Page 15 of Knocked Up by the Bratva

Before he can respond, I turn on my heel and march toward the dorm entrance, my heart racing. I hear the car pull away behind me, but I don’t look back. I don’t want to give himthe satisfaction of knowing that I’m still thinking about him—about that night. About everything.

As soon as I reach my room, I slam the door shut and lean against it, letting out a shaky breath. The worst part isn’t that he turned out to be my boss. No, that’s not what’s eating away at me.

It’s the secret I’ve been holding on to for weeks, the one that’s been keeping me up at night, making my thoughts spiral in every direction. I walk over to my desk, where a file sits open, the papers spread out in front of me. My hands tremble as I pick up the report—the one that confirmed everything.

I’m pregnant.

I stare down at the words, my vision blurring as the reality of the situation settles in again. I’m carrying Timur’s child. The man I tried to forget about, the man who I thought I could walk away from without any complications.

Now, I’m tied to him in a way I never expected.

My hand drifts to my stomach, the weight of the secret crushing me all over again. How do I tell him? Should I even tell him? Part of me wants to run again, to pretend this isn’t happening. I can’t.

I glance at the mirror across the room, seeing my reflection—my face pale, my eyes wide with uncertainty. I’m not ready for this. None of this was part of the plan. Not Timur, not the pregnancy, not the confusion that’s gnawing at me from the inside out.

I let out a shaky breath, closing the file and pushing it away. What am I going to do?

Chapter Eight - Timur

The room is cold, dimly lit, and the only sound is the muffled groans of the man tied to the chair. Blood drips from his nose, mixing with sweat as it runs down his face, soaking his torn shirt. His breathing is ragged, shallow, as though he’s clinging to life with every wheezing breath. I lean back against the wall, arms crossed, watching the scene unfold before me with cold detachment.

Oleg stands over the man, his broad frame casting a shadow across the trembling figure. Oleg has always enjoyed this part of the job—the thrill of breaking someone down piece by piece, pushing them to the edge of their humanity. I’ve always admired his dedication to getting the job done, no matter how messy it becomes.

The man’s name is Viktor, and he’s a small-time dealer who thought he could skim off the top of one of our shipments and walk away without consequences. I can’t help but wonder what goes through someone’s mind when they think they can cross the Bratva and get away with it. It’s laughable, really.

Oleg delivers another punch, a sickening crack echoing through the room as Viktor’s head snaps to the side. He groans, blood spilling from his mouth. There’s a moment of silence before Oleg grabs him by the hair, yanking his head back so their eyes meet.

“Who are you working for?” Oleg’s voice is low, menacing, dripping with the promise of more pain.

Viktor’s mouth opens and closes, gasping for air, but no words come out. I can tell he’s nearing his limit, his body slumped, his spirit broken. Oleg doesn’t care about that. He’ll keep going until he gets what we need or until Viktor’s nothing more than a bleeding corpse in this chair.

I glance at my watch, barely paying attention to the scene. We’ve been here for nearly an hour, and Viktor still hasn’t talked. It’s not uncommon for people to hold out this long, but I’m starting to lose patience.

“Oleg,” I call out, my voice cutting through the heavy silence.

Oleg pauses, turning to face me, his fist still clenched in Viktor’s hair. “Yes, Boss?”

“Wrap it up,” I say, my tone cold, indifferent. “He’s not going to tell us anything.”

Oleg grunts in acknowledgment before letting go of Viktor’s hair, causing the man to slump forward, nearly unconscious. He won’t last much longer, not with the way his body is shaking, his face a bloody mess.

I step forward, my eyes scanning Viktor’s broken form. The man is pathetic, weak, everything I despise. There’s no remorse, no hesitation as I pull out my gun and press the barrel against the side of his head.

“Last chance,” I say, my voice low but sharp. “Who are you working for?”

Viktor trembles, his lips quivering, but he doesn’t respond. His eyes, glazed over with fear and pain, tell me everything I need to know.

He’s too scared to talk. Or too loyal to someone else. It doesn’t matter now.

Without a second thought, I pull the trigger. The gunshot rings out in the confined space, and Viktor’s body goes limp, collapsing in the chair. Blood splatters across the floor, pooling beneath him as life drains from his eyes.

Oleg steps back, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. “Guess he wasn’t going to crack after all.”

I holster the gun, turning away from the scene as though it’s nothing more than a minor inconvenience. This is what I do. This is my life. Death, blood, and loyalty to the Bratva. It’s all I’ve ever known, and it’s all I’ll ever care about.

At least, that’s what I used to think.

Lately, I’ve been finding it harder to focus. The memories of that night with Jennifer still linger in the back of my mind, gnawing at me like a bad itch I can’t shake. I don’t understand why I keep thinking about her. It was just one night. It wasn’t supposed to mean anything. She left, and I should’ve forgotten about her by now.

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