12. Andrey

12

ANDREY

The last three months have been a fucking shitshow.

The campaign I launched against Nikolai the day after Viktor's wedding proved to be a miscalculation. I thought Rostov would have enough pride to fight back like a man. But, as it turns out, he's happy to fire bullets from the shadows and retreat into the darkness immediately after.

His guerrilla warfare has cost me good businesses and good men. I was sick of it the first time—after the fifth, sixth, and seventh episodes, I was fucking livid.

Then, today, I was sure we had them cornered.

It was a bold move on Nikolai's part, daring to strike the textile factory I own that's responsible for producing sixty percent of my drug supply. Fortunately, I increased security around the premises only days ago.

I also put some of my most trusted men in charge of daily operations, which proved to be a good move. Vaska spotted a worker he didn't recognize and sounded the alarm.

But it was too little, too late.

The worker was strapped with a suicide vest that took out him and four other workers. A dozen more were injured. Vaska himself took shrapnel in the gut. He was losing blood fast, and this shithole doctor's office was the closest resource we had.

To anyone with eyes, this seedy little clinic is not a place you'd walk into voluntarily. But I happen to have the doctor here on my payroll.

Which is why my men and I stormed in, Vaska wedged between Yuri and Efrem so we could get him patched up before he bled out.

Of course, I didn't count on spying a certain name on the patient list lying open on the nurse's desk.

Natalia Boone.

What are the fucking odds? Could it just be a coincidence? Or is there some grand design behind her sudden reappearance, three full months after our last encounter?

I don't find any immediate answers to those questions in Room 12. I do find her naked from the waist down, feet in stirrups, her face flushing as pink as the glimpse I catch between her thighs.

My first thoughts are depraved. So are my second and third. But once the shock of seeing her again wears off, I'm pissed .

What the fuck is she doing in a dump like this? She deserves better.

It's not saying much—everyone deserves better than a clinic that requires bulletproof vests and a vaccine just to set your toe in the door.

"Why are you here?" I ask.

"None of your damn business," she hisses like a viper. "Get out of my room."

"Is that any way to greet an old friend?" I scoop up a fallen clipboard and peruse the forms.

She looks like she wouldn't mind carving me up with the closest scalpel. Honestly, a part of me wishes she would try. I'd love an excuse to put my hands on that tight little body.

"‘Friend'?" Her green eyes burn like they're on fire. "We are not ‘friends.' We're not anything. You're nothing to me but a gigantic mistake. If I could take it back, I'd?—"

Her voice dies in her throat at the same moment my heart leaps into mine. She must know it, see it, feel it—that my eyes have come across the reason for her visit today.

Her breath escapes her in a vague, haunted, "No…" Then she lunges forward and snatches the clipboard from my grasp.

But it's too late.

"Pregnant." My tongue feels dry, my lips unnaturally chapped. "You're… pregnant."

She scoots backwards, clasping the clipboard to her chest. "I… No, that's not…"

"You'd do well not to lie to me, Natalia." There's no mistaking the threat in my voice.

"Fine. Yes, I'm pregnant. But it's got nothing to do with you." The sweat beading at her temples says otherwise.

"Is that a fact?"

She backs away, eyeing me warily. "I don't want any trouble."

"Then this is the last place you ought to be."

Judging from the way she bites her cheek and looks around, she agrees with me. "It's none of your business which doctor I go to. You're not the father and this doesn't concern you."

"Who is?"

"Excuse me?"

"Who is the father?"

Her jaw drops. "Why do you care?"

I advance on her and she retreats, matching me step for step until she collides with the exam table and lets loose a soft, surprised, "Oh!" that brings my cock to attention.

"Because I can smell the lie on you . I believe I already gave you one warning; this is strike two."

Her chest is rising and falling hard and she's gone pale since I walked in. "Fine! Fine. We didn't use protection that night." She glares at me accusingly. "So yeah, I'm pregnant and… it's yours."

I already knew that.

But hearing the confirmation from her sweet, indignant lips makes it all the more real.

Ten minutes ago, I thought my adrenaline was pumping. With the smell of blood and smoke in my nose, the remnant heat of the bomber's explosion still scorching my skin, I thought that was dragging me into the present moment.

But this…

This is something else altogether. This woman is carrying my child.

I'm going to be a father.

