Fifteen weeks. The number haunts me as I stand in front of my bedroom mirror, adjusting the wrap dress I bought specifically to hide the small but unmistakable curve of my belly. The deep burgundy fabric drapes perfectly, concealing what I’m not ready for the world to see, but I’m fighting a losing battle. Every day brings me closer to the point where loose clothing won’t be enough.
I smooth the fabric one more time and grab my purse from the dresser. The envelope inside contains my latest ultrasound photos. They’re images I’ve stared at for hours, trying to reconcile the tiny human shape on the screen with the magnitude of what it represents. My child. Growing stronger every day while I scramble to figure out how I’m going to provide for them.
The financial reality has been keeping me awake at night. Even with Maya’s promise to move me to kitchen work once I can’t hide the pregnancy anymore, the pay cut will be devastating. No more tips means surviving on minimum wage, and minimum wage doesn’t cover rent, utilities, groceries, and prenatal care, let alone the thousands of dollars I’ll need for the actual birth since I have crappy insurance. Medicaid for pregnancy is an option, and the application sits on my desk, not yet filled out, because I still make too much until I switch to the kitchen.
I’ve run the numbers a dozen different ways, and they never add up to anything resembling security.
The worst part is the growing acknowledgment I might have to swallow my pride and determination to keep my child out of his world to find Nikandr. Not because I want him in my life or because I think he’d be a good father, but because I’m running out of options. A child shouldn’t suffer because their mother was too stubborn to ask for help, even if the someone is a bratva pakhan.
Even If were ready to do that, how do I find a man who exists in the shadows? How do I contact someone whose last name I don’t even know?
My phone buzzes with a text from Maya. ”Hey, girl, you forgot to grab your check yesterday. It’s in the office when you get a chance.”
I close my eyes and curse under my breath. My paycheck. The one thing I can’t afford to forget, and somehow, it slipped my mind completely. The pregnancy brain fog is real, and it’s making everything harder than it needs to be.
I grab my keys and head for the door. The club is only a fifteen-minute walk from my apartment, and the exercise might help clear my head. Plus, I can’t afford to waste gas on unnecessary trips when every dollar needs to be stretched as far as possible.
The afternoon air is crisp, with the kind of autumn bite that means winter isn’t far behind. That means another worry to add to my ever-growing list. Heating bills will get higher as the weather gets colder, though California winters are usually mild. I pull my hoodie tighter around myself and walk faster, as if speed can outrun the anxiety that follows me everywhere these days.
The club looks different in. The neon signs are dark, and the parking lot is mostly empty except for a few cars that belong to staff members preparing for the night shift. I try the main entrance first, but it’s locked. Maya must not be in yet, which means I’ll have to use the employee entrance around back. I walk around the building, noting the way shadows seem to gather in corners despite the bright afternoon sun.
The back door is propped open with a cinder block, and I hear music playing inside. Someone’s definitely here, even if it’s not Maya. I poke my head through the doorway and call out. “Hello? Anyone here?”
“Sabrina?” Eli’s voice comes from somewhere near the bar. “That you?”
“Yeah. I just need to grab my check.”
“Come on in. Maya’s not here yet, but I can let you in from behind the bar.”
I find Eli restocking bottles, his sleeves rolled up and a towel thrown over his shoulder. He’s one of the few male employees at the club, a bartender who’s been here longer than anyone else and treats the place like his personal kingdom.
“Thanks,” I say as he lifts the hinged section of the bar to let me through. “I can’t believe I forgot it yesterday.”
“Happens to the best of us. Envelope’s on Maya’s desk, I think.”
The office is barely bigger than a closet and crammed with filing cabinets and boxes of inventory. Maya’s desk is a disaster zone of receipts, schedules, and employee paperwork, but I spot my envelope immediately. My name is written across the front in Maya’s careful handwriting, and seeing it brings a small surge of relief.
I stuff the envelope into my purse and turn to leave, already planning how to stretch the money. The electric bill is due in three days, and I still need groceries and gas. Maybe if I’m careful, I can make it last until my next paycheck.
“Sabrina?”
I freeze at the sound of my name. The voice doesn’t belong to Eli. It’s deeper and rougher, with an edge that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I turn around slowly and see a man standing in the office doorway. He’s one of the regulars, someone I’ve served drinks to maybe a dozen times over the past few months. Carl, I think his name is. Mid-forties and average height, with the kind of forgettable face that doesn’t stick in your memory until you have a reason to be afraid of it.
“Hi,” I say carefully, trying to keep my voice light. “Carl, right? I didn’t know you were here. The club doesn’t open for a little while yet.”
“I was talking to Eli about something.” He doesn’t move away from the doorway, effectively blocking my exit. “I wanted to ask you about something too.”
Something in his tone makes my stomach clench with unease. I’ve served enough drunk men to recognize when a situation is about to go sideways, and every instinct I have is screaming at me to get away from him. “I actually need to get going,” I say, taking a step toward the door. “Maybe we can talk when I’m working later?”
He doesn’t move. If anything, he leans more heavily against the doorframe, making it clear I’m not leaving until he says I can. “It’ll just take a minute.” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you for a while now.”
I force myself to stay calm, to think rationally instead of giving in to the panic that’s starting to build in my chest. Eli is just outside in the main area. If something happens and I scream, he’ll hear me. This man might be a regular customer, but he’s not stupid enough to try anything with witnesses around. “What did you want to talk about?”
“You’ve been looking different lately.” His gaze travels down my body in a way that makes my skin crawl. “Different in a good way. Softer.”
My hand moves instinctively to my stomach, and his smile widens. The gesture is unconscious and protective, but it tells him everything he needs to know.
“You’re pregnant,” he says, and it’s not a question.
