Page 10 of Toxic Salvation (Krayev Bratva #2)

VESPER

I wake up to ten blissful seconds of ignorance.

My body feels rested. The bed is warm. For those precious moments, I’m not pregnant. I’m not terrified. I’m not living in my ex-whatever’s house because dangerous men want to hurt me.

Then my phone shrieks from the nightstand, shattering my peace. Guess I forgot to put on Do Not Disturb last night.

“Good morning, dear brother,” I mumble when I answer.

“Where the hell have you been?” Waylen is furious before I’m fully awake. “You disappeared yesterday after our conversation.”

I throw back the covers and swing my legs over the side of the bed. My stomach immediately protests the sudden movement with a wave of nausea. “I didn’t disappear. I sent you a text.”

“Asking how Mom was doing. That’s it. You didn’t tell me where you were or when you were coming home. I thought you were staying with her.”

“I was. Sort of.”

“What happened?”

I close my eyes and rest my forehead in my palm. “Kovan knows about the pregnancy.”

“Shit. I was afraid of that.”

“Is Mom okay this morning? How’s her mood?”

“We’re not talking about Mom right now. This is about you. Where are you?”

My stomach churns again, more violently this time. “At Kovan’s house. Looks like I’ll be living here for a while. His idea, obviously. Now that I’m carrying his heir, he suddenly cares.”

The bitter edge in my voice surprises even me.

“I’m coming there.”

“Wait, Waylen?—”

The line goes dead. I call him back twice, but he doesn’t answer either attempt.

Perfect. The last thing this already tenuous situation needs is my overprotective brother storming Kovan’s fortress to defend my honor. I throw on yesterday’s clothes and hurry downstairs to warn Kovan that Hurricane Waylen is headed our way.

The kitchen smells incredible—fresh bread, scrambled eggs, something sweet baking in the oven. Under normal circumstances, the scents would make my mouth water. Today, they make my stomach revolt.

“Morning,” Kovan greets me from behind the stove, spatula in hand. “Thought I’d make you breakfast.”

I scan the counter for my salvation and notice something missing. “Where’s the coffee machine?”

“Moved it to my office. No point in torturing you unnecessarily.”

My jaw drops. “You relocated the coffee maker because of me?”

“You can’t have caffeine anymore, and we both know you’re an addict. I was being considerate.”

I slide onto one of the barstools facing him. “A little coffee during pregnancy isn’t dangerous.”

He turns to face me fully, and I catch the protective determination in his eyes. “Vesper.”

“Relax. I haven’t been drinking coffee,” I grumble. “I just miss it. You might miss it, too, when I’m waddling around here with an ass the size of Texas.”

His mouth curves into an actual smile. “I’ve always been partial to Texas.”

I blush and hide behind the glass of water he slides across the counter. “What are you making?”

“Eggs and toast.” He plates what looks like a perfect omelet. “Thought you might be hungry.”

My stomach lurches at the thought. “I can’t eat eggs. They make me want to die.”

“Toast then?”

I shake my head. “Too heavy. Makes me feel bloated and gross.”

He sets down his spatula and studies me. “What can you eat?”

“You don’t have to cook for me.”

“You’re pregnant with my child. You need nutrition, and I’m perfectly capable of providing it. Just tell me what sounds good.”

“Does that offer extend beyond food?”

He grins—an actual, honest-to-goodness grin that transforms his entire face. “Careful, or I might think you’re flirting with me.”

Zero chance of that, I think to myself. Out loud, I say, “How about hashbrowns? No onions.”

“Coming right up.” He scrapes the omelet aside and returns to the stove.

“By the way,” I say, “Waylen’s on his way over.”

Kovan doesn’t even pause in his potato preparation. “I’ll make extra.”

I can’t tell if he’s joking. “He sounded pretty angry on the phone.”

“Don’t worry about it. I can handle your brother.”

“Can you handle him without bloodshed? That’s the real question.”

“That’s his choice, not mine.” He pulls a carton of orange juice from the refrigerator and pours me a glass. “The baby needs vitamin C,” he explains. He sets it in front of me, then braces his hands on the counter. “We should talk about this. The pregnancy.”

I take a sip of juice, buying myself time. “There’s nothing to discuss. This is my baby, and I’m keeping it.”

“I assumed as much. I’m telling you I want to be involved. For you and our son.”

I peer at him, searching his face for deception. “You don’t want children.”

“Neither did you.”

“I don’t have a choice anymore. You still do.”

Something hardens in his eyes. The playful man who was teasing me about Texas disappears, replaced by the cold-blooded killer I know far too well. “I don’t walk away from my responsibilities, Vesper. I’ll make sure you and the baby have everything you need.”

“That’s generous, but unnecessary. I can handle this alone.”

He straightens to his full height, and suddenly, the expanse of granite countertop between us feels like both too much distance and not nearly enough.

