Page 29 of Royal Bargain (Royals of the Underworld #3)

ANNIKA

T he moment the door clicks shut behind him, the apartment feels too quiet. I wrap the blanket tighter around my shoulders and stare at the screen of my phone like it might change. It doesn’t.

Sasha: We need to meet. Come to the old shipyard in two hours. Alone. Please.

I don’t even have to open the thread. The words are burned into my brain. She didn’t say why. She didn’t offer a time or place yet. Just that.

Just please .

My stomach knots. I lied to Liam.

“It’s nothing,” I’d said. “Just spam.”

He’d narrowed his eyes, but kissed my forehead anyway, brushing a hand down my arm in that way that always makes me ache. “Be safe,” he’d murmured before disappearing through the door.

Safe.

I’m so sick of that word. Sick of being hidden, escorted, handled. Like glass wrapped in velvet. He means well, but it’s like I’m never allowed to make my own damn choices—not without justifying them to someone first.

And yet…

I pace. One, two, three steps. Turn. Again.

I should tell him. I know I should. But I can already hear the argument. It’s too dangerous, Ana. You don’t know who you can trust. What if it’s a trap?

It could be a trap. But it’s Sasha. My sister.

The one who used to sneak me cookies under the table. The one who whispered stories at night when I couldn’t sleep. The one who watched me walk away from everything and didn’t try to stop me. Not really.

If she’s asking to meet, it has to mean something.

And if I go, if I go without telling Liam… then I’m just proving him right. That I can’t be trusted. That I make reckless decisions. That I’m still her father’s daughter, playing with fire like it won’t burn me.

I rise slowly, glancing toward the windows, the door, the shadows cast by the overhead lights. The apartment isn’t big, but it’s secure. Reinforced locks. Cameras. Top-tier security.

And yet… every fortress has a weakness.

I start with the front door. Not a chance. The second I unlock that deadbolt, someone gets an alert. Liam’s no amateur.

The fire escape? I slip into the spare room and test the window latch. It’s painted shut. Reinforced. Another dead end.

But the bathroom window—that’s promising. It’s narrow, high, and half-frosted, but it opens with a little effort. I push it up just an inch, just to see, and feel the cool night air brush my fingertips.

I could squeeze through if I had to.

Not with Lily. But alone?

Alone is the point.

I close it again, slowly, carefully, making sure it doesn’t creak. Then I test the hallway door that leads to the building’s maintenance stairwell. Locked. Of course. I’d need the keycard Liam keeps clipped to his belt.

A backup plan, then. Not a guarantee. Just an option.

Just in case.

The sound of the lock turning snaps me out of my musings.

I whirl around just as the door opens. It’s Liam—exhausted, a little disheveled, but alive. He’s got Lily bundled in his arms, fast asleep, and the diaper bag slung over one shoulder. The second he sees me, his jaw tightens like he’s bracing for something.

“You’re back,” I say, my voice thinner than I meant it to be.

“Yeah.” He steps inside and nods toward the couch. “You good?”

I nod, already reaching for Lily. She stirs faintly as I take her, her tiny hand curling into the fabric of my sweater like she knows I need her close.

Liam drops the bag to the floor with a dull thud and scrubs a hand over his face. “I talked to Rory. Had him look into the security footage from last night, just before the chaos started.”

The air around me stills.

“He was Russian,” Liam says. “Bratva. Not some drunk crashing the event or random press. He was looking for you.”

My stomach drops. I sink onto the edge of the couch, arms tightening around Lily like she’s the only thing keeping me from unraveling.

“You’re sure?” I ask, though I already know the answer.

Liam’s expression is haunting, sad. “Yeah.”

My breath catches. I blink down at Lily, her little face so soft, so unaware of the world trying to claw its way to her. To me.

They were looking for me. In a crowd. Surrounded by people. One wrong move, and?—

I press a kiss to Lily’s temple and shut my eyes, trying to block out the rising tide of panic. It doesn’t work.

“They would’ve killed me,” I whisper.

Liam crouches down in front of me, voice low but steady. “I don’t know if that was the plan. Could’ve been a warning. A grab attempt. But whatever it was—it wasn’t good.”

I nod numbly, barely able to form words. There’s this horrible, hollow feeling in my chest like the air has been sucked out of me. “Someone in my family really wants me gone.”

Liam’s hand finds my knee. “Not all of them. But someone, yeah. And until we know who, we assume the worst.”

My throat tightens.

And still, all I can think about is Sasha. Her message. Her asking to meet alone.

How the hell am I supposed to trust anyone now?

Especially her.

Especially me.

I swallow down the lump in my throat and manage to lift my eyes. “Thank you… for getting us out of there. I mean it.”

Liam doesn’t say anything at first. He just looks at me—really looks—like he’s trying to memorize every inch of my face, or maybe check for damage. I can’t tell which.

Then he shrugs, but it’s too stiff to be casual. “I told you I’d protect you. That wasn’t a promise I made lightly.”

I nod, but the unease is still curling beneath my skin. “What now? What are you going to do?”

He exhales, slow and deliberate. “I’m going to find whoever sent that bastard to the polling party. Whoever framed you. And I’m going to eliminate them.”

His voice is flat, cold. Final.

“To send a message,” he adds. “To let the Russians know if they come after you again, they don’t get to walk away.”

My blood runs cold. “Liam, no.”

“I’m not asking permission, Ana.”

“You can’t just go after them like this?—”

“I can,” he says, voice like steel. “And I will. You think they’ll stop if we play nice? If we talk it out? You’re dreaming.”