I don’t answer, but I don’t need to. He can see the truth in my face, in the way I’m standing, and in the defensive posture I’ve unconsciously adopted.
“That’s what I thought.” He takes a step into the office, and I take a step back. “Been watching you for weeks, trying to figure out what was different. Makes sense now.”
“I really need to go.” I try to push past him, but he catches my arm.
“Not yet.” His grip is firm but not painful—yet. “We haven’t finished talking.”
“There’s nothing to talk about. Please let me go.”
“Sure there is.” He pulls me closer, and I smell alcohol on his breath despite the early hour. “See, I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately. Wondering what it would be like to get to know you better.”
The panic that’s been building in my chest explodes into full-blown terror. This isn’t just an uncomfortable conversation anymore. This is dangerous. “Let go of me.” I try to pull away, but his grip tightens.
“Now that I know you’re pregnant, it makes things even more interesting.” His voice drops to a whisper. “Pregnant women are so much more sensitive. So much more responsive. Such a shame I have to do this, but if you’re pregnant, that’s it…”
That’s when I see the knife.
It appears in his free hand like magic, the blade catching the fluorescent light from the office ceiling. It’s not particularly large, but it doesn’t need to be. Sharp metal is sharp metal, and I’m trapped in a confined space with no way out.
“You’re going to come with me,” he says conversationally, as if he’s asking about the weather. “We’re going to go somewhere quiet, and you’re going to let me show you how much I appreciate pregnant women.”
I look into his eyes and see something that makes my blood run cold. This isn’t a crime of opportunity or a moment of poor judgment. This is planned, deliberate, and he’s thought about this scenario enough to bring a weapon. For some reason, I’m convinced it isn’t even about raping me. There’s something more going on.
He’s going to hurt me. He’s going to hurt my baby.
That realization triggers something primal and fierce in my chest. I might be pregnant and vulnerable, but I’m not helpless. I’ve lived in this neighborhood long enough to know how to protect myself, and I’ll be damned if I let some predator touch me or my child.
“Okay,” I say quietly, letting my shoulders slump in apparent defeat. “Okay, you’re right. Let’s go somewhere quiet.”
He smiles and relaxes slightly, thinking he’s won. That’s his mistake.
I drive my knee up into his groin with every ounce of strength I have.
He doubles over with a strangled scream, and the knife clatters to the floor. I don’t wait to see if he recovers. I push past him and run toward the main area of the club, screaming for Eli.
“Help! Someone help me!”
Carl recovers faster than I expected. I hear him behind me, cursing and stumbling, and then his hand closes around my arm again. This time, his grip is painful and desperate, his nails dig into my skin.
“You stupid bitch.” He spins me around to face him. “You think you can—”
I don’t let him finish. I rake my nails across his face, aiming for his eyes, and when he flinches back, I drive my elbow into his solar plexus.
He staggers but doesn’t go down, and I realize with growing horror that he’s much stronger than I am. I’m desperate, but he’s stronger, and I’m fifteen weeks pregnant, which means I can’t fight the way I normally would. I can’t risk taking hits to my stomach or falling wrong.
He shoves me hard against the wall, and my head hits the concrete with enough force to make my vision blur. For a moment, I think I might pass out, but the fear for my baby keeps me conscious and fighting.
“You’re going to pay for that.” He’s panting as he presses his body against mine to pin me in place. “I was going to be nice, but now we’re going to do this the hard way. I just have to bring you in alive…”
The realization of what he intends to do makes me fight even harder. I claw at his face, his arms, or anything I can reach, while screaming at the top of my lungs. “Eli, help me please!”
But the music in the main area is loud, and I don’t know if he can hear me over the sound. Panic starts to set in as Carl pins my wrists above my head with one hand and fumbles for something in his pocket with the other.
The knife. He’s going for the knife he dropped.
That’s when I hear the back door slam open with enough force to rattle the building.
Carl freezes, turning his head toward the sound, and I use his momentary distraction to knee him again. This time, I catch him in the thigh, and he stumbles back enough for me to see who’s coming down the hallway.
Nikandr.
He moves like death itself, silent and deadly, his gaze locked on Carl with focused intensity that promises violence. He’s wearing a dark suit that makes him look even more dangerous than usual, and there’s something in his expression that makes me afraid. Not fear for me. My relief is so intense it’s almost painful.
The fear is for Carl, but it dispels as I realize I don’t care what happens to him.
“Get away from her.” His voice is quiet but carries more menace than any scream ever could. “Now.”
Carl must hear it too because he releases me and takes a step back. He’s either too drunk or too stupid to understand the magnitude of danger he’s in. “Hey, man, this is none of your business,” he says, trying to sound confident. “The lady and me was just havin’ a conversation.”
Nikandr doesn’t respond with words. He moves faster than I would have thought possible, covering the distance between them in two strides. Carl has time to raise his hands defensively, but it doesn’t matter. Nikandr’s first punch lands in his solar plexus with enough force to lift him off his feet. The second catches him in the jaw, and something cracks. Carl crumples to the floor like a marionette with cut strings, unconscious before he hits the ground.
The entire encounter lasts less than ten seconds.
I stare at Carl’s motionless form, then at Nikandr, who’s standing over him with the calm, detached expression of someone who’s done this before. Many times.
I stammer out the first thing that comes to mind. “He’s a regular. He’s never acted like this before.”
Nikandr’s expression darkens, and he delivers a sharp kick to Carl’s unconscious form. “He’ll never act like it again with you.”
Before I can process what just happened, he grabs my arm and starts pulling me toward the back door. “We’re leaving. Now.”
I stumble behind him, too stunned and still trying to process everything that’s happened to protest, at least for the moment.