I don't have to think back to know that she's three months pregnant; I've been painfully aware of each passing day since our last meeting. I've thought of her in idle moments and felt my body hum to life at the memory. Even when I've quashed those useless thoughts, she crops up again in my dreams. Night after night after merciless fucking night .

"You're under no obligation to do anything." She's talking fast, barely pausing long enough to inhale. "I don't need you to be involved. In fact, I'd prefer it if you weren't. I can take care of this baby on my own."

"Can you?" I ask. "Because from where I'm standing, you don't seem to be able to take care of yourself, let alone an infant."

Indignation makes her green eyes pop. "Asshole! That's not true!'

"Look at where you live." I take a step towards her. "Look at where you work. Look at where you've come for help. How can you expect to take care of a baby?"

The fire fades in her face as she fumbles for words. "I'll manage."

I shake my head. "I'm afraid I can't allow you to roll the dice and hope for the best, lastochka . Not with my child."

Glass crunches in the hallway, and I pull the door open while Natalia stutters behind me. She's babbling about "not wanting trouble" and "dangerous environments."

Little late for that, darling.

Through the crack in the door, I spy several of Nikolai's men emerge from the staircase onto the third floor landing.

Well, that decides it.

She's coming with me.

While she's still gibbering, I roll the doctor's chair over and wedge it beneath the door handle. It'll buy us a few seconds at best. Once that's secure, I pull out my gun and check the clip.

The gibbering stops instantly.

"W-why do you—Is that a—Why gun?" she stammers.

I don't have time to entertain her questions, though. Nikolai's men are coming and they aren't the type to play nice.

I stride to the only window in the room and peer out of it. It's locked and nailed shut, but on the other side of the glass, a rusty fire escape zig-zags down to the alley.

It's not perfect. But it'll have to do.

"Andrey, what the hell is?—"

Her words are drowned by the blast of a gunshot in the hallway. She screams and slams a hand over her mouth. I grab her face and force her to look at me.

"Listen to me . That's all you have to do. Just listen." She stares up at me numbly. I have no idea if she's processing a word I'm saying, but that's another conversation I won't waste time having. "Everything is going to be alright as long as you listen to me."

I wonder idly if Vaska, Efrem, and Yuri have already escaped. They know better than to wait like sitting ducks. I won't sit around, either.

Especially not now that I have newfound responsibilities.

"First order: stay back and stay quiet," I bark as I grab the metal trash can from the corner.

They'll hear me once this starts. We won't have long.

I take a deep breath. Then I coil back and hurl the trash can through the window.

Glass explodes outward and Natalia screams. She's still asking me questions—"What are you doing? Where are we going? Who are those…?"—but I don't bother answering. If we escape, there will be time for that later. If we don't, it won't make a difference who is doing what and why, because we'll all be dead.

I scoop her into my arms and carry her across the broken glass to the window. I use my elbow to knock out the last of the shards, not caring when they cut me open, then carefully set her on her feet on the fire escape.

Footsteps outside the room thunder closer. The door handle jiggles and the chair I shoved under it groans in protest.

"Go," I snarl at her. "Run."

Gunshots thud into the cheap wooden door. It splinters, but it doesn't give up the fight quite yet.

She grabs my bleeding elbow. "Come with me."

"Go," I say again, gentler this time. "I'm right behind you."

She hesitates for one more moment. Then, thank fuck, she obeys.

Just as she starts maneuvering down the ladder, the door is battered down. I take aim and the first three men who pour through the door swallow bullets to the face.

I seize the momentary lull to haul myself through the broken window and out onto the fire escape. The metal whines beneath my weight, though one quick glance down says Natalia has reached the ground.

When I look up, I see a new face shoving his way into the exam room.

Nikolai Rostov.

He's lost a tooth since I last saw him. Lost some weight, too. His cheeks are hollow and gaunt. He looks exactly like what he is: a shadow dweller, a fucking ghoul of the underworld.

He sees me.

I see him.

I wonder if he knows just how much the stakes have changed—what I'm now willing to do for the woman waiting beneath me.

Then I catch a blur of motion off to the side.

One of the men I thought I killed raises his gun. Fires. I flinch away, but the bullet burrows itself into my shoulder.

Pain explodes instantly, hot and savage. A firebrand digging into my muscle. The power of the blast sends me stumbling backward, backward, backward…

I hit the railing of the fire escape with the backs of my knees…

And tumble over the side.

The last thing I hear is Natalia's scream.