Page 33 of Royal Bargain (Royals of the Underworld #3)

ANNIKA

I freeze, my breath catching in my throat as the man in black steps out from the shadows.

He moves toward us with quiet, deliberate steps—like a predator that knows it’s already won. Instinctively, I throw my arm in front of Sasha, shielding her without thinking.

She doesn’t budge. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she snaps, her voice sharp and unflinching.

The man stops a few feet away, hands out to show he isn’t armed, but that does nothing to slow the pounding in my chest.

“I’m here on behalf of Anatoly Volkov,” he says calmly, like he’s delivering a dinner invitation instead of a threat.

Sasha scoffs, tilting her chin defiantly. “If Papa wanted to come after her,” she says, jerking her head toward me, “she’d already be tied up in someone’s trunk—or dead. So drop the boogeyman act and get to the point.”

She’s trying to be brave, but I can feel the tremor under her words. And as much as I want to believe she’s right, the fear clawing at my insides won’t let go.

“She’s right,” I say quietly, stepping forward just enough to draw the man’s attention fully to me. “If this was about my father, I’d already be gone.”

The man says nothing—just watches us both like he’s calculating how much of a threat we actually are.

Sasha narrows her eyes. “They’re not here for Papa,” she mutters, almost to herself. “They’re here to bring you to Dariy.”

My blood goes cold.

She turns to me, her voice harder now. “This has his stink all over it. He’s the only one who’d be this theatrical about it.”

I swallow hard. She’s right. Dariy never just does anything—he plays with his food first.

“Whatever message you’ve got,” Sasha snaps at the man, “you can deliver it and leave. She’s not going anywhere with you.”

But I can feel it—this isn’t just a message. This is a test. A warning. Maybe even a summons.

And the worst part?

I think I have to go. I don’t want to. But I can feel it in my bones.

The man in black starts walking toward me—slow, like he already knows I won’t run.

“Don’t,” Sasha snaps, stepping in front of me again. Her voice is steel. “I mean it.”

But he keeps coming.

Reaches out. Fingers brush my sleeve?—

SCREECH

Tires scream against the pavement.

Then gunfire—loud and brutal, like the world cracking in half.

“Down!” Sasha yells, grabbing my arm and dragging me with her.

We hit the ground behind a parked car, hard. My hands fly over my head. Adrenaline roars in my ears. I can’t hear anything else.

Somewhere behind us, a shout. Another shot.

Then,

Silence.

My chest is tight. I lift my head slowly, peering over the hood.

Liam.

Gun still raised. Chest heaving like he just ran a mile in full armor.

One man’s down—blood spilling into the street like ink.

Another, near the SUV, hasn’t moved.

Didn’t even know he was there.

Liam’s eyes lock with mine.

“Run!” I shout at Sasha, already pushing her toward the alley. “Go—now!”

She stumbles, catches herself, then bolts. Her heels echo as she disappears around the corner.

I don’t even get to breathe.

Liam’s suddenly beside me, grabbing my wrist. “Let’s go.”

“Liam—”

“No time.” His voice is tight, low. “Move.”

We run. He hauls open the car door, shoves me in, then dives into the driver’s seat.

The engine growls as he slams on the gas.

We tear off into the night.

The city blurs. And Liam doesn’t say a word.

His jaw’s locked, one hand gripping the wheel like he might snap it off. The other keeps twitching near his phone, like he’s torn between calling someone and throwing it out the window.

He doesn’t look at me. Not once.

Back at the safehouse, I’m out of the car before we’ve even stopped.

I fumble with the door, race inside, heart in my throat. “Lily?” I shout.

Movement in the hall—one of the guards, awkwardly holding my daughter like she’s radioactive.

“She started crying,” he mumbles. “I changed her diaper but she, uh… she doesn’t like me.”

Lily wails on cue and I rush over and take her, pressing kisses everywhere I can reach. She’s warm. Real. Breathing.

“She’s fine,” the guard adds. “Didn’t let her out of my sight.”

I nod. “Thank you.” My voice cracks.

Once she’s down again, soft and sleepy, I stay a second longer. Just watching her. Letting the world slow down, even if my heart won’t.

Then I turn back into the living room.

Liam’s still in his coat. Standing near the fireplace. Staring out the window.

I brace myself.

“I know what you’re going to say,” I start, voice barely a whisper.

He doesn’t move.

“I had to?—”

“Don’t.”

His voice is quiet. Dead calm.

“I’m afraid if I open my mouth, I won’t be able to stop.”

That lands like a punch.

He moves to the cupboard. Takes out a mug.

No clatter. No slam. Just calm, quiet movements.

The kind of quiet that’s way scarier than yelling.

“I didn’t mean for it to go like that,” I say again. “I thought I’d be back before you even noticed.”

Still nothing. Not even a twitch of acknowledgment.

My chest tightens. “Are you really not going to say anything?”

He drops a teabag into the mug. Pours the hot water. Picks up a spoon.

Stirs.

I take a step forward, heart pounding. “Just talk to me.”

That finally makes him pause.

For one agonizing second, I think he’s going to turn around. Say something. Anything.

But he doesn’t. He just picks up the mug and walks past me like I’m a ghost.

