up again, the confidence waning as she nibbled her lower lip. Softly, she asked. “So, you’re loan sharks?”

“Loan sharks,” Arlo scoffed, earning a chuckle from the men by the door. “As if. Hey, can we get some of that? It’s looking scrumptious.”

Narrowing my eyes, I glanced over my shoulder to see Arlo pointing at the cake on the table. He ignored me because he knew if he glanced my way, he was going to have more than a piece of cake to worry about.

“Sure, but not yet.” I looked back at her and found her smiling sweetly, more at the cake than at Arlo. “It’s my brother’s birthday today, so we can’t cut it until he gets here.”

“That’s why we’re here,” I interrupted, bringing the focus back to the business of the night. Glaring at Arlo, he got the message and backed off with raised hands.

Her brows creased. “The cake was the reason you came here?”

“Don’t be stupid,Pchelka. We came here for your brother.”

Little Bee, I’d called her. It just slipped out.

Something fierce crossed her eyes, replacing the mask of anxiety and indifference with arched brows and a ghastly frown on her lips—one I recognized too well. The heat that burned in her chest had burned in mine when Byrd cursed at my family, and she mirrored the need that arose in split seconds.

Protection.

Before she blinked, Arlo placed the four-year-old document on the table beside the cake, smoothening the crinkled edges.

“What is this?” she asked, gingerly picking it up.

“A contract.”

Her eyes skimmed through the lines, her fingers curling into the edges as her gaze traveled from black ink to black ink. “What is this?”

“A contract,” Arlo repeated on my behalf, but she didn’t look up. Just kept reading while he did the talking. “Your dear father made a blood contract with the Bratva after he took a debt.”

Quietly, she mumbled, tears quickly springing to her eyes. “The Bratva. Fifty million—my God.”

“The summary of the terms stated is that if Oliver can’t repay the debt in a certain period of time, five years specifically, his life belongs to us, and our boss here has the discretion to keep him alive or harvest his organs to regain the money he owes.”

“Harvesting his organs?” Her disgust was on full display when she shook her head. “Tell me you’re joking.”

“We aren’t.”

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