“Yes. Or they were already there… waiting.”
“They almost?—”
“They didn’t and they won’t,” he cut in firmly. “Because you’re not alone.”
Trying to calm myself, I wrapped my arms around my waist, shaking, the reality crashing down all at once.
This wasn’t intimidation anymore.
This was a countdown.
And whoever was watching had just proven they were willing to kill me in public—with my child inside me—if it meant sending a message to Maksim. I was afraid it was going to get worse before it got better.
The SUV pulled out of the parking lot, hospital lights shrinking behind us.
Numb, I stared out the window, hands pressed protectively over my belly, and knew one terrifying truth with absolute clarity… They weren’t simply trying to scare Maksim anymore.
They were trying to break him.
And I was the weapon they intended to use.
Chapter 7
Maksim
Brooklyn — Nightfall
My breath hitched before the phone finished ringing. The feeling that washed over me was something I couldn’t really explain.
That shift in the air. A gut feeling that something wasn’t right. The kind that settles in your chest when something precious has almost been taken from you.
Archer didn’t waste words. Then again, he never did.
“Attempt made,” he said without preamble. “Vehicle strike. Hospital exit. She’s unharmed. We’re moving now.”
The world went crimson.
I don’t remember ending the call. I remember the sound my fist made when it hit the corrugated metal. Once. Twice. And again. Pain bloomed across my knuckles, sharp and welcome, but it wasn’t enough to bleed out what was roaring inside me.
They had tried to kill her.
In public.
In a hospital parking lot.
While she was carrying my child.
Cold determination seeped into my very bones. I grabbed my coat and my gun and left without explanation. Dima looked up, startled, but didn’t say a word. The men around me knew better than to ask. Rage like this didn’t need translation.
The Armenian clubhouse smelled like tobacco and spilled liquor. It always had. A converted social hall squatting in the middle of their little territory, it had seen better days.
I didn’t knock.
The door splintered under my boot, wood cracking like bone. Shouts erupted. Guns came up, but I didn’t so much as flinch.
“Lower them,” I calmly ordered.
They did, but the wary expressions didn’t leave their faces. Because they knew me. Because they knew what followed if they didn’t.
