Page 27 of Forced & Pregnant Bratva Bride (Tarasov Bratva #13)

“Once the baby’s born, you’ll mean nothing to me,” Egor’s voice echoed in my head, loud and clear.

It was a constant reminder that I may or may not be as precious to him as I had thought. He was a monster, and monsters didn’t change the way that he did. There was a possibility that he was only like this with me because I was carrying his child.

Would I truly mean nothing to him when the baby was born? Would he discard me and maybe even treat me cruelly? Was all of this just an act? Maybe. I did play him once—pretended so well to be the perfect wife while planning my escape under his nose.

Could he have torn a page from my own book?

Was this a taste of my own medicine? Damn, it would be so bitter in my mouth that I’d end up spitting it out.

I hoped he wasn’t pretending just so he’d pay back evil for evil.

It would shatter me, even though I’d know exactly how he felt when he found out my actions weren’t genuine.

Some nights, I’d cry myself to sleep, hoping that he wasn’t playing me.

Honestly, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to take a dose of my own medicine.

I might not survive it if it turned out that my fears were true—that he was only using me.

I thought about asking him if what we had, what we shared, was real.

But how? How was I going to go about that?

Where would I even begin? I didn’t want to come off as desperate, especially because I wasn’t sure of anything anymore.

Besides, if he were playing me, he’d look me straight in the eyes and lie.

And there was absolutely nothing that I’d be able to do about it.

A part of me always reminded me that I was worrying for no reason—that my husband adored me and the baby in my womb. That soft voice in my head would always tell me that Egor might be the devil himself, but he’d never hurt me. Not on purpose—not in the way that I was thinking.

Each time I tried to believe the voice—to assemble the pieces of this puzzle together—the other voice would speak, reminding me of his threats. It was a circus in my head, and those pesky little whispers wouldn’t let me think straight.

I was constantly doubting myself, doubting his words and actions, because I let fear—the fear of the unknown—grip me.

That was the truth. I was afraid—not of what he’d do to me if this were all just an elaborate scam. But of the pain I’d feel afterward—the pain of betrayal that cut so deep it would leave me shattered. I’d feel like some idiot who got used and dumped the moment she was no longer useful.

I was six months pregnant—three more months away from meeting our baby. And I should be counting the days with joy. Instead, a part of me didn’t want this period to end. I wanted it to stretch on because I was too afraid of what I’d find at the end of the line.

The body aches, the nausea, the mood swings—none of that would compare to the agony I’d feel if this turned out to be a joke.

I knew I should stop beating myself over this, but I couldn’t. I tried, but this fear was overwhelming. I was so focused on the future and the mistakes of the past that I had lost sight of the present.

I wasn’t sure of what was to come—couldn’t see it. What I was sure of, though, was how much affection this man showered on me; that, I could see. He was nicer, kinder, and more supportive these days.

Once, I woke up in the middle of the night craving ice cream from a particular restaurant downtown. He didn’t yell at me, didn’t grumble or say something to hurt my feelings. He just got out of bed and left the room.

About twenty minutes later, he returned with my order plus a couple of other things I didn’t even say I wanted. Did he hear my thoughts? Did he read my mind? How in heaven’s name did he know to get me those?

For a cruel and ruthless man like Egor, he sure had grown soft around me. His warm embrace, his gentle kisses, and his calm approach toward me were remarkable. I didn’t think he had it in him to be affectionate toward anyone. I never thought he was capable of kindness. But I was wrong.

At least, I hoped I was.

Outside of all this drama, there was one tiny problem—a name whispered amongst the guards.

Aleksei.

Recently, there was a massive upgrade in the mansion’s security system.

The guards were doubled—roaming the compound like a hive of bees.

It was like they were preparing for war or something.

When I asked Egor what was going on, his response was vague and shallow as usual.

Almost like he was hiding something from me.

I asked Grigory if he knew what was happening, but even he didn’t give a straightforward answer. Something was definitely off, but no one seemed to be saying anything.

The lights were brighter at night, the guards more alert, and even their weapons were more sophisticated. None of them held a pistol anymore—huge guns and machetes instead of pocket knives.

Was there a zombie apocalypse that I didn’t know about?

Amidst all of these strange upgrades was just that one name: Aleksei.

