Page 16 of Last Hand

Her hand hovers in the air for a second. Then she drops it.

“I’ll get you a towel,” she says softly.

And she leaves.

I turn to the mirror.

I almost don’t recognize myself.

My eye is swollen shut. Blood crusts around my nose and lips. The bruise on my cheek is dark and spreading.

What truly wrecks me is what I see below the surface.

I reach for my waistband, trembling as I peel the pants down. My hips are thinner, legs more bruised, but right beneath my navel?—

There.

Barely visible.

Undeniable.

A tiny swell. My baby. Still here. Still holding on.

I press a hand to the bump. Close my eyes. Whisper nothing and everything.

You’re okay.

The door opens softly behind me.

I glance up, already telling her to leave again when her breath catches before I can speak.

She freezes in the doorway, towel in hand, eyes wide with something between shock and horror.

“You’re… pregnant.”

I say nothing.

Her voice is a breath.

“Does Mikhail know?”

I shake my head. Her shoulders sag with relief as she clutches the towel to her chest.

“Good. Don’t tell him. Don’t let him see it. He’ll use it. Or worse.”

She walks to me slowly, turning the shower on and letting the noise drown out my heavy breathing.

Then she whispers, “I’ll send word to Leone. I’ll get you out of here. I never wanted this life for you.”

“How?” I ask, skeptical. “Carrier pigeon, or perhaps smoke signals?” I snort with a shake of my head.

She meets my gaze in the mirror. Her voice is calm. Her eyes are cold.

“No, now get dressed, I am making lunch.”

Igor’s eyesfollow me as Rebecca stirs something on the stove, her movements careful like she is afraid to move too quickly, while also simple and domesticated. A domesticity I never knew she possessed. The woman before me is a stranger wearing my mother’s face, and something sharp twists in my chest as I watch her hum while she cooks.

I shift in my chair at the island counter, wincing as my ribs protest. The bruises there are the deepest purple, blooming across my skin violently. Igor notices my discomfort and smirks.His massive frame blocks half the kitchen light when he moves, a human eclipse with dead eyes.

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