I’m done playing games.
The moment I drag Sabrina out of that club and into the SUV, I’m on the phone with my men. Viktor was standing in the alley a few feet from the car, weapon in hand, which tells me he heard enough through the parabolic mic to know the situation went sideways. He rushes back to the SUV and starts to get behind the wheel.
I hold up a hand. “Handle the intruder. Make it look like a robbery gone wrong. I want him to wake up with no memory of the past hour and a healthy fear of dark alleys.”
“Copy that. What about the woman?”
I glance at Sabrina, who’s pressed against the passenger door like she’s considering jumping out of a moving vehicle. She’s pale, trembling, and there’s blood at the corner of her mouth from where that piece of shit slammed her head against the wall.
I want to kill him. I want to drag him somewhere quiet and spend hours making him regret every breath he’s ever taken, but right now, I have one priority, which is to get her to safety. “She’s coming with me, and I’ll drive. Call Maksim to pick you up and then have him meet me at her place.”
He nods. “You’re taking her to the estate?”
I don’t even glance at her before answering. “Yes. Something’s not right about this.”
He steps back, and I start the engine, pulling away from the alley. I focus on driving, but my peripheral vision is locked on Sabrina. She’s holding her stomach with both hands in that protective gesture I’ve already learned to recognize, and the sight of it sends something possessive and violent surging through my chest.
Fifteen weeks pregnant with my child, and some lowlife thought he could put his hands on her? The rage is so intense it’s almost blinding.
“Where are we going?” Her voice comes out shaky and small.
“Your apartment. You’re going to pack.”
She stills for a moment. “Pack for what?”
“For staying with me.” I keep my tone calm but firm. She will come with me, and she should know by now I’m not above kidnapping her to make it happen.
She turns to stare at me, and I see her trying to process everything that just happened. The attack, my sudden appearance, and the casual way I’m rearranging her life without asking for permission.
“I can’t just move in with you.”
“You can and you will.”
“Nikandr—”
“No.” I take a corner harder than necessary, and she grabs the door handle for stability. “That man didn’t attack you randomly, Sabrina. This wasn’t some drunk customer who got handsy. This was planned.”
She frowns, looking still somewhat disconnected, but her gaze is sharpening. “What do you mean?”
“Someone’s been watching you, and it wasn’t my people.”
Her face goes even paler, if that’s possible. “How do you know?”
“Because I know how these things work. I’ve been in this business long enough to recognize surveillance when I see it.”
I pull into the parking lot of her apartment complex, noting the way she flinches when I get out of the car. She’s scared of me now, or at least more aware of what I’m capable of than she was before. Good. Fear might keep her alive.
I come around to her side of the vehicle and open the door. “Come on.”
She hesitates for a moment, then takes my offered hand and lets me help her out. Her fingers are icy cold, and a fine tremor runs through her entire body.
“I need to call Jessie,” she says as we walk toward the building. “She’ll be worried if I don’t come home.”
“We’ll handle Jessie.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means she’s not safe either, and we’re going to make sure nothing happens to her.”
Sabrina’s apartment is on the second floor, and she fumbles with her keys for almost a minute before managing to unlock the door. Her hands are shaking too badly for fine motor control, and I finally take the keys from her and handle it myself.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
The apartment is exactly what I expected, being small, clean, and furnished with pieces that look like they came from thrift stores and estate sales. It’s the kind of place where people live when they’re trying to make ends meet on service industry wages, and seeing it reinforces my determination to get her out of here. “Go pack. Take everything you’ll need for an extended stay.”
She nods and starts toward what I assume is the bedroom, but I catch her arm gently.
“Sabrina.”
She looks up at me with those hazel eyes that have been haunting my dreams for thirteen weeks, and I see fear and confusion and something that might be relief.
“Are you hurt?”
She touches the corner of her mouth where the blood is starting to dry. “Just shaken up. He hit my head, but I don’t think it’s serious.”
“And the baby?”
She freezes completely, her face going white as she stares at me in shock. For a moment, she looks like she might faint. “How do you—” She can’t seem to finish the sentence. Her hands fly to her stomach in that protective gesture, and I watch the exact moment when she realizes there’s no point in denying it anymore. “How long have you known?” Her voice comes out as barely a whisper.
“For about an hour. Your name flagged in a routine security audit of my businesses. I own the clinic you visit… and Women’s Associates too.”
She sinks against the wall like her legs won’t hold her anymore. “You weren’t watching me?”