I stand, still holding Lily, my voice sharp now. “You have a daughter now, Liam. You really want to get yourself killed playing vigilante?”

His jaw clenches. “This isn’t about revenge. It’s about survival. It’s about making sure no one ever dares to try this again.”

“And what happens if they retaliate?” I shoot back. “What happens if you escalate this and Lily grows up without a father?”

“I’d rather die than let someone take you or her from me.”

I flinch.

The words land like a blow, the kind meant to protect but edged in the kind of finality I can’t bear to hear. My chest aches, heavy with fear and something worse—helplessness. I want to protect him just as badly as he wants to protect me. But we’re not fighting the same war.

“You can’t solve this with bullets,” I whisper. “That’s what my father would do. I thought you were different.”

His expression flickers for the briefest second, but then the wall slams back into place. “I am different. That’s why I’m going to do it smart. Clean. No loose ends.”

And just like that, he turns away, crossing the room to pick up his phone—already looking for names. For leads. For blood.

I hold Lily tighter and sink back onto the couch, heart pounding. Liam thinks he’s doing this for me.

He doesn’t realize he might be tearing everything apart.

Nothing I can do will change his mind. He’s like a man possessed as he makes phone calls and paces around the space, muttering about sending a message.

As soon as Liam walks out the door, I hear the low murmur of voices outside—two men posted, just like he promised. Not Shane this time. New faces. Muscle I don’t know, and don’t trust.

The sound of the locks engaging feels louder than usual. Final.

Lily stirs in my arms, her cheek resting against my chest. I stroke her hair with a trembling hand, trying to calm her. Trying to calm myself.

I should feel safe.

But all I feel is caged.

Two hours.

That’s all I have until the meeting. I’ve already lied to Liam once. Now I have to disappear from right under his nose.

I shift Lily, press a kiss to her temple. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “Mama’s got to do something stupid.”

She doesn’t answer—just breathes in that soft, rhythmic way that babies do when the world hasn’t taught them fear yet.

I lay her gently in her bassinet, tucking her blanket around her small body. My hands linger on her for a moment, as if I could will myself to stay here.

But I can’t.

I cross the apartment and test the living room window again. Locked. I already knew it was, but I test it anyway. Denial is comforting, sometimes.

The bathroom window? Still sealed, just like before. No wiggle room. No chance.

I move on, testing each latch again, one by one—searching for a miracle that hasn’t arrived.

Then I notice something.

Movement through the peephole.

I wait, listening, straining.

Footsteps retreating.

One voice mutters to the other, and then there’s a chuckle. The faint click of the stairwell door.

I rush to the peephole.

The hallway’s empty.

I press my ear to the door and wait—counting seconds. Thirty. Sixty. Ninety.

Finally, I risk cracking the door open, just an inch.

Gone.

They left.

I glance at the small analog clock on the kitchen wall. Right on time.

I crouch low and crawl to the edge of the living room window, peeking through the curtain, spotting two shadows down on the street huddled near the curb, sharing a cigarette. God. They’re not even trying to hide it.

There’s a pattern to their breaks. Every thirty minutes, they step out together. Maybe three minutes, maybe five.

That’s my window.

My only one.

I shut the door quietly and lean against it, heart thudding. My hands shake. This is insane, but I can’t back out now. Sasha’s waiting.

And I need answers.

I bite my lip, glancing around. If I’m careful, I can slip out the back.

A thought forms in my mind like a flash of lightning and I pace toward the window again, peeking through the edge of the curtain. There they are.

I look back at Lily.

She’s still asleep, cheeks pink and full of peace I haven’t felt in weeks. I kneel beside her bassinet, fingers brushing through her soft red hair.

“I’ll be back soon, baby,” I whisper. “Before you even know I’m gone.”

Grabbing the hoodie I left draped over the kitchen chair, I tug the hood up, and sling my bag over my shoulder.

The door opens with a slow creak. I wince, pausing, breath held, but no voices call out. I ease into the hall and slip toward the back stairwell like a ghost.

Every step echoes inside my head. My pulse. My bones.

I reach the landing and press my back to the cold wall. One floor left. Then freedom.

I descend slowly, quietly, counting each step like it’s the last one I’ll ever take.

When I reach the bottom, I go still. The exit is just ahead—gray, dented, plain. I move toward it and pause at the wired-glass window.

And my heart stops.

They’re not out front.

They’re here.

The two of them are standing by the back door, half in shadow. Smoking. Talking. Blocking my only exit.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

I suck in a sharp breath and back away from the window. My whole body’s buzzing, wired with panic and adrenaline. I risk inching the door open—just a sliver—just enough to hear.

Their voices are low and careless. One of them laughs. The other mumbles something about needing stronger coffee.

They don’t sound alert. They don’t sound ready.

But if I make one wrong move, if I make even the slightest noise…

I’ll blow everything.

I press my forehead to the doorframe and close my eyes, breathing shallow.

This is it.

I can go now.

Or I can turn back.

I glance at my watch.

Time’s slipping through my fingers like water.

I stay frozen for what feels like forever, every muscle coiled tight, breath locked in my chest.

Then, movement.

One of them flicks his cigarette into the gutter. The other mutters something, too low to make out, and they both start walking. Not inside. Around the building.

Toward the front.

I count to five.

Ten.

The second their footsteps fade out of range, I move.

I push the door open and slip through, sneakers hitting pavement with barely a sound. I don’t look back. I can’t.

I bolt into the night, heart in my throat, the city swallowing me whole.