EMERY

When we get back to the compound, I find that all of my belongings have been moved into Adrik’s room.

“Were you gonna, y’know, ask me about that?” I drawl at him.

He shrugs. “Didn’t even cross my mind.”

I roll my eyes. “Of course not. It’s Adrik’s world and we’re all just living in it.”

Sighing, I open the bureau to see all of my clothes neatly folded and arranged in the drawers. Shirts, shorts, jeans…

“Tell me you didn’t move my underwear yourself.”

“If I had it my way, kiska, I would’ve burnt it all.”

“If you’re trying to tell me you want me naked more often, then keep it in your pants. If you’re trying to tell me I have bad taste in underwear, then go stick your head up your ass.”

He laughs, growls, and tackles me onto the bed. He nips his way up my torso, around the curve of my neck, then claims me with a hot kiss, tongues thrashing together.

Pulling away, he rumbles, “I haven’t been able to keep it in my pants since the moment we met, Emery.”

Obviously, things get a little bit carried away after that. He makes me come three times rapid-fire: once with his fingers, once with his tongue, and then finally, turning me into a sputtering wreck while I spasm on his dick.

When it’s all over, I’m not sure if it’s been five minutes or five hours. I’m floating on a hazy cloud of sensation, eyes half-lidded. He looks beautiful through my eyelashes. A mirage of a man.

“Speaking of your taste in underwear, though,” he says casually, as if our conversation was never interrupted in the first place, “I did instruct the maids to throw out at least half the shit in there. No wife of mine will wear granny panties.”

“Hey!” I slap his chest. “I do not have granny panties! Just because they are simple cotton instead of, like, spun gold or whatever you think I’m supposed to be wearing—”

“You had it right the first time,” he laughs. “It’s all just a ploy to keep you naked.”

He bends over to kiss the protest right out of me. Annoyingly, it works.

Then he straightens up. “I’ll be in my office if you need me.” He finishes dressing quickly and whisks out of the room, leaving me sighing into the silence.

I pull a matching pajama set out of the drawer and tug it on with that soft smile still plastered on my face. To be honest, I’m not sure if it’s ever coming off again.

The shorts are elastic, so they still fit fine, but I can tell the waistband is stretching a little differently around my stomach. Soon, I won't be able to hide anything. Especially if Adrik and I are sharing a room.

I press my hands to my stomach and close my eyes.

No matter what happens, I’ll take care of you, little one, I think, projecting my thoughts down to my womb. Just like I’ve taken care of your big sister.

Isabella’s condition is genetic. The doctors told me there would only be a risk of having a second child with the condition if the father was a carrier, which seemed unlikely.

Then again, it was unlikely—impossible, even—that I would end up married to the brother of my rapist.

No matter what, I think again. It’s as much for the baby as it is for me.

I made sure Isabella got the best care money could buy her. Even if I had to use someone else’s money. Even if I had to marry someone like Malcolm Waters.

I will always do whatever it takes to take care of my children.

I’m about to climb into bed and sink beneath the covers to sleep this crazy day away when a thought hits me. I drop the comforter back on the bed and spin around. I’m in my pajamas, but it doesn’t matter. This is my house now, too.

I march down the hallway in my skimpy silk matching set—Adrik really did get rid of all of my comfortable pajamas, that jerk, including the ones with the built-in feet and the little clownfish embroidered all over that I loved more than life itself—and walk straight into Adrik’s office.

“Viktoria is pregnant, right?” I ask the second the door opens.

Adrik is sitting behind his desk. He barely glances up as I walk in. Is it even possible to surprise him? If so, I’ve never seen it.

He takes a deep breath and leans back in his chair. “What?”

“Viktoria. Yasha’s wife.”

“I’m aware of who my brother is married to.”

“You said she was pregnant?”

“A few months along, I believe,” he says. “He’s kept it quiet. Pregnancy can be dangerous in our line of work, so Yasha wanted to hide it as well as they could.”

I frown. “Dangerous?”

He shrugs. “Bloodlines. Lineage. Our enemies would fall all over themselves to sever any branch of the Tasarov family tree.”

My blood runs cold. “They would kill a pregnant woman?”

“If it meant securing their own power?” He nods. “Absolutely.”

Something like guilt rolls through me. Though it could also be nausea. Regardless, I swallow it all down, even when it tastes like battery acid.

“You said at the wake that bloodlines didn’t matter.”

“They don’t matter to me. Not where Isabella is concerned,” he corrects. “But they do matter.”

He should know about the baby, says one voice in my head. I should tell him.

But maybe telling him is a risk, says another. The more people that know, the more endangered I could be.

I stare at him, my mind flip-flopping back and forth on the issue so fast that I’m growing dizzy. Then Adrik speaks, his voice scything right through the noise in my head.

“What’s this about, Emery?”

“Oh, right.” I close the office door and step up to the desk. “I got to wondering if Viktoria knows what Yasha is up to.”

“How could she not?”

“You might be unfamiliar with the concept, but everyone doesn’t know everything all the time the way you do,” I mutter.

Adrik smirks. “Are you trying to flatter me?”

“If I was trying to flatter you, you’d know it.”

He folds his hands together in a way that draws my attention to them. They’re impossibly masculine. Scarred and capable. I know very well exactly how capable. My insides are still squirming from the capability, as a matter of fact.

“Don’t tease unless you’re prepared to face the consequences, kiska.”

Focus, Em. I make my expression as neutral as possible and face him. “I am asking because I might have a plan.”

“Let’s hear it.”

“Well, I don’t know…” I stammer. I’m not sure where to start.

Adrik starts to clap sarcastically. “Beautiful plan. Wonderful.”

I scowl at him, but he only smiles. “It’s less of a plan and more of an idea,” I start again. “I don’t know Viktoria very well, but I met her at that one dinner.”

“I didn’t think you were exactly paying attention, given the… circumstances.”

“I wasn’t. But I do remember Viktoria trying to keep Yasha in line. She wanted him to behave.”

“She’s not his mother.”

“No. But she was acting like it a little bit, wasn’t she?” I ask. “She wanted him to be proper. So I just have a hard time thinking that she is completely fine with everything he is doing right now.”

“He wants to lead the Bratva and be more powerful. That would make her a Bratva queen.”

“So?”

Adrik rolls his eyes. “To most women, that is alluring. They like the idea of power and wealth.”

“I’m not so sure you’re right about that as a sweeping generalization, but we’ll circle back. And anyway, why would she want that when she’s pregnant? You said that puts her in a dangerous position. Yasha running around starting wars only makes it worse.”

“Hm,” Adrik says. “You’re not wrong.”

I lift my chin. “I know.”

“Careful,” he warns. “Someone might think you’re starting to get cocky.”

“Right. That’s your job.”

Tags: Naomi West Tasarov Bratva Romance
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