Page 19 of Pregnant Virgin of the Bratva (Sharov Bratva #14)

Not when there are men in cars watching me.

Not when my body isn’t just mine anymore.

I think of the man at the post, the way he moved like he wasn’t really moving at all. Too casual. Too slow.

I crouch lower behind the dumpster, pull my coat tighter around me. My fingers are trembling now. Not from the cold. From the knowledge that I can’t outrun this, not really. No matter how far I walk or how clever I think I’m being, they’ll always know where to find me.

I’m not just Esme anymore.

I’m Kion’s wife, and that means people always come looking.

A soft scrape of something down the alley sends my heart into my throat. I don’t move. I barely breathe.

The can rolls a little further, clinking faintly against the concrete wall.

I tell myself it’s nothing, probably just the wind or the city shifting around me.

Except, then I hear the footsteps.

My breath stalls.

I press my back flat to the wall, body frozen, every muscle locked tight as the sound draws closer. One footstep. Then another. Slow and deliberate. The kind that doesn’t need to hurry because it knows it already has you.

A shadow stretches out across the alley floor. He steps into view like he’s been waiting for me to sit still. Tall, broad-shouldered. Dark coat. Thick boots. Gloved hands.

When I look up—when I finally see his face—I know this isn’t random.

I know this man came for me.

“Well,” he says, voice calm, almost conversational. “Took me longer than I’d like to find you. You move around a lot for someone who’s supposedly protected.”

My mouth goes dry. I push myself slowly to my feet, keeping the wall at my back. “Who are you?” I ask.

He smiles, but there’s no humor in it. Just teeth.

“I’m Damien Clarke,” he says, and just like that, the name drops like a stone in my gut. “You remember my brother, Aaron.”

I do, too well.

Aaron Clarke. A man with a slick smile and a dangerous tongue. A man who turned on the Sharovs for a payout and ended up dead for it. One of the first deaths I ever truly understood in Kion’s world.

“Kion murdered him.”

Fuck… I didn’t know Aaron was dead.

“I’m sorry about your brother,” I say, voice barely above a whisper.

He tilts his head. “Are you?”

“He made his choice.”

“You made the choice,” Damien snaps. “He warned you, didn’t he? Told you what would happen if you kept playing house with a monster. But you didn’t listen. You stayed. And now he’s gone.”

My spine stiffens. “You think that was my fault?”

“I know it was.”

He steps closer. I flinch.

“He wasn’t just my brother,” Damien says, eyes narrowing. “He was my blood. He brought me in. Protected me. Kept me alive when our old man left us nothing but bruises and debt. He was the only real thing I had left.”

I swallow hard, throat tight.

“And you?” he continues. “Some spoiled girl wrapped in silk and bodyguards. You let him die. You helped them kill him.”

“I never wanted—”

“Doesn’t matter what you wanted,” he says coldly. “What matters is what you took.”

I glance past him. There’s no exit. Just the gate I slipped through, now partially blocked by another man—silent, stocky, arms crossed.

Damien has backup, which of course he does.

My heart slams against my ribs. My hand inches toward my coat pocket, where I usually keep a blade—except it’s not there. I wasn’t allowed to carry today. Kion said I didn’t need it.

Damien steps in even closer, and I press back so hard into the wall it feels like I might break through it.

“You know,” he says, voice softening in that way that makes it worse, “I thought about killing Kion. Slitting his throat while he sleeps. Or putting a bullet through that pretty skull of his while he stares down at whatever empire he thinks he owns.”

My stomach twists.

“But then I thought… no. That would be too easy.” He pauses. “You’re the reason my brother’s dead. You made him soft. Distracted. Kion won’t bleed for anything, but he’ll bleed for you.”

He leans in, just enough that I feel his breath against my cheek. “So I’m gonna hurt you first.”

My knees nearly give. I grip the wall for balance, nails scraping against the cold brick.

The second man shifts behind him, clearly waiting for a signal. A green light. My panic surges.

“Please,” I whisper. “I’m pregnant.”

The words spill out like a shield, instinctive, desperate.

Damien pauses, then he laughs.

“Sure you are,” he murmurs. “That’s exactly the kind of twisted symmetry Kion would love. Breed his little prize and build a legacy.”

He straightens again, and I brace myself, expecting the blow.

It doesn’t come.

Instead, he tilts his head back toward the alley mouth, where a third figure now stands. Hooded. Waiting.

“You’ll come with us,” Damien says. “Or I start pulling pieces off the people who helped you today. That friend of yours—Talia, right? Funny how fast we found her. She talks a lot when she’s nervous.”

Ice floods my veins.

“You’re lying,” I say.

He grins. “You wanna find out?”

I shake my head. Tears burn hot in my eyes. My body is shaking, blood roaring in my ears. I’m cold all over.

“Why now?” I ask. “Why wait this long?”

Damien’s smile vanishes.

“Wanted to make sure Kion would feel it.”

He nods once at the man behind me.

I lunge.

Not toward Damien—toward the narrow gap behind the dumpster. My shoulder slams the edge hard enough to bruise, but I squeeze through anyway. Shouts explode behind me. Footsteps thunder after.

I run.

My lungs burn. My vision blurs. Every breath feels like fire in my chest, but I don’t stop. Can’t stop.

They’re behind me, close. I hear one curse, the scrape of boots on wet pavement.

I cut right, vault a short railing, duck beneath a hanging pipe. My coat snags, tears. I barely feel it.

A narrow stairwell appears ahead—metal, rusted, steep. I climb. Fast. My legs scream in protest, but I don’t slow down.

I don’t look back, not until I reach the rooftop and slam the door behind me.

Then I finally scream.