Page 56 of Obsessed Bratva King

Not of me.

Of something else. Something worse.

Her lips tremble, her breathing shallow as she struggles to say the words. I move forward immediately, my hands already reaching for the knots at her wrists, my focus shifting from murder to escape.

“What is it?” I ask as I work the ropes free. “How bad is it?”

“Ivan,” she whispers. “Not me.”

I still. “What?”

She swallows hard, her body trembling beneath me.

"The baby.” She lets out a sob. “What if they hurt the baby?”

“What baby?”

She stares deep into my soul. “I’m pregnant, Ivan."

My body forgets how to move.

Pregnant.

She’s carrying my child.

Everything shatters and realigns. The priority isn’t killing them anymore. That can wait. First, I need to get her and my child to safety.

My hands tremble as I move again, undoing the ropes faster, more desperately. The bindings fall away one by one, my fingers clumsy with urgency, with the knowledge that everything has changed.

She sags forward the moment her wrists are free, her body curling into me. Without thinking, I catch her, my arms closing around her, pulling her in, holding her close.

Her fingers clutch at my shirt. Her breath is shaky against my neck, her body trembling in my arms.

She clings to me for only a second before pulling back, her breath uneven against my neck. I cup the back of her head, pressing my lips to her hair, taking the briefest moment to revel in the fact that she’s alive.

“I’m going to get you out of here,” I say, my voice steady despite the storm tearing through my veins.

She nods, but then she lifts her chin, something fierce flashing in her expression. “Give me a gun.”

I immediately scowl, my body locking up. “No.”

Her glare sharpens. “Ivan, I can help. Let me help.”

I step between her and the door, blocking her completely, every inch of me ready to keep her shielded, keep her out of this fight. “Stay behind me,” I order, my voice low, absolute. “I’ll handle this.”

She grabs my wrist, her grip iron-tight, her nails pressing into my skin. “Ivan,” she snaps, her voice sharp as a gunshot. “Have faith in me. Please.”

Something in my chest twists violently.

I know she isn’t weak. She’s fought her whole life, survived battles she never should have, and she’s standing here now, still breathing. But the idea of her in this fight, the idea of her carrying my child in the middle of a goddamn war zone— it puts a fear in me so deep, so visceral, that it chokes me.

I exhale sharply, jaw clenched tight as I press a gun into her hands. “Just don’t shoot me.”

Cora’s lips twitch, just slightly. “No promises.”

Then—the door bursts open and a gun’s pointing straight at me. I barely have time to register it before Cora fires.

The gunshot tears through the room, deafening in the confined space. The bullet slams through his skull, tearing flesh and bone, and he collapses in the doorway, blood splattering against the walls.

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