Cold Hearted Bastard (Underworld Kings)

For three years we’d lived on the shores of a small French village, the beach butting right up against our home, the salt and seawater in the air. I knew leaving the Ruin behind had been the best decision I could have ever made. Because it made Galina happy.

I’d waited to get my affairs and finances in order and had been putting all the money I earned working for the Ruin into offshore accounts so that no one—legitimate or otherwise—could ever get their hands on it. I had to ensure we’d never be followed, her life never again put in the crosshairs. I’d hated waiting so long to get her out of that godforsaken city and life, but it had been worth it. To see her smile up at me every night when I made love to her told me that without any words being uttered.

To know I’d done everything in my power to ensure Galina would never have to want for anything again in her life gave me peace. And I’d been ensuring that since I started working with the Ruin. But my priorities had shifted over the last five years—ever since Galina came into my life. Now, the end goal and all the saving had been to make her happy and keep her safe.

Until I took my last breath, I’d always make sure she was provided for, looked after, taken care of. I loved her. So fucking much.

I walked toward my wife, who stood in the same spot where we’d taken our vows nearly three years before. Galina had her arms hanging loosely at her sides, the wind moving her long Bohemian-style skirt back and forth.

I stepped up behind her and wrapped my arms around her slightly swollen belly, my palms flat on the swell as I leaned down and nuzzled her neck. She tilted her head to the side to give me better access, and I closed my eyes and inhaled her sweet scent.

“What are you thinking about, moy svet?”

She wrapped her arms around mine, and I could practically feel her smile. “You and how happy you make me.”

I kissed the side of her neck again. I wasn’t a good man. I never had been, and I never would be. Galina was the only saving grace in my life, my soft spot, my weakness. She knew all of this, listened to me tell her my darkest parts, my past, the violent things I’d done. And she loved me regardless, irrevocably. Undeniably.

“Ya nikogda ne znal, chto znachit byt' zhivym, prezhde chem ty byl moim.”

She turned and wrapped her arms around my neck, rising on her toes to bring her lips flush with mine. “I understood you pretty well that time,” she murmured against my lips.

“Yeah?” I nibbled her bottom lip. She’d started learning Russian and French a few years back, the latter something practical since we now called France home, the former because she said she had a passion for learning how she could curse me out when I pissed her off. I’d grinned, not caring if she wanted to swear at me in Russian every day. Her voice was so lovely anything she said was music to my ears.

“That’s right,” she kept teasing. She pulled back, and her expression turned somber. “I never knew what it meant to be alive before you were mine.”

She said the exact phrase I’d just told her in Russian, and although I told her she was mine, I knew she’d never understand when I told her she was the only thing that had ever made me feel alive.

“I love you,” I whispered and kissed her slowly. I slipped my fingers over her belly again just as my little girl, growing safely inside her mother, kicked my hand strongly.

“I hope you’re ready for her, because I’m afraid how active she is while inside is a precursor to how wild she’ll be once she’s here.”

I kissed her again and again, unable to stop my grin. “I can’t fucking wait. Let her be a wild child. Let her experience life and the world as she wants. No one will hold her back, or I’ll put a bullet in their head.”