Page 132 of Velvet Chains
“She saved her,” Ksenia murmurs, almost to herself. “She saved my malyshka.”
I meet my sister’s gaze, understanding passing between us. Laura’s not just an outsider anymore. She’s semya. Family.
We move quickly, picking our way through the carnage. The stench of blood and shit is thick in the air, but all I can focus on is the shallow rise and fall of Laura’s chest. The faint flutter of her pulse against my skin.
Stay with me, dorogaya. Don’t you fucking dare leave me.
Outside, the cold night air slaps me in the face. Searchlights slice through the darkness, glinting off the barrels of a dozen guns.
“Stand down!” I bark at my men. “We’ve got them. We’re coming out.”
Doc takes Laura from my arms, laying her gently in the back of the waiting SUV. Eli scrambles in beside her, taking her hand.
“Hold this,” Doc instructs, guiding Eli’s small hands to press a wad of gauze against the wound. “Just like that, malyshka. Keep the pressure on.”
I climb in, pulling Laura’s head into my lap. Ksenia slips into the front seat, slamming the door.
“Drive,” she snaps at the driver. “Get us out of here.”
The SUV roars to life, wheels spitting gravel as we peel out. I stroke Laura’s ashen face, murmuring desperate prayers.
In the rearview mirror, the compound blazes against the night sky, flames licking at the stars.
Let it burn. Let it all turn to ash.
Suddenly, my earpiece crackles to life, Misha’s voice filling my head. “Boss, we hit the motherlode. Crates of coke, heroin, you name it. And enough cash to buy a fucking island.”
I grunt, a grim satisfaction settling in my gut. Ivan’s whole empire, laid bare. “Bag it up, all of it. That svoloch won’t be needing it anymore.”
“What about the girls?” Misha asks, an uncharacteristic note of concern in his voice.
“Get them somewhere safe,” I order. “They’ve been through enough. And give them a cut of the cash. It’s the least we can fucking do.”
Misha grunts his assent. “Consider it done, boss.”
Chapter 53
Laura
Three months later
I LIE back on the bed, watching as Victor gently massages my growing belly.
At four months along, my bump is just starting to show, a soft swell that fills me with equal parts wonder and trepidation.
Victor pours a little lavender and coconut oil onto his palms, warming it before gliding his hands over my skin in soothing circles.
“Clockwise, five times. Anti-clockwise, five times,” he counts with each circle, his brow furrowed in concentration.
The firm pressure of his hands feels amazing. But it also tickles like hell, and I can’t help squirming a little, a giggle escaping my lips.
“Don’t move, malyshka,” he grunts, grabbing my hips to hold me still. “You’re gonna make me lose count.”
“Aye, aye, captain,” I snicker, throwing him a mock salute. “Wouldn’t want to disrupt your very serious massage technique.”
He raises an eyebrow, fingers digging into my skin just hard enough to make me gasp. “Damn right, you don’t. Now hold still, moya lyubov’.”
My love.
