Page 4 of Filthy Lies

The contractions are building. Six minutes. I’m no expert, but I know this baby is coming soon, with or without medical assistance.

That thought terrifies me more than anything else that’s happened.

A scraping sound makes me freeze. Someone’s unlocking the door.

I brace myself against the wall as I cast around for anything I could use as a weapon. There’s… nothing. Not unless damp mattresses suddenly qualify as a viable form of self-defense.

Light spills into the room as the door swings open, silhouetting a woman’s slender frame.

“Ah, you’re awake.” Her accent is thick, Russian, and utterly unfamiliar. “Good timing. The doctor will be here soon.”

My eyes struggle to adjust to the sudden brightness. Even when they do, though, it’s no use. This woman, whoever she is, ismiddle-aged, with sharp features and blonde hair pulled into a severe bun.

“Where am I?” I demand. “Who are you?”

She ignores my questions as she sets a small bag on the floor. “How far apart are the contractions?”

Another wave of pain answers for me, ripping through my body like fireworks in my ovaries. I cry out, unable to hold it in.

“Hmph.” She checks her watch. “Moving quickly.”

When the pain subsides, rage gives me strength. “Answer me! Where am I? Why am I here?”

She sighs like I’m an annoying child. “You Americans, always with the questions.” Her cold eyes assess me. “You are somewhere safe, for now. And you are here because you carry valuable collateral.”

“Collateral?” My hand instinctively shields my stomach. “This is my baby!”

“This is the Akopov heir,” she corrects. “And now, it is Solovyov leverage.”

Solovyov.

“Vince will kill every one of you.” I sound a hell of a lot more confident than I feel.

She smiles, unimpressed. “Perhaps. If he can find us.” She removes items from her bag—towels, scissors, gloves. “But first, you will deliver this baby. And then we will negotiate.”

“I need a hospital,” I insist. “I need doctors.”

“A doctor is coming.” She shrugs. “But you would be surprised what women can endure without hospitals. My own grandmother delivered twelve children in a Siberian shack. She survived. Well, until the twelfth.”

I double over and moan as more of that awful, hot, grinding, clamping sensation goes searing through me. I’m being squeezed into coal and split open down the middle at the same time.

The woman watches clinically and says nothing. Her bedside manner needs some fucking work, if you ask me.

When I can speak again, I try a different approach. “Look, I don’t know what your plan is, but this baby needs medical care.Ineed medical care. If anything happens to either of us?—”

“Then Akopov will rain hellfire upon us, yes?” She laughs. “You said that already.”

“How did you even get to me?” I mumble, drool dangling from my lips as the pain takes me to a place where I no longer care about such things as “dignity.” “The estate is guarded.”

“Not as well as your husband believes.” She checks her watch again and scribbles something down in her notepad. “We have been watching. Waiting for the perfect moment. When we saw Andrei’s men collect you, we simply… intercepted the transport.”

Andrei’s men. Of course. This was his plan all along—take me, control the baby.

But he never counted on someone taking me from him.

“Why?” I ask. “What do you want?”

“From you? Nothing.” She tilts her head. “From your husband? Much. The Solovyov family has scores to settle with the Akopovs. Your child provides perfect leverage.”

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