Page 37 of Claimed By the Pakhan

Groaning, I pick up my fork, stabbing a carrot and shoving it into my mouth, eyeing the steak. I decide to cut it up, knowing it will be good nutrients for the babies.

Watching the pink flesh tear makes me retch. I take small bites, chewing, forcefully swallowing it down. I finish the rest of my water, looking over the glass rim as Emil strides back into the room, approaching the windows.

He keeps a beady eye on the forest.

I study the back of his head. Me running away is making him tense, especially after yesterday. His shoulders are rigid, several muscles working underneath his shirt as he swipes a loose piece of hair away from his eyes, sighing that deep, guttural sound my pussy loves far too much.

I clench my thighs together, reliving last night on the staircase when he pried my thighs apart, feeling my pussy. I’m tempted to slot a finger down there now, relieve some of the attention, but Emil doesn’t miss a thing.

Except he did… yesterday. Someone has outsmarted him. The constant clenched jaw makes me wonder if the person who attacked me yesterday was an enemy or a friend…

“Good girl,” says Emil, turning around to see my plate clean. “You’re eating for three now. You can’t afford to go hungry.” He winks, collecting my plate.

His footsteps clack on the wooden floorboards as he disappears into the kitchen. I rise from the table, following him like a puppy waiting for its next order.

“What are you exactly?” I say, leaning into the countertop.

“I think you meanwho,”chuckles Emil, folding his arms across his broad chest. “You may beg to differ, but I’m not a monster.”

“Then you should have no trouble telling me who you are.” I match his posture, crossing my arms over my chest. “Luka helped you get rid of a dead body. Are you business partners?”

“Yes, of a much larger operation,” says Emil, “of which I own.”

“You’re the leader? Of what? An organized crime syndicate?”

“Bratvais the term we like to use, since we’re all Russian.”

I hitch my arms higher across my chest. “So, you go around killing and scamming innocent people, paying millions of dollars to export cheap materials like timber across the world?”

Emil’s gaze deepens. “How do you know that?”

“I read some old spreadsheets.”

Emil’s face turns.

“Tell me what you’re actually transporting, because it sure doesn’t cost millions to insure a boat full of wood.”

“Bratva dealings are kept extremely private,” he says.

“So private that you can’t tell your wife? What the hell, Emil?” I snap, shaking my head. “And you wonder why I’m having trouble trusting you.”

“The more you know, the more danger you put yourself in. You’re curious by nature, and that curiosity almost killed you today.” Emil grinds his jaw, his eyes shining a lethal shade, reflecting the kitchen light. Concern appears between his brow, suggesting that he actually cares about my wellbeing.

Either that, or he’s simply afraid to lose me.

But what choice do I have? Being pregnant means I have to rely on him to an extent. He cares about the children, which means I have to listen. The concern seems to always be there, the lines deepening whenever he glances at my stomach.

I comb a piece of hair away from my face, frustrated by the situation. If outside threats really are looming, I have to stay here. Being knocked unconscious a second time could cost me one of the twins, perhaps even my own life.

Regardless of who Emil has pissed off, I’m devoted to the innocence growing inside of me. I have a duty to protect it from evil.

Lightning flashes outside, turning everything white. I watch Emil’s face, playing dot to dot with the hard lines indented across his face. The storm paints him in a threatening light, and yet I feel tempted to step in and be closer.

Thunder claps, shaking the foundations of the house, but Emil remains strong throughout it all, staring at me like I’m more powerful than the storm, like I’m the only one capable of breaking him.

And that makes me feel powerful.

I’m about to make a comment when the lights cut out, the humming refrigerator dying. Silence fills the kitchen, the space between me and Emil closing as shadows fill the gaps, prompting us closer.