“No. I let you go, and I meant it.” The admission costs me something, but it’s the truth. I had fought the obsessive need to spy on her directly and hadn’t given in to temptation to have my men follow her. Other than having Maksim check sporadically for the first week, to ensure she didn’t go to the police—and he checked with our contact there, not her by monitoring her directly—I backed off. Somehow, I resisted temptation though she was never far from my thoughts. “This was coincidence… Or bad luck, depending on how you look at it.”
She stares at me with a mixture of relief and something that might still be betrayal. “But you came for me.”
I nod. “The moment I found out.”
The silence stretches between us, heavy with everything we’re not saying. Then she straightens, struggling to regain her composure. “The baby’s fine,” she says quietly. “I didn’t take any hits to my stomach.”
The relief that floods through me is so intense it’s almost painful. “Good. Go pack while I check something.”
She disappears into the bedroom, and I start moving through the apartment like I own it because in a sense, I do now. She’s carrying my child, which makes her mine, and anything that’s hers becomes mine by extension.
I start with the obvious places anyone could hide a small surveillance device, including the smoke detectors and electrical outlets. It doesn’t take long to find what I’m looking for in the vent cover in the living room. It’s slightly askew, just enough to suggest it’s been removed recently.
I lift it carefully and reach inside, closing my fingers around a small, sophisticated piece of equipment that definitely doesn’t belong in a low-rent apartment building. It’s a wireless, battery-powered camera, with enough memory to record weeks of footage. I hold it up and examine it more closely. The make and model are familiar. I use similar devices for my own surveillance operations. This isn’t some amateur job. Whoever placed this has resources and training.
“Sabrina?”
She appears in the bedroom doorway with an armful of clothes. “What is it?”
I hold up the camera. “They’re watching you.”
Her cheeks pale, and she drops the clothes. “What do you mean?”
“Someone planted surveillance equipment in your apartment. It wasn’t me or my crew. Someone else.”
The color drains from her face entirely. “How long has it been there?”
I hesitate and look up at the vent again before answering. “Based on the dust patterns, at least a couple of weeks. Maybe longer.”
She sinks down onto the couch like her legs won’t hold her anymore. “The man at the club. Carl. You think he was—”
“I think he was paid to watch you. He’s a regular customer, which means he had access to you on a predictable schedule. Someone’s been using him to monitor your movements.”
She frowns, looking confused. “He did say a couple of things about following orders… But why? I’m nobody. I don’t know anything—”
“You know me.” I speak firmly, almost harshly, wanting to cut through her denial. “You spent four days at my safehouse. You’ve seen my face, know my first name, and can identify my voice. That makes you valuable to my enemies.”
She stares at me with growing horror. “Your enemies.”
“I’m sure you’ll find it hard to believe that I have enemies, but there are people who would love nothing more than to get their hands on someone who could provide intelligence about my operations.” I pocket the camera and move toward the window, checking the street for anything that looks out of place. “Or who would use you to get to me if they suspect there’s anything…personal between us.”
“By hurting me?”
“By hurting you and our child.” The possessive way I say ‘our child’ makes her flinch, but I don’t care. It’s the truth, and she needs to understand what that means. “They were inside your house, Sabrina. They’ve been watching you eat, sleep, shower, and probably listening to your phone conversations with your roommate. This isn’t about choice anymore.”
I turn to face her, and she’s hugging herself like she’s trying to hold the pieces together.
“You’re coming to stay with me at my estate outside the city. Not because I’m forcing you, but because it’s the only way to keep you and our child safe.”
She’s quiet for a long moment, processing the magnitude of what I’m telling her. Then she nods just once, but it’s enough. “Okay, I’ll come with you.” She stands up and starts gathering the clothes she dropped. “I need you to promise me something.”
“What?”
“You said you’d take care of Jessie too. What does that mean?”
“It means she’ll be protected. Relocated if necessary.”
She shakes her head, looking worried. “She won’t want to leave the city. Her whole life is here.”
I inhale and exhale to maintain my calm. My priority is Sabrina, but I can’t dismiss her concerns for her friend. “We’ll make sure her whole life is protected.” I pull out my phone and speed-dial Maksim. “It’s me. I need you to handle something.”
“What kind of something?” he asks, sounding wary.
“Protection detail. Jessica Witman, Sabrina’s roommate. Full coverage until we determine the scope of the threat.”
He hesitates, sounding unhappy without making a sound. “How comprehensive?”
“Whatever it takes. If she won’t relocate voluntarily, we watch her apartment, her workplace, and observer her daily routine. I want to know if anyone so much as looks at her wrong.” The warm smile Sabrina gives me causes a fluttering sensation in my chest.
