Page 82 of Cruel Juliet

“Okay,” he says. “We’re going to the hospital.”

A contraction hits hard enough to bend me forward. I grab the railing and bite down a sound somewhere between a sob and a growl.

Luka’s hands hover close, like he’s not sure if he should touch me.

“It’s early,” I gasp. “Too early.”

“I know.” His tone softens. “But she’s coming, yeah? So we deal with it.”

I’m surprised at how calm he sounds. Last year, I would have expected to see him pop three antacids into his mouth just at the sight of baby water coming out of me.

But he’s changed. We all have.

I don’t know who this new Luka is, but right now, I’m grateful for him.

He calls out for someone down the hall. I can’t see who answers, but a door slams open somewhere, and hurried footsteps echo through the house.

“Get the car ready,” Luka orders. “Now. And find Petyr. Tell him his wife is in labor.”

The footsteps vanish as quickly as they came. Luka turns back to me. His jaw is tight, but his eyes are steady now. “I need you to hold on to me,” he says. “Can you walk?”

I give a tight nod. “Kind of.”

“Then we’ll go slow.”

He slips an arm around my waist, careful but firm. The moment I try to put weight on my ankle, pain flares up my leg. I wince, and Luka steadies me, his hold tighter now.

“Easy,” he mutters. “One step at a time.”

“I’m sorry,” I blurt. “You don’t even like me. I was horrible to you. You shouldn’t have to?—”

“I should and I will.” His tone grows firmer. “I serve the Gubarev family. That includes you now. I’m sorry I haven’t been acting like it.”

Something warm blooms in my chest. Despite the pain and the panic tangled inside me, I can’t help a small smile. “I’m sorry I got your nose smashed.”

“That obvious?”

“It’s leaning the opposite way now. Kinda hard to miss.”

The descent feels endless. Each stair creaks under us. I clutch the rail with my good hand, my breath reduced to shallow bursts.

Luka moves with me. He keeps muttering quiet reassurances under his breath. “You’re okay. You’re doing fine. Just breathe.”

I barely hear the words, but cling to them anyway.

By the time we reach the bottom, my entire body feels like it’s been wrung out. Luka guides me toward the door, and cold air hits my face the second it opens. The car waits at the curb, engine running, headlights bright.

Another contraction hits as we cross the threshold. I double over and grip Luka’s jacket hard. He braces me, his other hand against my back.

“Almost there,” he says. “Just get in the car. We’re good. We’ve got this.”

I want to believe him. I want to believe anyone who sounds that sure.

Luka helps me into the back seat and climbs in after me, then barks quick orders to the driver.

The SUV lurches forward. I press a hand to my belly and focus on breathing—or not screaming, which is pretty much the same now. I have to keep the fear from spilling out.

“Is Petyr…?”