Page 160 of Immaculate Deception (Romanoff Bratva)

I groan, relieved at the sound of my own voice, no matter how strained. It means I’m conscious. I’m alive.

For now.

“She’s waking up,” someone says in a high-pitched, sing-song voice. “Yes, she is. I hoped she would stay asleep, but she’s waking up. Oooh, what a handsome boy you are!”

Distantly, I recognize the voice, but I’m in too much pain to put anything together right now. The next step is simply to open my eyes.

I try to blink but it feels like my lids have been glued shut. A simple task has never been so hard before.

“I hit her so hard, she might have a concussion,” the chipper voice says. “Not nearly as smart as you, no, no. Not anymore. No one is as smart as you, sweet boy.”

Sweet boy.

Is someone talking to a child?

A child.Small fragments of thoughts begin to materialize in my head, joining together into full pieces.

I’ve been hit. There’s a baby in the car. Someone is talking to him.

Then the names fill in.

Brigittehit me.

Lukasis the baby in the car.

Brigitte is talking to my son.

That thought is enough to send my eyelids popping open. My vision is dark around the edges and blurred, but as I blink, my eyes adjust to the light.

We’re in a car—an SUV by the looks of it—and I’m lying on my side in the backseat. My hands are bound in front of me and my feet are tied.

Brigitte is in the front seat with Lukas. She has the dash lights on, which is why it feels so bright in here. And it’s why I can only see my son in silhouette.

Even in silhouette, though, he looks so big. So much bigger than the last time I saw him. Six endless weeks ago.

My heart broke every time I thought of him over the last six weeks. Every time I realized another day had passed without him, I wanted to drop to my knees.

But seeing him now, like this? So much bigger? A baby, cooing and wiggling and watching the world with wide eyes?

I feel like I’m going to be sick.

Turns out I’m right about that. I vomit all over the floor of the SUV.

“Oh, no!” Brigitte coos. “That’s nasty, isn’t it, my little angel?”

“Don’t you dare talk to my son.” My voice is raspy and wobbly, but I don’t care. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

“Your son? I don’t think so. He doesn’t even remember you,” Brigitte sneers. I never knew her voice could sound so mean. Not towards me, at least. The cruelty nearly takes my breath away. “I’m his mom now.”

“You stole him. You’ll never be his mother.”

Brigitte shrugs and leans forward, rubbing her nose against Lukas’s. “When you’re dead, he won’t even know you existed. He won’t know the difference.”

When I’m dead?I was so concerned about Lukas that I hadn’t spared much of a thought for myself.

“Where are we?” I ask.

“Oh, that’s right,” Brigitte says, leaning forward to look through the window. “You wouldn’t recognize this place. He moved since you two broke up. Probably to get away from the bad memories you left him with.”

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