Who the hell was that? What did he want, and why was his name being whispered amongst Egor’s men like he was a bigger monster, a force to be reckoned with?

After a careful analysis of the situation, I concluded that Aleksei—whoever he was—had a bone to pick with Egor.

Why? I didn’t know. But one thing was certain: Fear was the motivation behind all of this preparation.

I guess they received word that Aleksei was planning to launch an attack on the Tarasov mansion.

That would explain the extra security.

***

I was seated on a sofa in the bedroom this cool evening, watching a documentary on the huge flat screen TV hanging on the wall. I picked up the remote, skipping through channels with one hand, and with the other, I rubbed my belly.

The mansion was quiet—a little quieter than usual—until everything changed within a split second.

A thunderous crack blasted through the air, the explosion loud and deafening as it shook the foundations of the building. My heart sank in my chest, eyes wide with terror at the sound that wrapped me with absolute fear.

Before I’d make sense of what was happening, screams tore from the mouths of maids and guards alike. And then I heard it. Gunshots. Sharp. Rapid. The deadly sound echoed through the corridor, accompanied by heavy footsteps pounding against the floor.

Sweat dampened my forehead as I sprang to my feet, a hand in my hair, the other on my belly. My chest was heaving with heavy breaths, my knees too weak to carry my weight. I froze, fear wrapping around me like silk. I couldn’t move, couldn’t think—just stood there, rooted to the floor.

The shooting continued, and the screams—laced with pain and agony—grew even louder. My heart was pounding like a drum, my brain as blank as a sheet of paper. I flinched when the baby kicked in my stomach as if sensing the danger.

I tried to catch my breath, tried to get my thoughts together, but this fear wouldn’t let me. And then, as though I was hit with a dose of courage, adrenaline kicked in at the mere thought of my baby sister.

“Emmy!”

My eyes narrowed, my brows drawing together as I switched my emotions from fear to a survival instinct.

I rushed over to the cupboard where I kept the gun Egor had gifted me the other day.

My shaky fingers wrapped around the cold handle, and I picked it up immediately.

I turned off the safety and bolted toward the door, forgetting that I was heavily pregnant.

I drew a deep breath, grabbed the doorknob, and yanked it open. The gunfire echoing in the hallway was louder than I thought—enough to scare me back inside. But no. Emmy needed me, and I wasn’t going to disappoint her.

I looked both ways, heart lurching in my throat at the sea of dead bodies littering the floor. “Oh God,” I whispered, shaking.

And where the hell was Egor when I needed him the most? Shit! Was he okay? Did they get to him?

“Focus, Leo—focus,” I muttered under my breath, attempting to calm myself.

“Ma’am, get back inside!” a guard yelled at me, his footsteps pounding on the floor as he rushed in my direction. “Get back inside. It’s not safe out here.” He halted in front of me, eyes examining my body, checking if I’d sustained any injuries.

“My sister,” I said, my voice laced with urgency. “I need to find my sister.”

“We’ll get her, ma’am—but you need to get back inside,” he insisted while glancing over his shoulder.

He was still talking when his blood splashed across my face. He’d been shot in the head, and the bullet had come from behind me. Without a moment of hesitation, I turned around, firing three times at the shooter. I missed two shots, but the last one hit him in the chest.

He fell backward—cold as ice.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I stuttered, watching the guard at my feet drowning in the pool of his own blood.

The chaos out here was real, and I’d just killed a man. But there was no time to feel guilty.

This was why Egor had trained me all those months ago—to be ready for moments like this. The estate was no longer a home; it was a war zone. Kill or be killed. I chose the former.

I clutched my belly with one hand and bolted through the hallway, adrenaline coursing through my veins. I heard Simon’s voice from somewhere deeper in the house—yelling orders—his tone sharp and urgent.

Just as I rounded a corner, I saw them: two of the intruders, dressed in black. They wore masks shaped like the head of a wolf—scary as fuck. One of them fired at me, but I was quick to hide behind the wall, leaning with my back flat.

The idiots pelted in my direction, and after a few rounds, they stopped.

I paid attention, wondering why the sudden ceasefire; then it hit me.

They were out—reloading, maybe. I locked my jaw, and without a second thought, I stepped out into the open, firing two consecutive shots.

My aim was sharp, my targets dropping dead, each one with a bullet in their heads.