Page 22 of The Bratva’s Stalked Pregnant Bride

“Tell me anyway,” I sighed.

“Rand Eckvald,” she said, like it was a big reveal. I didn’t know who the hell that was until she informed me it was the owner of Canyon Vines.

No, I didn’t like that at all. This was a whole lot more information than I expected her to get, and I wasn’t sure I wanted it. “Why’s the owner of the vineyard doing his own deliveries?” I asked.

“Or hiring thugs off the street to unload it before he attacks your employee?” she astutely finished my line of thought.

I thanked her, and she promised to keep me updated if she came up with anything new or managed to catch the other guy on any of the street cameras she hadn’t yet fed into her super spy program.

Laurel stirred, her hand flopping off the side of the bed, but she didn’t wake up. After a few moments, I tucked her arm back under the blanket and continued to watch over her, lost in thoughts I wasn’t too happy about.

Only a few days after I made a wine order from a vineyard that had ties to my family’s enemies, my place got attacked. More specifically, Laurel got attacked. And there were some mysterious ties to that vineyard she might have been trying to hide.

Did this Rand Eckvald asshole know who was running the restaurant? Nik was careful, as all my family members were, to keep everything we owned registered under legit company names that would have taken a puzzle master to trace back to one of us. I was the same when it was transferred over to me.

No one should know that my restaurant was run by a member of the biggest crime family in California unless someone tipped them off. I stared down at Laurel, who rolled over, her brow once again furrowed up as she burrowed her cheek into her snowy white pillow.

Not my Laurel. There was no way. She didn’t have it in her. She was currently restlessly tossing and turning on her bed from the confrontation. Was it all an act?

“Laurel,” I said, slightly louder than my normal speaking voice.

She didn’t budge. I sighed and stood up, only sure of one thing at that point. I had to keep a sharper eye on her. In fact, it would be better to not let her out of my sight at all from now on. As I got ready to leave, I got on the phone to set up full-time surveillance of her place, for her safety and my peace of mind.

If someone was out to get her, or was working with her, they’d have to get through me first.

Chapter 13 - Laurel

A good night’s sleep was something I didn’t know too much about. When I was a kid, I was frequently awakened by my parents starting a new fight, unable to keep it in until morning. It was scary being on my own for the first time when I moved to Napa Valley, although things were a lot quieter at first. That in itself made it oddly difficult to sleep through the night without waking up expecting the worst.

That all changed when I moved in with Rand, and soon enough, it was like reliving my parents’ relationship, except now I was one of the main characters in the crap show and not a cowering spectator.

So when I woke up, fully refreshed, for the first time in pretty much my whole life, I stretched luxuriously and smiled at the sliver of sunshine coming through the gap in the curtains. That lasted all of ten seconds when I got the sinking feeling of not remembering how I got to bed in the first place.

I didn’t recall washing my makeup off or getting into my pajamas, and in fact, I was still in the same clothes I wore to work yesterday.

Yesterday.

Oh no. Oh my God.

Snippets of memory returned, running backward toward the beginning. Mik carrying me into my room, driving me home, picking me up at the restaurant because I was in a heap on the ground. I remembered flashes of fear, the feeling of a hand around my throat.

I forced myself to stop, sitting up abruptly and just as abruptly flopping back down again from a wave of dizziness. I rolled into a ball from mortification as I realized how I got to bed. Why there was a need for Mik to pick me up and take me home.

Rand found me. Someone must have spilled my secret, and he traced me to Los Angeles, took a chance that I’d be at the restaurant, and drove eight hours to get his hands on me. And his mouth. I gagged when I remembered his rough kiss. Not a kiss, an assault. It didn’t deserve the other word.

But then Mik had saved me, shouting some outlandish claim and… then what?

I sat up more slowly, fighting the terrible, deep shame and embarrassment. I hadn’t passed out since sixth grade, during an especially fearful fight between my parents. My mother stormed into the kitchen, and I heard her rip one of the drawers open, then the clang of a knife.

At least passing out had kept them from killing each other that time, and I’d been working on my coping skills ever since. Not that well, apparently. But seeing how determined Rand was, even after a month apart, brought back every bad memory I fought to keep down, including the ones he inflicted.

Especially those.

When I took my head out of my hands, I noticed there was a glass of water and a bottle of headache medicine on my bedside table, along with a folded piece of paper. Gulping down a couple of the pills, I unfolded the note and read the scrawling writing.

Take all the time you need.

How about forever? It was going to take at least that long to get over this. I actually pulled up my bank statement, seriously considering never showing up at the restaurant again, but my balance said no. My conscience wanted me to at least thank Mik for getting me home. By now, I remembered he wanted to take me to the hospital, and that would have been a waste of time and money, considering it was only a panic attack.