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So I sit on the edge of the bed and practice slow breathing, calming the hysteria and the tears, ignoring the exhaustion from the emotional wringer.

I lock it all up as best I can because I’m going to have to fight. Be smart and wait.

And when I get the chance to run, I’m going to have to never stop until I’m so far from him it won’t matter.

Or I’m going to have to kill him.

I wait for the horror to hit at that thought. But it doesn’t.

For my son, I’d do anything.

Even though it’s futile, I cross to the door and try the lock, and I press at the dead keypad and screen. Nothing happens. It’s still locked, the pad still useless, and a small “Please…” breaks free.

No one, of course, answers.

My stomach turns and for a moment, I think I’m going to throw up.

I raise my fist, my resolve of being smart dissolving and I’m going to slam into the door again when it opens.

I’m so shocked I stumble back.

Demyan is there, hard and cold, taking up space. He sucks the oxygen from the room and makes my heart slam.

“Please,” I whisper, “please, this is killing me.”

Not even a flicker of compassion or anger crosses his face. He’s cold and empty like the tundra.

His gaze takes me in, drops to my reddened, bruised hands, and that cold, soulless gaze hits me again as he goes to close the door.

Something snaps and I lunge, but I only make it one step before the door slams and an iron band of an arm locks around my waist.

For a moment, I’m overcome by the furnace of his hard body. It sears into me, at odds with the ice, and I want to curl in, I need… I?—

“Even if you managed to make it out the door, you’d never make it to the top of the stairs. And my men have no compunctions in shooting to kill.” He lets me go, pushing me from him as though I’m sullying him. “Sit the fuck down.”

I hate him. Rage surges, but I manage to do as he orders, his threat to kill me still in my head. And all it does is strengthen my resolve to escape with Sasha.

“Fucking listen to me,” he says when I look at him. There’s something terrifying about his soft, low tone. The fact he’s not yelling or full of fury is worse. “You need to pay.”

“For what?” I make myself look at him. “Having a baby on my own?”

His eyes narrow. “You fucking lied to me about my son. An omission, Erin, is a lie.”

I swallow the anger and frustration rising. “I did ask for your name, but you checked in under a fake one. I tried to find you, but how the hell am I meant to when I’ve got nothing to go on?”

Demyan’s eyebrow rises. “Really? Thing is, I don’t believe you. If you wanted to, you’d have found me.”

“You were a one-night stand. And I tried. I promise.”

“More lies,Lyubimaya?” His tone turns silky. “See, I did my homework tonight. Researched you. Seems your brother’s a well-respected private investigator. He’d have found out through the name I used and that particular hotel who I wasand my bratva connections. He’d have known I am the bratva.”

I freeze, which is stupid, because I know that. But hearing him gloat, say it out loud brings it home.

“Lyubimaya, pretty littleLyubimaya; I believe you knew exactly what you were doing, keeping my son from me. You wanted to hurt me. Fuck, maybe you’re on a payroll.”

I stare at him, sucker punched. “Are you insane? What payroll? And even if I did know what you are, why would I want to hurt you? I don’t know you. Your world isn’t mine. And maybe, since we’re playing hypotheticals, if I did keep him secret, it was to protect him.”

“Bullshit.”