“But this is different. This deserves it.”
Brody exhaled slowly. The air ruffled Ren’s hair. Then he grabbed him by the waist and pulled him until they were side by side, face to face on the pillow, so close their noses were almost touching.
“It’s dangerous for you to leave here.”
Ren frowned. He searched for Brody’s eyes in the darkness.
“Still? Is it still that dangerous?”
Brody’s jaw tightened. The line of his mouth went straight, tight, and Ren recognized that look: it was the one he wore when he was holding back information he didn’t want to let out.
“Brody.”
“Reznov hasn’t stopped.”
The name fell between them like a stone in still water. Ren felt his stomach clench, an old reflex that should have worn off by now but hadn’t.
“He paid seven hundred thousand dollars,” Brody said. His voice was low, without inflection, as if he were reading a report. “That kind of money isn’t lost. It is not forgotten. It isn’t absorbed as just another business loss. He wants what he bought.”
What he bought. Ren. His body. A whole year of unlimited access to whatever Dimitri Reznov wanted to do to him.
A chill shot up from the base of his spine to the nape of his neck with the force of a whip. The skin on his arms, his thighs, the back of his neck bristled. Brody noticed because he pulled him close and pressed him against his chest, wrapping both arms around him. The heat of his body was like a wall.
“He has people looking for you. Not as many as in the first few weeks, but enough. They’re discreet, well-paid, and they know this area.”
Ren squeezed his eyelids shut. He forced himself to breathe against Brody’s chest. The scent of home filled his lungs and pushed the panic down a centimeter. Just a centimeter. But it was enough to speak.
“I need to see a doctor, Brody.”
It wasn’t a whim. It wasn’t negotiable. Ren knew little about pregnancy, only what he’d gleaned from a library book. That book discussed bonds and genetic compatibility, not ultrasounds, prenatal vitamins, or the myriad issues that could arise in a body weakened for years by suppressants and emotional neglect.
Brody kissed the top of his head. His lips lingered there for a moment, pressing against his hair.
“I know. I’ll try to get one to come here. To the mansion.”
Ren nodded against his chest. The tension gripping his shoulders eased a little. Just a little.
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet.”
They fell asleep like that, entwined, with the promise floating between them like something fragile that neither dared to touch again.
Three days later, Ren was in the library with his legs tucked under him and the book on fated mates open to a chapter on linked gestation when Brody appeared in the doorway. He rested his shoulder against the frame and crossed his arms. He wore his black shirt rolled up to his elbows, and his hair was tousled as if he’d run his hands through it too many times.
Ren looked up from the book.
“You haven’t found one.”
It wasn’t a question. Brody’s posture said it all. The tension in his forearms, the way he clenched his jaw.
“I haven’t come across anyone who isn’t connected to my uncle.”
Brody stepped into the library and sank into the armchair across from Ren. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and rubbed his face with both hands.
“Malachi has tentacles in every damn private clinic in this city. The doctors who treat linked or pregnant Omegas… they all report to him. Not directly. Through intermediaries, contacts, favors he owes them or they owe him. If I call any of them and ask them to come here, in less than twenty-four hours everyone will know exactly where you are.”
Ren closed the book. He set it on the armrest of the sofa. He felt the familiar chill of fear run through his knuckles, but he pushed it aside.
