Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 86242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
But instead—
He opens a cabinet, pulls out a box of pasta, and tosses it on the counter. Grabs a pan like it’s a regular Tuesday.
“You’re… making dinner?” I ask, voice still wrecked.
“You haven’t eaten.”
“I’m not hungry.”
He gives me a look that would scare actual criminals. “Doesn’t matter. You need to eat, baby.”
Baby. Sigh. A bit of my invisible armor slides off me. I’m safe here. I’m with Vadka.
The water boils, and he works in silence. Measured, methodical. His sleeves are rolled up, arms dusted with flour by the time he’s chopping something green and pretending he’s not watching me through the corner of his eye.
“I didn’t know you could cook,” I murmur.
He shrugs. “Basic survival.”
“Isn’t that what takeout’s for?”
He turns his head just enough for me to see the smirk.
It’s barely there. But I feel it like sunlight on cold skin.
He plates it—two bowls, one smaller for Luka if he wakes—and brings it to me like it’s sacred.
I take one bite and have to close my eyes.
It’s not gourmet. Not even that well-seasoned.
But it’s warm and delicious, and I am hungry.
He sits beside me, legs spread wide, one hand resting on the couch behind me like a bracket. Not touching. Just close enough that I can lean closer if I want.
So I do.
I sink against him, cheek to his shoulder. His other hand finds my thigh and stays there. Steady. Warm.
We eat in silence.
I let myself breathe.
I don’t know how to tell him what I fear. We’ve already been through so much.
“Is it just us here?”
“Just us for now,” he says. I can tell he hates this, and it isn’t what he wanted. He’s not the type to sit back when he can take the situation in hand himself, but he has to.
My stomach twists.
Probably the adrenaline crash, I guess.
Or the cold.
Or the weight of everything. Or…
I swallow hard and try to push it down.
But it comes back, sour and sharp, right behind my teeth.
I lurch up and make it to the bathroom just in time.
The nausea hits like a wave—one hand on the counter, the other clutching the side of the toilet.
My whole body trembles.
When I’m done, I sit back on the floor and press my head to the cool tile. My heart’s racing, and my skin is clammy.
I hear the floorboards creak.
Vadka’s voice is low. “Ruthie?”
“I’m fine,” I rasp.
He doesn’t believe me. Of course not. But he doesn’t push, just brings me a glass of water and crouches beside me.
“Shit, I didn’t think my cooking was that bad.”
I give him a watery smile and sip.
He brushes the damp hair off my forehead and doesn’t speak.
Just waits.
His silence is more tender than words would be.
“Could be a stomach bug,” I mutter.
It’s not. I know it’s not. God.
“Could be.” But his voice is tight now. “Shit timing.” He’s watching me too closely.
My mind starts calculating… counting back.
“Is Zoya coming home?” I ask, trying to keep my voice nonchalant like I didn’t just vomit into the toilet and my period’s late.
“Yeah, Zoya and Rafail will be here soon.”
“I need—I need to make a call.”
“What’s going on? Ruthie—”
“Please. Just—give me a second.”
He nods and steps back.
I grab my phone and slip into the room, wrapping a blanket around my shoulders. The screen glows in the dark.
Zoya.
She answers on the first ring.
“You okay?”
My voice is too quiet. Fragile.
“Can you maybe… Can you get me a… test?”
The silence on her end is immediate. Heavy.
Then—
“Pregnancy test?” she whispers.
I barely trust my voice. “Yeah.”
“I’ll be there in ten.”
I hang up.
My hands are shaking again.
Chapter 24
VADKA
It’s almost two a.m. when she finds me at the kitchen table.
She’s barefoot, wearing one of my shirts again—she does it without asking now, and I fucking love that. It falls off one shoulder, her legs bare. Hair is a mess. Eyes sharp.
My god, she’s beautiful.
She’s beautiful in that way people whisper about. Hushed and reverent, a little awed. And I want her, I want her so fucking badly I’m instantly hard. But she didn’t feel well earlier, and I don’t want to push.
Zoya came home and dropped off supplies.
“Maps again?” she asks, leaning over the table.
“Trying to see what the next move will be,” I say. “They’re obviously not posturing anymore.”
“No,” she murmurs. “They want blood.”
Her voice trembles. Just for a second.
I hate it.
“You think he’s planning a coordinated hit?”
“Or a message,” I say. “Something brutal. Public. The Undertaker is the Irish’s most wanted. He wants a panic. A culling.”
She sits down, legs pulled up on the chair, staring at the intel.
“Maybe we should… I dunno, scatter the assets. Move the kids out of state.”
I shake my head. “They’ll expect that. Roads’ll be watched. They want us running.”
She meets my eyes. “So what? We dig in and hope they miss?”
“We don’t hope. We bait. We lead them where we want them. We control the field.”