Page 21 of Royal Bargain (Royals of the Underworld #3)

ANNIKA

L iam’s chest rises and falls under my cheek.

His fingers move slow across my back, aimless, like he’s not even aware he’s doing it.

I feel loose all over—sore in a good way, heavy in my limbs, like I could melt into the sheets if I tried.

I don’t want to move. Not when he’s here. Not when everything’s quiet.

We don’t talk. Not at first. There’s no pressure to. Just warmth, breath, and the faint sound of the TV still playing in the background.

Then he says, “That whole thing with the shooter… it’s still bothering me.”

My stomach knots a little. I press in closer, hoping he’ll let it go.

He doesn’t.

“Sorry,” he says, catching the way I tense. “I know you don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Not tonight,” I murmur.

But he’s already thinking out loud.

“It was weird. The way it all happened. Like… too fast. The guy barely fired before security swarmed him. Cops showed up like they were parked outside, just waiting.”

I don’t say anything.

He exhales through his nose. “Didn’t even hear sirens until Burns was being loaded into the ambulance.”

That gets to me. I shift, resting my chin on his chest so I can look at him.

“You think it was planned?”

“I don’t know,” he says. “Just feels kinda off.”

I chew my bottom lip. The thought’s been stuck in my head too.

“What if it wasn’t random?” I say. “What if the guy was already inside?”

He looks down at me, brows drawn. “Like an inside job?”

“Maybe.” I hesitate. “Burns made that speech right before it happened. It wasn’t even on the news yet. No one outside the room would’ve heard it.”

We’re both quiet again.

Just lying there. Thinking.

“So either someone got so angry so fast that they waited for him to leave, slipped out, found a spot across the street, and had a gun ready,” I say slowly, “or it was staged. Pre-planned.”

His mouth opens, then closes again.

I watch his face carefully. “Is Burns the kind of person who’d take a bullet if it meant making himself look like a martyr for the cause?”

Liam doesn’t answer right away.

He looks away, his jaw tight. “I don’t know,” he says at first, but it sounds more like a reflex than a real answer.

I wait.

Finally, he exhales through his nose. “He’s…

he’s always been good at getting people to believe in him.

At making himself look like the answer to all their problems. Even before the campaign, he just had this way of bending things to his will.

Not in a big, flashy way, but subtle. Like the world was just willing to move for him. ”

His eyes flick back to mine. “And that night, I saw something else in him. Like he was willing to do whatever it took to win, even if it meant changing aspects of himself.”

The words land like stones in my stomach.

I nod slowly, heart ticking faster. “So maybe he didn’t just want to clean up the city,” I whisper. “Maybe he wanted to paint a target on his own back… to make everyone rally behind him.”

Liam doesn’t argue.

He pulls me in tighter, like he can feel the chill sinking into me. But even with his arms around me, the weight of what we just said doesn’t go anywhere.

I glance up. Liam’s still staring at the ceiling, jaw tight, that stormy look creeping back in. The one he gets when his brain won’t quit—when everything’s tangled and there’s no clear way through.

I don’t want that tonight. Don’t want to lose the quiet we carved out.

So I lean in and kiss him. Soft. Barely there. Just enough to remind him I’m here.

His hand slips to my waist, fingers curling gently. He kisses me back, but slower, like he’s asking if it’s okay.

I answer with another kiss, catching his bottom lip between mine.

“Don’t think about it right now,” I murmur. “Just stay.”

His eyebrow lifts, playful. “That your way of saying you want a round two?”

I laugh under my breath. “Maybe. You’ve been a good distraction.”

His eyes darken with something playful—and hungry. “Oh, yeah? I could be even better if you let me.”

I hum against his mouth. “That sounds like a challenge.”

A few tangled sheets and gasping moans later, we’re both a little breathless again, flushed and tangled in limbs and laughter.

It hadn’t taken much—just the press of my mouth to his, the mischievous spark in my eyes—and suddenly, Liam is flipping me onto my back, grinning like the devil himself as I squeal in protest. He kisses me hard, his tongue slipping into my mouth as his hands roam my body with a kind of playful, but intense, urgency.

I trace my nails down his spine, making him shiver and curse against my skin, teasing the nubs of his pecs.

This time it isn’t slow or careful.

His cock is inside me before I can even register he’s moved.

Our bodies collide in fast, frenzied movements, like we’re teenagers, desperate to devour each other before the moment slips away.

He’s muttering something about how unfair it is that I can distract him so easily. I tell him to shut up and prove it.

He does.

By the time he’s done, my pussy is sore, our breaths are ragged, and our skin is damp with sweat. And I can’t stop smiling.

I roll onto my side and trace idle shapes along his chest with my fingers, still catching my breath.

“We should stay in the rest of the day,” I murmur. “Just the three of us. No campaign stuff, no Russian Mafia plots, no public outings. Just you, me, and Lily. Maybe watch something stupid on TV and pretend the world isn’t burning down for once.”

Liam lets out a low chuckle, his fingers stroking through my hair. “You know, that actually sounds perfect.”

“Good,” I say, snuggling closer. “Because I’m not letting you leave this bed until at least noon.”

“I’m not arguing, Princess,” he murmurs and kisses the top of my head.

Eventually, I shift off Liam’s chest, stretching with a contented sigh. My muscles ache in all the right ways.

