Page 135 of 10 Days to Surrender

But she thrashes against me. “Have to… have to find her…”

“Hush now.” I tighten my grip as another contraction hits. Her back arches, a sound like breaking glass tearing from her throat.

Zoya snarls at Lora, who runs inside and returns with an armful of towels and the villa’s first aid supplies. It’s not much, but it’s all we have. Belle follows with a pot of water that’s nowhere near as hot as we need, but it’ll have to do.

The storm rages. Thunder cracks overhead like artillery fire. And through it all, Ariel burns in my arms, caught between consciousness and delirium, calling for a sister I let slip away into the night.

I’ve never felt more powerless in my life. Not even when my father had barbed wire around my throat. At least then, I knew how to fight back.

But this? This is a different kind of helplessness entirely. All I can do is hold on and pray to a God I stopped believing in long ago that He’ll keep her safe through this night.

In the strobe of Feliks’s phone and the intermittent lightning, I count the seconds between Ariel’s pulses. They’re rabbit-quick under my palm. Too fast. The medical kit lies gutted at our feet: gauze, scissors, a half-roll of surgical tape. Useless tools for this wet, screaming dark.

Zoya’s hands disappear between Ariel’s legs. “Head’s crowning.”

Ariel’s breath hitches. “No—no, it’s too soon?—”

“Breathe,” I order, thumbs digging into the base of Ariel’s spine. She’d mocked these positions weeks ago—Who needs a birthing ball when you’ve got a Bratva boss?—but now, her body arches instinctively into the pressure.

“Fuck your—ah!—breathing techniques.” Her fingers dig into the wet earth. “God, it hurts.”

“I know,ptichka.” I keep my hands steady on her back, kneading the muscles there. “But you’re doing so well.”

She barks out another laugh, this one edged with hysteria. “Remember our first Lamaze class? When Gina was pretending to be the teacher?” Her words break off in a gasp as the contraction peaks. “Bet you… wish you’d paid more attention now.”

“Inhale for four counts,” I say calmly, demonstrating. “Hold for seven. Exhale for eight.”

Her eyes narrow even through the pain. “Y-you… actually remember?”

“Of course I do.” I stroke her back as she tries to match my breathing. “I remember everything about that day. The ridiculous exercises. The way you kept almost breaking character to laugh. How beautiful you looked, even when you were trying your hardest to push me away.” I lean close to her ear. “Now breathe with me, Ariel. Just like we practiced. In… hold… out…”

She follows my lead, our breaths syncing as the contraction slowly ebbs. For a moment, we’re back in that silly class, before everything went wrong.

Before truth became lies and love became ash in our mouths.

But then thunder crashes overhead, and reality crashes back with it. My wife is in labor too early, my sister-in-law is hunting a monster in the dark, and my world is burning down around me.

“Push!” Zoya urges, hands frantic near Ariel’s knees.

Ariel’s skull cracks against my collarbone. “I can’t?—”

“You can.” My palm splays across her heaving stomach. “You will.”

But then I see Zoya’s face tighten with concern. “The first one is breech,” she mutters to me in clipped Russian. “Blyat.We need to turn the baby.”

Ariel’s eyes roll wildly. “What? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong.” I keep my voice steady even as fear claws at my throat. “The baby’s just coming feet-first. We’re going to help them turn.”

Her fingers dig into my forearm hard enough to draw blood. “Don’t lie to me. Not now. Not about this.”

“Never about this.” I meet her gaze. “Trust me one last time. Just for this moment.”

Thunder crashes. In its echo, I hear her whisper, “I don’t know if I can.”

But she has no choice. None of us do.

“On the next contraction,” Zoya instructs, “you’ll need to help me guide the baby. Your hands are bigger, stronger.”

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