Page 46 of Knocked-up Bratva Bride
“I said release him,” Damien repeated. He walked toward a window, looked down at the parking lot below, his hands clasped behind his coat. “A cage is too kind. Let him breathe fresh air. I want him to believe he’s free.”
Then, his tone dropped to something frigid and scary. “And then I’ll remind him what it feels like to beg for mercy.To cry for help. To scream when you’re helpless. I’ll remind him what it feels like to have a taste of your own blood more than water on your tongue every fucking morning. And when he thinks I’m tired and wary of playing games, that’s when I’ll make him realize he has a more fucking brutal fate.”
The room grew cold as if all the warmth had been stripped from the air.
I didn’t think I’d ever heard Damien speak that many words in a sentence, let alone issue such a threat. I mean, because ithadto be a threat. He couldn’t be serious.Right?
I stood slowly, but my legs moved weakly like they were made of jelly as I tried to speak. My throat was sore from crying, and my mouth was parched.
“Damien…you can’t….”
His eyes flicked toward me. Not angry. Not even cruel. Just hollow and eerily empty. Standing close to him felt like I was destined to become a victim of a bad omen, much like the victims who lingered near villains in horror movies.
“He stole my daughter.” He shrugged. “I’ll return the favor.”
For a long moment, I couldn’t speak. I was familiar with ice wrapped in fury, control masking devastation. I’d read about it in books and seen it in documentaries, but I’d never truly experienced it.
I took a step back, and another, and another, until I was running down the hallway, moving farther away from a harsh truth that stared back at me.
He was powerful, rich, and handsome, and I’d been attracted to him from the moment I saw him. But now, something felt different.
For the first time since I met him, I feared Damien Yezhov.
Truly feared him.
Chapter 15 – Damien
I watched the city through the window in her room, feeling nothing at the sight of city lights or beautiful scenery. Those people out there lived their lives freely while my daughter was chocked up in this fucking hospital, breathing through life support.
I checked the time on my watch and was not surprised to see the hands of the clock hitting nine p.m.
Roman brought the food and change of clothes, while Fedor attended to bailing our guest from the cell and taking him to a more comfortable place to spend the night. As for me, there was no way in hell I was leaving my daughter’s side until I got news that she was out of the red.
Cutting through the steady beeps from the monitors, the door clicked open behind me.
“Mr. Yezhov?” the doctor said gently.
I didn’t find the zeal to turn around or pretend to be hospitable. “Just tell me.”
I sensed her hesitation, but I didn’t push her. These weren’t the kind of conversations you rushed.
“Katya’s vitals have stabilized. Her heart rate, breathing, and blood pressure are all within safe ranges now. There’s no sign of further brain swelling or bleeding, and her organ functions are holding steady. That means she’s out of immediate danger.”
My eyes closed, and I released a slow, silent exhale.
“But...she’s still in a coma. We can’t predict when or if she’ll wake up.”
A crack appeared in the concrete wall I’d once called my soul. My jaw tightened. That word—if—felt like a fucking searing blade cutting right into my heart.
“How long are we talking?”
“Could be days. Weeks. Sometimes longer. Her brain activity is responding, which is hopeful. But we won’t know until…until she chooses to come back to us.”
“Chooses,” I echoed bitterly. “You think it’s that simple?”
She wasn’t in the condition to fuckingchooseanything. We were supposed to make her come back to us. I wanted her to come back.
“No,” the doctor admitted. “But I’ve seen it happen.”
