Page 11 of Hers to Control

She doesn’t back up, so I stand in front of her, our faces mere centimeters apart.

“The Russians are still after you,” I growl the words. Wanting to see her flinch away. Show some semblance of her survival instinct.

I want her to show fear.

She doesn’t.

“I know that. It doesn’t explain why you’re here.” Her chin is up, her eyes staring at me defiantly. As if she doesn’t have a clue what kind of man I am. As if she doesn’t even suspect that I’m a vicious killer.

“Why did you come to this shit-hole instead of calling Gianna for help?”

Anger flashes on her face, and I expect her next words before she says them.

“It’s not like that worked out so well the first time. The Russians found me anyway.”

So she had figured out they were on to her. Part of me had wondered whether she’d run because she knew they were coming for her, or because she wanted to keep the pregnancy hidden from me.

That thought made me more than a little angry. Still does, because even if she ran from the Russians, she didn’t reach out to me.

Maybe she isn’t even pregnant.

The test could have been negative.

I shoulder past her, looking at the worn-down fabric of the little couch. I guess if you like your ass getting massaged by a spring, it could be an enticing piece of furniture, but I take a hard pass. Instead, I turn around to face Mia.

“Are you pregnant?”

Mia

“No,” I deny it. The word is almost painful as it denies the precious life growing inside me.

It’s a necessary lie, I tell myself.

This man will have nothing to do with my baby. I know far too well what it can do to a child to grow up with a man as a father whose crimes will always be more important than the life he’s supposed to protect.

And my father was a mere lackey compared to Eric.

Eric isfamilia. He doesn’t just choose crime. He was born into it.

His loyalties aren’t just selfish, but demanded by his entire family. And he’d pay in blood should he ever even consider going straight.

Not that I am naïve enough to think he’d ever choose his child over the life he is living right now.

Eric stares at me as if he is trying to bore into my mind.

Fuck that.

I copy what he did moments earlier. I simply walk past him, not really sure what I’m planning to do, but determined to show him my back as I walk away from him.

Unfortunately, the apartment is too small to actually get any distance, so I go to the sink and let some tap water pour into a glass. I chug it, which, a second later, I realize was a bad idea when a slight wave of nausea hits me. It’s not enough to have me flinch, but enough to remind me to be more careful. I cannot give Eric any hint of what’s going on.

Turning, I give him a level look. “I was about to get groceries. Has Gianna sent you here for a specific reason? Did the Russians already track me here?”

That thought comes suddenly, and I want to flail myself for not having asked this the second Eric announced the Bratva is still after me.

If Eric notices my distress, he doesn’t show it. His face is as passive as ever, but somehow still menacing. He’s not a man to trifle with, something I’ll need to keep in mind. He may be my best friend’s cousin, but he is also her enforcer and the things he has done are not something I want to muse over for too long.

When he speaks, his voice is calm, a contrast to my inner turmoil. “They didn’t track you here as far as I know. And Gianna didn’t send me.”

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