And I feel like one.

I watch him disappear into the next room, mug in hand, like nothing happened. Like he didn’t just gun down two men in the street to protect me. Like I didn’t just risk everything and leave our daughter behind.

The quiet eats at me. It’s not indifference—it’s something else—but I can’t read him. And not knowing is worse than any fight.

I follow him, barefoot steps silent on the hardwood. He sits down on the edge of the couch, cradling the mug in both hands, eyes locked on some invisible point across the room.

“You’re really not going to talk to me?” I ask.

No response.

I cross my arms, heartbeat wild. “Is this it, then? You’ve decided I’m not worth the effort?”

Still nothing. Not even a flicker of emotion.

My chest tightens. My voice hardens. “I get it. I burden your life. I make it more complicated. You can’t stand having me around.”

That gets him.

His head snaps toward me. His eyes meet mine—and they’re not cold. They’re burning.

“You want to know how I feel?” His voice is low, rough. “You drive me crazy.”

I flinch.

“I can’t stop thinking about you when you’re gone. I can’t sleep when you’re near. I haven’t been able to breathe right since you showed up on my doorstep asking for help.”

He stands, setting the mug down with too much force.

“You make me want things I shouldn’t want. Make me feel things I’m not supposed to feel. And then you pull this disappearing act, leave me with our daughter and no damn explanation—do you have any idea what that does to me?”

He steps closer, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off him, the tension vibrating in the air between us.

“You make me want to… to do something stupid,” he mumbles.

I tilt my head, letting my lips curl into something just shy of cruel. “Then do it.”

His eyes flash—dark, wild. “What?”

“Do something stupid,” I whisper, stepping closer until there’s barely any space left between us. “You’ve been pacing around like you’re going to explode—so go ahead. Explode .”

That’s all it takes.

He grabs me.

One second I’m standing there, baiting him, and the next I’m flat on my back on the living room floor, his weight pressing down on me, his mouth crashing into mine like he’s drowning and I’m air.

Clothes come off in frantic, clumsy movements. His hands are everywhere—rough, possessive, needy.

“You want to act like you don’t need me?” he growls against my throat. “Fine. I’ll fuck the denial right out of you.”

Then he flips me onto my stomach, yanks my hips up, and spanks me—hard. The crack of it echoes through the room. My gasp is half pain, half want.

“Liam—!”

“Quiet,” he snaps. “You don’t get to mouth off and then act innocent. You wanted this.”

Another slap, this time lower. Then he fills me in one brutal, desperate thrust that steals the breath from my lungs.

Everything after that is a blur of sweat and skin, of hands pinning me down and teeth grazing my shoulder. He’s relentless—driven by anger, betrayal, fear—and I take it, want it, crave it. I lose myself in it.

I don’t think. I don’t speak. I just feel—every sharp snap of his hips, every guttural growl in my ear, every time he calls me his.

And I know in that moment, no matter how badly we’re breaking each other?—

I’ll always come back to him.

Afterward, we lie tangled together on the rug, skin slick, breath still catching in our throats. My head rests on Liam’s chest, rising and falling with the rhythm of his breathing. His fingers trace lazy patterns along my spine—slow, grounding, intimate.

For a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of the kettle still whistling faintly in the kitchen and the quiet hush of our shared exhale.

Then my phone buzzes on the coffee table.

Liam’s hand pauses.

I glance over and see Sasha’s name on the screen.

Are you okay?? You took off so fast. Is Liam okay??

Guilt punches through my chest. I can still see her face in my mind, the moment I pushed her to run. The fear in her eyes.

“What is it?” Liam asks quietly, voice low and rough from everything we just did.

My hand closes around the phone.

“Nothing,” I murmur, flipping it facedown. “Just a wrong number.”

He goes still beneath me.

“What are you hiding?” he asks, too calm for the tenor of his words.

I freeze—just for a heartbeat—but it’s enough. I force a shrug. “It was just a wrong number.”

Liam shifts beneath me, guiding me off his chest. He sits up slowly, all that easy post-release warmth gone cold. His eyes are on fire now—sharp and calculating.

“Don’t lie to me, Ana.”

“I’m not?—”

“Try again.”

His voice cuts sharper than any weapon. I sit up too, wrapping the blanket around myself like armor. “I told you. It’s nothing important.”

He scoffs, running a hand through his hair. “You left our daughter alone to go meet with someone behind my back. You’ve been quiet since we got back. You lied about that text.”

He turns to me, eyes locked on mine. Unflinching. Unrelenting. His voice deepens—gravel rough, strained. “No more lies, Ana.”

I flinch.

“I’m serious,” he says, stepping closer, eyes burning into mine. “Whatever this is, whatever you’re keeping from me—I need to know. I can’t protect you if you don’t tell me what’s going on.”

My mouth opens, but the words get stuck behind my teeth.

“I’ve killed for you,” he says, quieter now. “I’ve risked everything for you. And I’d do it again—gladly. But I need you to trust me.”

He waits.

I stay quiet.

And that silence says more than anything else ever could.

Liam exhales like I just punched the air from his lungs. His eyes darken—not with rage, but with something far worse.

Hurt.

And then,