Page 24

MIA

I see Brad sauntering towards us, and my whole world narrows down to one thought.

I have to get Eli away from him.

“Nik,” I murmur, “can you get him to the car?”

I can tell by the grimace on her face that she hates the idea of leaving my side. But Eli takes precedence.

“I’ll ask Ms. Lawrence to watch him,” she grits. “Then I’m coming back.”

“Okay. Please, hurry.”

“Mommy?” Eli asks, a little panicked. “What’s happening? Why is Dad here?”

“Because you’re coming home with me,” Brad calls out as he approaches. “Or did your mommy not get her mail today?”

“No!” Eli bursts. “I don’t want to go home with you! I hate you!”

“That’s because your mother poisoned you against me,” Brad hisses. “Once you’re back with me, you’ll understand?—”

“You’re the poison! You’re horrible!” Eli screams. “You’re always drunk and mean, and you hit Mommy all the time!”

Brad’s face turns to stone. The whole school is watching us now. Parents, teachers—everyone.

I swallow the shame and place Eli in Nikita’s arms. “It’s okay, munchkin,” I whisper. “I’m going to talk to your dad now, okay? You go strap in.”

“I don’t want to go with him!” He struggles against Nikita’s hold and buries his face into my neck, crying. “I want you, Mommy.”

“You don’t have to go with him,” I promise. “I just need you to be in the car for a second, okay? I’ll be right there.”

“But he’ll hurt you!”

“He won’t,” Nikita butts in. “Or he’ll get hurt worse.”

That one’s intended for Brad, I know. But while Brad doesn’t take the threat seriously, Eli does. He’s never seen Nikita in her Bratva mode, but he’s always had good instincts about people. Right now, those instincts must be telling him we’re the big dogs in the fight, for once.

Reluctantly, he lets go of me.

I watch Nikita squirrel him away. “Hey!” Brad lunges for them, but I step in his path. “You can’t do this. I have a court order!”

“All you have is a custody hearing date,” I say. “That’s not a court order. It doesn’t mean he’s yours.”

“Yeah, right. Like you’ve got the funds to fight it.” Then, as if a lightbulb has gone off in his head, he sneers down at me. “Wait, don’t tell me. Your pimp’s footing the bill, isn’t he?”

“He’s not my pimp, ” I retort, hot with rage at Brad’s insinuations. “He’s?—”

“What?” He smirks, stepping closer. “C’mon, Mia, finish that sentence. He’s what?” His gaze lands pointedly on my bare ring finger.

My throat tightens. I want to scream that it’s not like that, but the words won’t come. Because what is it like? Yulian offered me a way back into his life, but I haven’t taken it yet. I wasn’t sure he deserved it at first, and now, I’m not sure I do.

But I’ll be damned if I let Brad think he’s right about us. If I let anyone here think Yulian is anything less than honorable.

“You want to know who he is?” I step up to him, striding straight into his shadow instead of running from it for once. “He’s the man who kicked your ass, Bradley. He did it once, he did it twice, and then he did it again. That makes three, doesn’t it?”

“Are you admitting that he assaulted me?”

Jesus. Could he make it any clearer that he’s recording this? That he plans to use it in court?

“No,” I say softly. When I speak next, I lean into his breast pocket, right where I see the telltale bump of a microphone. “I’m saying he confronted you, and every time he did, you went home crying like a baby. So, if I were you, I’d save myself the embarrassment of bawling my eyes out in court.”

His fist tightens. I can tell he wants to let it fly.

But I’m tired of running scared. Tired of letting him have the last word and the first punch. I’m done cowering in the corner, dreading the day he’ll take away my child, the day he’ll decide I’m his again. I’m done fearing Bradley Baldwin.

It’s high time he started fearing me.

Come on—hit me. I square my shoulders, dare him with my eyes. Do it right here, in front of everyone.

But he doesn’t take the bait, not yet. “He’s my son,” he says. “I have a right to see him. Otherwise, you’re looking at parental alienation charges.”

Parental alienation. For once, it’s not trumped-up. I kept Eli from him for nearly five years, and the second I had the chance, I ran away with him again.

Because he was violent. Because he was drunk. Because he was hurting Eli just by being near him.

I have no proof of any of that. Witnesses, maybe, but no one I’d want to put on the stand. It just wouldn’t be smart—or even fair. Yulian is Bratva, and Eli’s just five years old. Who’d ever believe him?

Brad smirks at me. He thinks he’s won. I can read it on his face—he thinks he has me.

But he does have me.

Doesn’t he?

No. I steel myself and stand my ground. No more running.

“I don’t give a shit what I’m looking at,” I snap. “You’re a drunk, violent psychopath, and the only way you’ll ever get to my son again is over my dead goddamn body.”

A vein starts popping at his temple. The second I see it, I know he’s going to do it. He’s going to punch me—right here, where every parent and teacher can see it.

He might give me a black eye. He might break my nose. But by the time it’s over, I’ll have won.

This is for Eli, too.

“You bitch,” he spits, preparing to strike. “You fucking bitch.”

But it’s not his arm he raises.

It’s his leg.

Abruptly, I realize I’ve miscalculated. He isn’t going to punch me—he’s going to knee me in the belly, try to force a miscarriage. Sure, he’ll lose any claim to Eli, but I might lose my baby.

No, I will lose my baby. I can see it in his eyes: he’s not going to stop. Not until he’s certain. And who’s going to help in time? Who, when every parent here has their own babies to think about?

My hands shoot to my belly. There’s no time to step back, no time to run. All I can do is try to protect my baby.

I brace myself for the blow?—

—but it never comes.

Brad goes sprawling on the sidewalk. Nikita grinds her boot into his groin, forcing a howl of pain from his throat. She looks like an avenging angel, all leather clothes and unbridled rage.

“Touch her again,” she says in fury, “and you won’t be making any more babies, either. Now, scram before I call my boss and tell him what you tried to do.”

Then she lifts her boot and lets him go.

Brad curls up on himself. He’s whimpering a whole stream of curses, but the only part that makes sense to me is “… isn’t over.”

And as Nikita herds me to the car, I know he’s right. Somehow, he’ll twist everything that happened here today. He’ll say I attacked him, that I kept his son from him. He’ll bribe witnesses and do whatever it takes to win.

I don’t realize I’m texting Yulian until my finger hits Send.