Page 73 of Pregnant Virgin of the Bratva

His jaw locks. “Just pressure,huh? I’m calling Yuri.”

I wince. “It’s just pressure—”

“I’m not fighting you on this, sweetheart. We’re leaving.”

I don’t argue.

He doesn’t wait for the security detail. He lifts the bags with one hand and steers me with the other, his arm locked firmly around my waist as we move swiftly through the mall.

I try to walk faster, but the sensation hasn’t faded. If anything, it creeps deeper now—an ache, low and spreading. My heart kicks hard in my chest.

I feel him tense with every step I falter.

By the time we reach the car, the doors are already open.

He helps me in gently, his touch careful but unshakable. Once I’m settled, he crouches beside the door, eyes scanning every inch of my face.

“You’re paler than my accountant, and that bastard hasn’t seen sunlight since 2006.”

“I’m just scared.”

He exhales through his nose. “Don’t be.”

I force a smile. “Easier said than done.”

He brushes his hand over my belly. I’ll take care of it.”

He closes the door carefully and rounds to the other side, barking orders to the driver in a voice that doesn’t invite questions.

The moment he slides in beside me, he takes my hand in his again.

I don’t let go.

Seconds later, the car pulls away from the curb like a bullet, smooth and fast. Kion doesn’t take his eyes off me. One hand is on mine, the other braced against the seat like he’s resisting the urge to tear the city apart for letting me hurt.

I lean my head back, eyes closed, breathing slow. The pain’s still there, dull and deep now, but not sharp.

“I think it’s okay,” I say softly. “It’s not like last time. I don’t think it’s that.”

“I’m not taking the chance.”

His voice is clipped. Cold to everyone but me.

I squeeze his hand. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You didn’t.” He says it quickly. Then quieter: “It’s not fear. It’s fury.”

I open my eyes and look at him. His gaze is locked on me, unblinking. Protective. Possessive. Underneath all that steel, there’s something softer. Something raw.

He doesn’t say he was scared, but I feel it in the way he hasn’t let go of me since.

The driver takes a hard turn. Kion adjusts the angle of my seat himself, gently easing it back. Then his hand returns to mystomach, thumb stroking small circles like he can will everything to be alright.

Maybe—if anyone can—it’s him.

I whisper, “We’re okay.”

Chapter Twenty - Kion