“Copy that. Anything else?”
I scowl, thinking of Carl, that shit stain who dared lay hands on her. “Run background checks on all the regular customers at the club where Sabrina works. Focus on anyone who’s been showing up more frequently in the past few months, and pay attention to anyone vulnerable to coercion, blackmail, or payoffs.”
He sounds slightly confused. “Am I looking for surveillance assets?”
“No. I want you to find anyone who might be on someone else’s payroll.” At his confirmation, I end the call and look at Sabrina, who’s watching me with an expression I can’t quite read.
“Satisfied?”
“Thank you.” Her voice is quiet, but there’s genuine gratitude in it. “She’s all the family I have.”
“Then she’s family to me too.”
The words surprise both of us, but I don’t take them back. If Sabrina is mine—and she is—then the people she cares about become my responsibility as well.
She disappears into the bedroom again, and I continue my sweep of the apartment. I find two more cameras—one in the bedroom, hidden behind a picture frame, and another in the kitchen, tucked inside a cabinet. That one has a microphone built in, making it bulkier, but still not too obvious unless one knows for what they’re searching. They’re all the same brand and all positioned to provide comprehensive coverage of her daily activities.
Someone has been watching her for weeks, possibly since I returned her to the city after her time at the safe house. They’ve been learning her routines, her habits, and her vulnerabilities. The attack at the club wasn’t random. It was either a test or an escalation, and either possibility makes my blood run cold.
By the time Sabrina emerges with two suitcases, I’ve found and disabled five separate surveillance devices. I don’t tell her about all of them. She’s shaken enough already, but I make sure she understands the scope of what we’re dealing with.
“This is organized,” I say as we load her belongings into the SUV. “Professional. Whoever’s behind this has resources and patience.”
“Do you know who it is?”
I have suspicions, but I’m not ready to share them yet. Vadim Kozlov has been expanding his operations on the West Coast, and using surveillance assets to gather intelligence on his rivals is exactly the kind of strategy he’d employ.
Whether he still believes Sabrina is Irina Volkov, or whether he’s figured out that she means something to me personally, the end result is the same. She’s a target, and if she’s discussed the pregnancy at all in the kitchen, they know about the baby too. “I’m working on it, but until I know for sure, you’re staying where I can protect you.”
She nods and gets into the passenger seat without argument. The fight has gone out of her, replaced by the kind of exhausted acceptance that comes with recognizing an unwinnable situation.
As we drive toward the estate, I occasionally glance at her. She’s fifteen weeks pregnant with my child, and I’ve just uprooted her entire life to bring her into mine. Six months ago, if someone had told me I’d be in this situation, I would have laughed.
Now all I can think about is keeping her safe. Keeping them both safe.
Whatever I felt for her before—attraction, possessiveness, or the kind of dangerous obsession that makes smart men do stupid things—has amplified tenfold by the knowledge she’s carrying my blood. She’s mine now in a way that transcends choice or preference. She’s the mother of my child, which makes her the most important thing in my world.
I’ll kill anyone who tries to take her away from me.
“What’s your estate like?” she asks quietly as we leave the city limits behind.
“Secure. Comfortable. It’s far enough from civilization that unexpected visitors are easy to spot.”
She seems to think for a moment before asking, “Will I be a prisoner again?”
The question makes me flinch. “You were never my prisoner. You were my guest under difficult circumstances.”
She snorts and looks at me. “I was locked in a room.”
“For your own protection.” I try to sound convincing, though I’m sure she’s not buying it any more than I am as I say it.
The outrage and skepticism almost visibly pours off her. “And now?”
I consider how to answer that. She’ll have more freedom at the estate, with acres of grounds to explore, staff to interact with, and resources I never provided at the safehouse. She’ll also be under constant surveillance, protected by men who take orders from me and no one else. “Now, you’re family,” I say finally. “And family doesn’t get locked in rooms.”
Her small huff speaks volumes. “I bet family doesn’t get to leave either.”
I risk a quick look at her, so she can see how serious I am. “Not when leaving means dying.”
She’s quiet for the rest of the drive, staring out the window at the landscape rolling past. I want to comfort her, to promise this situation is temporary, but I’ve never been in the habit of making promises I can’t keep. The truth is, I don’t know how long it will take to neutralize the threat against her. I don’t know if the people watching her apartment are connected to Vadim, or if there’s another enemy I haven’t identified yet.
What I do know is that she’s carrying my child, and I’ll burn down half of California before I let anyone hurt her. If that means keeping her close for the rest of our lives, then that’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make, even if she never forgives me for it.