“What exactly are you saying, Vesper? You don’t want me in my son’s life?”

The rational part of my brain knows I should back down. Accept his offer and be grateful for it. But the wounded part—the part that remembers him calling me nothing, telling me I wasn’t family—that part wants to hurt him back. It wants to hurt him badly.

“Maybe that’s exactly what I’m saying.”

I brace myself for the explosion. For shouting and accusations. For those green eyes to turn molten with rage.

Instead, he just nods once. “So be it. I’m going to take care of both of you whether you want me to or not. If you decide you don’t want me around when he’s born, we’ll discuss it then. Until that time, we work together.”

I gape at him. “Do you even know how to do that? Work together?”

“Do you?” he shoots back.

The unfairness of that stings. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“How long have you known you were pregnant?”

I flinch. “A month.”

“And you never said a word.”

“Are you seriously trying to make this my fault?” My temper spikes so fast it surprises me. “You’re the one who ended things! You told me we were over and forbade me from seeing Luka! Why would I think you’d want to hear from me?”

“You made an assumption.”

“It wasn’t an assumption, asshole! You made it crystal clear that you didn’t want me in your life. You don’t get to be angry now because I decided I didn’t want you in mine.”

The hashbrowns are definitely burning, but he doesn’t seem to care. His jaw thrums with tension and he’s white-knuckling the spatula like he wishes it was a sword instead.

Before either of us can escalate further, shouting erupts from the front of the house.

“What the—” Then it hits me. “Oh, God. Waylen. Ahead of schedule.”

“Stay here,” Kovan orders, abandoning the stove and striding toward the foyer.

Like hell I will.

I follow him into the entryway where Waylen is arguing with one of the security guards—a mountain of a man who looks like he bench presses small cars for fun.

“Get out of my way, Grisha. You know exactly who I am.”

“You haven’t been cleared for entry today, Mr. Waylen,” the guard rumbles. “I can’t just?—”

“There he is!” Waylen spots Kovan and his entire demeanor shifts from frustrated to murderous. “The man of the hour. I just need a few minutes with your douche bag boss, Grisha. Now, move.”

“Waylen, stop!” I rush forward, but Kovan catches me around the waist and pulls me back against his chest.

“Stay out of this,” he growls.

“Let me go!”

“You heard her,” Waylen snarls. “Let her go.”

“What’s all the noise about?” Pavel appears at the top of the staircase with Luka beside him, both looking curious rather than concerned.

Dammit. This is about to become a spectacle.

“Everyone just calm down,” I plead. “We can talk about this like rational adults.”

For a moment, blessed silence falls over the foyer. I actually think they might listen to reason.

Then Waylen draws back his fist and punches Kovan directly in the face.

The crack of knuckles meeting bone echoes through the space. I hear someone screaming and realize it’s me.

My brother’s eyes are wild as he winds up for another swing, but this time, Kovan is ready. He ducks the punch and grabs Waylen in a headlock so smooth it looks choreographed.

“I’ll give you that one,” Kovan says calmly, as if he’s not currently restraining my thrashing brother. “From your perspective, I probably deserve it. But you’re not getting another shot.”

“Wanna bet?” Waylen gasps, trying to break free.

“This is insane!” I shout at both of them. “You’re acting like children! Stop it right now!”

Neither man pays me any attention. I might as well be talking to the furniture.

“Take Luka upstairs,” Kovan directs me while maintaining his hold on Waylen. “Your brother and I need to have a conversation.”

“I’m not leaving you two Neanderthals alone!”

He starts dragging Waylen toward the hallway that leads to his office. “Everything’s fine. We just need to work some things out.”

“I’d believe that more if you weren’t restraining him!”

“It’s okay, V,” Waylen manages between labored breaths. “We have unfinished business. This has been coming for a while.”

“He has you in a headlock!”

Way winks. “I’ve got him exactly where I want him.”

The two of them disappear around the corner still locked together, leaving me staring after them in disbelief.

“Well,” Pavel says cheerfully from the staircase, “this should be interesting.”

I turn to glare at him. “You’re enjoying this.”

“A little. Your brother’s got spirit—I’ll give him that.”

Luka tugs on my sleeve. “Vesper, are Uncle Kovan and Waylen going to fight?”

I look down at his worried face and force a smile. “No, sweetheart. They’re just going to have a very loud conversation.”

“Like the kind Mom and Ihor used to have?”

My heart breaks a little. “No, baby. Not like that at all. This is different.”

Pavel clears his throat. “How about we make some hot chocolate while they sort things out?”

Luka perks up immediately. “Can we use the mini marshmallows?”

“Your wish is my command, young prince.”

As Pavel leads Luka toward the kitchen, I can’t help but wonder what exactly Kovan and Waylen are “sorting out” in that office.

And whether there will be a house left standing when they’re done.