Page 16 of Secret Bratva Baby
“Dammit,” I mutter under my breath. “Where is your mother?”
She wouldn’t have left her child behind.This thought reassures me.
I saw how close she was holding her daughter, not letting go of her once until she was safely in the bedroom. There is no chance she would have escaped and left her behind. Rose is still here somewhere.
I leave the room, closing the door behind me, leaving Lily resting safely. Outside in the hallway, I pause. Tilting my head to the side, I listen. Any movement, any sounds at all…
There.
What was that?
I hurry towards the soft rustling sound, keeping my footsteps stealth as I move quickly across the floor, barefoot, like a hunter.
Pausing again further down the passage, I listen intently. Left.
Left. Right.
Shit, that’s not good.
The sound is coming from my weapons room. It’s usually locked, so how did she—dammit. I forgot it has the same code as the garage door. That was an oversight. She must have tried it and got lucky.
Pressing my body close to the wall, I peer around the open door, into the dark space of the room.
She’s seen me.
“Come inside,” she says, her voice shaking.
“Rose, what are you doing in here?” I sigh, stepping through the doorframe.
The moonlight is filtering through the windows; she pulled the blinds open to let it in, obviously so that she could look around without turning a light on and risking drawing attention to herself.
She’s standing in the corner of the room, holding a Glock 19.
The gun is too big for her hands.
I step fully into the room with my hands held up at shoulder height. My eyes dart around, assessing the danger.
“Lily, please put that down before something happens.”
“I will shoot you,” she says, stern, but her voice is still shaking.
I note, as I move a little closer, that her hands are shaking too.
Has she ever held a gun?
“Lily, put the gun down. Don’t force me to do something I don’t want to do.”
“Like what? Kill me?” She hisses.
She looks beautiful, standing in the moonlight with her golden-streaked blonde hair glowing. Her eyes are wide, frightened, like a deer caught in the headlights.
I move, lifting my hand as though I’m going to take the gun from her, and she jumps back, aiming it stronger, her arms more rigid. She’s determined to look in control.
“You’re holding it wrong,” I say calmly.
“It doesn’t matter how I hold it. When I pull the trigger, the bullet will kill you just the same.” She snaps.
“Sure, but if you do decide to pull the trigger and shoot me, the slide is going to snap back and slice your hand open.”
