Page 4 of Secret Baby for the Bratva Boss

I close the space between us and grab her by the upper arm, trying not to let the regret show in my face when she gasps in pain.

I loosen my hold, but I don’t release her—I don’t trust her. She’s flighty right now, Kat. I wouldn’t put it past her to just cut and run even though she’s stranded on the highway in a storm. So, I half-drag her to the passenger side, open the door, and shove her in.

Though she doesn’t fight, she does resist a little, dragging her heels, pushing back toward me when I try to get her in. But finally, maybe realizing she’s overpowered, or maybe realizing she’s really in danger—she sinks into the passenger seat, and promptly begins shivering. Her wide eyes look anywhere but at me, as though even my face pains her. Hell, maybe it does.

But I don’t have time for compassion. For apologies years overdue. Kat will never hear a sorry from me; I can’t give it to her. To give her that would be to admit that, once, I cared for her.

To give her that would be to admit that maybe—I still do. So, I slam her door, locking her in a moment of burning silence.

Still, unable to ignore her shivering, I turn on the heat as soon as I’m in, full blast. Then, I begin driving toward her farmhouse. I give her a moment to collect herself. To make peace with what’s going on. But I can’t afford long.

After a moment, I ask what I was hesitating to. “Where is your son?”

Kat says nothing. But in my periphery, I see her tighten her grip on her camera bag. Rain drips off the tip of her nose. Her eyes are bright and wide and alert. She looks like an animal, captured in a trap. Being taken somewhere for slaughter. Knowing her fate, and unable to escape it.

But even though I might want to, I can’t soften. I can’t let this image slip. She was right to fear me when she learned what I was all those years ago. She was right to let me walk out, and never look back.

And yet…here we are. And I’ve endangered her, and her son, anyway.“Kat,” I repeat. “It’s important that you tell me. My intelligence can find him quickly enough, but it will be quicker if you just tell me now.”

“Yourintelligence?” She sounds incredulous, like I’m referring to the plot of some spy movie rather than real life.If only.

“My men,” I say impatiently. “We arrived not long ago. And I want them posted, immediately, to keep you and your family safe.”

“Safe from what, exactly?” Her voice is high, thin, shot with terror. “Aleks, enough—what the fuck is going on?”

I killed my rival’s brother, and now he’s after the only thing he thinks I care about.

You.

“Where is your son?”

She’s silent again, fuming. But I can sense she’s debating. The sooner I know, the sooner her son is safe. “My mom’s house.”

I open my phone and shoot off a text. I didn’t bring too many men with me, only a small contingent. Enough to handle the issue and keep Kat and her family safe without drawing unwanted attention to the organization. I get a reply quickly; my men will be there in minutes. But it’s too soon to expel a breath of relief—that comes when Konstantin draws his last.

“This is insane,” Kat whispers, seemingly more to herself than me. “This is all completely insane. I haven’t seen you in four years.”

“I know.”

“Youleftto keep me safe—now, what? I’m not safe anywhere?” She laughs, a soft, cold little sound. “God, Aleks. What the fuck have you done?”

I don’t answer her. I look ahead down the dark slick highway, at the forest encroaching on the farmland like a dark tidal wave.At the lightning, breaking the sky over and over to the riotous song of thunder. “Do as I say,” I tell Kat. “And soon this will all be a distant, unpleasant memory.”

“That sounds familiar.”

“I don’t care what it sounds like.” I look at her. Her face is taut, angry. She’s glaring ahead at the road. “I want you to simply agree. Do you want to die, Kat?”

Finally, she looks at me with something other than fear or anger. Her tense face softens, and fills with a deep, terrible sadness. “No. I don’t want to die, Aleks.”

She says it like the thought alone is a wound; she says it like I myself am pressing a blade to her neck.

Really—would she be so wrong about that? Is this really so different?

“Then tell me you will do as I say, when I say,” I repeat, making my voice even harder. Colder. The last thing I need is any softness between us, any warmth.Any hope.“Without question, and without hesitation.”

But she does hesitate. We enter the dark labyrinth of trees, and she turns her face to the window, so I can no longer see her. “Yes,” she finally says, very softly. “But it’s not because I trust you, Aleks. I lost my trust in you a long, long time ago.”

I hear the part she doesn’t say:And there’s no getting it back.

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