“Think we should check on Lily?” I ask, already missing the warmth of his body against mine, but feeling that pull, that quiet instinct that’s always tethered to her now.

Liam nods, brushing a lazy kiss to my shoulder before sitting up and running a hand through his mess of curls. “Yeah. She’s been quiet way too long. Either she’s plotting something… or she’s finally learning to give her parents a damn break.”

We both laugh, the sound soft and shared as we slip out of bed, throwing on loose clothes—him in sweatpants and a tee, me in one of his old college shirts that hangs down past my thighs.

Padding down the stairs, I approach Lily in the playpen. Peeking over the side, I feel my chest tighten with something achingly tender.

Lily’s still asleep.

Her little body rises and falls in slow, steady rhythm, one tiny hand curled against her cheek, her mouth relaxed in a sleepy pout. The faintest snuffle escapes her nose, but she doesn’t stir.

“She looks so peaceful,” I whisper.

It is a relief. The screaming fits, the inconsolable crying, the desperate nights of pacing the floor—those moments haven’t disappeared entirely, but they’ve grown fewer, further between.

She’s settling now. Stretching longer and longer between wakings.

Trusting, somehow, that she’s safe enough to sleep.

I reach into the crib and gently brush her soft hair back from her forehead. “She’s getting so big.”

“Tell me about it.” Liam wraps an arm around my waist and rests his chin on my shoulder. “Pretty soon she’s gonna be crawling across the floor and demanding to borrow the car keys.”

I snort. “Over my dead body.”

He grins. “Fair enough.”

We stay like that for a moment, side by side, watching our daughter sleep in the hush of the morning light filtering through the curtains. There’s something sacred about it—this rare, quiet calm.

And even though I know it can’t last forever, I let myself lean into it. Just for today.

Lily stirs, a soft little whimper escaping her lips before her legs kick once beneath the blanket.

Then twice.

Then a full-bodied squirm, arms flailing in that delightfully uncoordinated way babies do.

Liam chuckles beside me. “Aaand she’s up.”

“She definitely heard us talking about her growing up,” I say with a grin, scooping her up. Lily blinks at me, groggy and squinty, before breaking into that crooked little smile that always wrecks me.

God, she’s changing fast. Her face is fuller now, her eyes sharper. She clings to my shirt like she means it.

I carry her over to the playmat and ease her down on her tummy. “Alright, little bean,” I whisper. “Tummy time. Show Daddy your super neck powers.”

She makes a vaguely offended noise, scrunches her nose, then props herself up on her arms with shaky determination.

Liam flops down next to us and whistles low. “Okay, when did she get jacked? Has she been sneaking in baby push-ups at 3 a.m.?”

I laugh. “She’s a Volkov. She’s been plotting world domination since day one.”

“Of course,” he says, dragging himself into the same position she’s in, groaning like it’s the hardest thing he’s ever done. “Look at this form. She’s totally showing me up.”

Lily squeals, then immediately faceplants with a dramatic little sigh like she’s over it.

“She’s got your flair for theatrics,” I smirk.

“Please. She’s got your smile. She can’t have everything.”

He reaches out and gently pokes her cheek. She squeals again, trying to grab his face like it’s her favorite toy.

Liam picks her up from the mat and makes a loud raspberry against her cheek. She shrieks with laughter, kicking wildly.

I stretch out on the couch, heart full. The sun’s starting to set, pouring golden light through the windows and casting everything in a warm glow.

“Hey,” Liam says after a moment, glancing down at me. “You hungry?”

“A little,” I admit, lazily rubbing my hand across my stomach. “But not enough to cook anything.”

He grins. “Cereal okay?”

I laugh. “Fine. Only if it’s the good cereal.”

He gives me a mock salute. “Your wish is my command, princess.”

A few minutes later he returns, balancing two bowls in one hand and cradling Lily in the other like an absolute pro. He sets her back in the bouncer with her favorite teether and hands me my bowl.

“Fruity Pebbles?” I say, delighting in the rainbow sugar swirl.

“It was either that or Frosted Flakes. Thought you might want color with your crunch.”

I curl up beside him on the couch, pulling the blanket over our legs again. “You know me so well.”

He nudges me with his elbow. “Pick a show. Something dumb and nostalgic. We deserve it.”

I scroll for a moment, skimming past newer stuff until a familiar yellow logo catches my eye. “Oh my god. Hey Arnold .”

Liam groans. “Not the football-headed kid.”

“Yes, the football-headed icon,” I shoot back, already clicking it. “It’s a classic.

“You and your ancient cartoons,” he mutters, but I catch the twitch of a smile as the opening theme begins to play.

Lily coos softly from her bouncer as the first episode starts, her legs doing a happy little kick as the theme song pipes through the room. Liam settles back, one arm around my shoulders, his fingers trailing along my arm in slow, lazy strokes.

The second episode plays on, but Liam’s attention drifts. I notice him texting, his face shadowed with something serious.

“Who are you texting?” I ask.

“Lucky,” he replies, not looking up. “I asked him to dig into our theory that Burns hired the shooter himself. That the whole thing was staged.”

I sit up straighter. “You really think he’d do that?”

“I don’t want to,” he mutters. “But the timeline doesn’t make sense. No one outside the gala knew about that speech yet. It’s too perfect.”

I reach for his hand. “What are you going to do?”

He’s quiet for a moment.

“I don’t know.”