Page 254 of The Devil's Thorn
“You know they’ll come harder for her now,” he added, voice lower. “If they think she’s the reason you won’t give in.”
“Then let them.”
He watched me. Nikolai stayed silent. Always the anchor. Always reading the room without the need to speak into it.
“And if she is pregnant?” Yuri asked, quieter now. “What then?”
I turned to him slowly. “Then she stays mine.”
A beat of silence passed. No one challenged it. No one had to. Because there was no question of what I meant.
The clock moved forwardin a way only my world understands. No hours. No time. Just signals. Confirmations. Movement.
By the time the text came through—clear to proceed—we were already walking toward the elevator.
Nikolai handed me the tablet with the latest port clearance as the elevator doors slid open. “We’ll take the lead car,” he said. “Two flanking, one trailing. All dark, all secure. Maksim’s already at the dock.”
“And the cargo?” I asked.
“Loaded. Checked. Touched only by our hands.”
Yuri cracked his knuckles as the elevator descended, his expression looser now—but not lighter.
“You think this one’s going to be quiet?”
“No shipment is ever quiet,” I said. “Just delayed noise.”
The elevator opened into the underground garage—cold, clean, with concrete that echoed every step like it was listening.
The cars were waiting. Matte black. Reinforced. Unmarked.
Nikolai climbed into the passenger seat. Yuri slipped into the back beside me.
I shut the door.
Silence settled around me again. But this kind?
This was the kind I knew how to use.
The hum of the engine was low, smooth. Silent enough to think. But loud enough to keep the quiet from cutting too deep.
The city bled past the windows—dim streetlights, shuttered storefronts, and shadows moving between alleyways like they didn’t want to be seen.
Smart.
The further we drove, the fewer lights there were. Roads rougher. Street signs faded and bent. No cameras. No questions. Exactly how I liked it.
Yuri was sprawled beside me, legs stretched, gaze flicking to his phone every few seconds as if waiting for a change in wind direction.
“You trust Maksim to handle the weight?” he asked eventually, not looking at me.
“I trust him to follow orders,” I said. “Trust is earned by consistency. Not time.”
He made a low sound, something between a chuckle and a breath. “Cold.”
“It’s not cold. It’s necessary.”
Nikolai didn’t speak from the front, but I saw the slow nod in the mirror. He agreed. Of course he did. He didn’t believe in warmth either.
