Page 14 of Pregnant with Bratva Twins
My chest heaves against his forearm. My thoughts race, wild and desperate. I try to twist away, but he presses me firmer against the wall, his grip like iron. Fear explodes through me,sharp as broken glass. I force my voice out, shaking but loud enough to echo in the dark.
“Please let me go. You can’t do this. I haven’t told anyone, I swear!”
His face is so close I can see the shadows move over his eyes. He doesn’t even blink. His tone is glacial, almost bored. “You expect me to believe that? After you ran?”
I shake my head, breath scraping at my throat. “You’re scaring me. Please. I’ll forget everything, I’ll quit, I’ll leave New York, whatever you want, just let me go.”
He doesn’t answer. His hand tightens on my wrist, sending sparks of pain up my arm. I gasp, trying to shove him, to find any weakness. “I didn’t do anything wrong. You can’t just—”
He leans in, his breath cold against my cheek. “Quiet.”
The word lands heavy. My head pounds, vision blurring. His arm shifts, pinning me by the shoulders. I gasp again, air cut off by the pressure on my chest. My lips part, mouth opening on a strangled whimper as I start to choke.
“I can’t—breathe—” I manage, clawing at his sleeve.
His eyes narrow, unreadable. He watches me struggle, unmoved for a heartbeat too long. My body thrashes, desperate, panic overriding all sense. He finally eases his weight just enough for air to burn back into my lungs.
I sag, shaking, eyes filling with tears. He doesn’t release me.
“Don’t try to run,” he warns, voice low.
Something inside me snaps. I twist hard, using my whole body. My shoulder grinds painfully against the wall, but Imanage to duck under his arm, scraping my cheek against the rough fabric of his jacket. I hit the floor, scramble sideways, shoving past his legs.
I’m up and sprinting across the living room before I know what I’m doing, feet slipping on the hardwood. The kitchen is only steps away. I dive for the drawer. The top one, left side, where I keep the cheap little knives I use to open packages. My hand closes on the handle of the biggest one I own. I whirl, knife up, heart in my mouth.
He’s already there. He moves fast. Unnaturally fast. He’s between me and the door before I can blink. He doesn’t look afraid. If anything, there’s a glint of amusement behind the ice in his eyes, like he’s seen this a hundred times before.
I raise the knife, voice cracking. “Stay away from me!”
He steps forward, not breaking stride. I swing, wild and clumsy, slashing through the air. He catches my wrist mid-arc, the movement effortless. His grip is bruising now, unforgiving. I try to wrench free, but he twists my arm, thumb digging into the nerves until the knife clatters to the floor.
I scream, high and broken. He kicks the blade away, then grabs both my wrists, pinning them behind my back in one motion. My body bows, pulled tight against his chest. I thrash, kicking at his shins, but he absorbs the blows, not even flinching.
“Stop. Fighting.” His voice is barely above a whisper, but it slices through the chaos.
“Let me go! Please, I’m harmless.” My pleas dissolve into sobs. I struggle harder, but he’s too strong.
He spins me around, shoving me back against the refrigerator, pinning me with his hips and one broad hand onmy shoulder. His other hand wraps both my wrists, holding them easily in his fist. My breath comes in shallow gasps, panic burning in my lungs.
“Look at me,” he commands.
I shake my head, turning my face away. I can’t bear to see his eyes. I can’t bear to see what’s coming.
He shifts his grip, forcing my chin up until I meet his gaze. “You think I want to hurt you? You think I came here for that?”
I can’t answer. Tears streak my cheeks. I try to twist free, but his grip only tightens. “You broke into my apartment,” I gasp, voice trembling. “You scared me half to death. What else do you call it?”
He leans in closer, so close I can feel the heat of his anger, the steadiness beneath it. “If I wanted to hurt you, Jessa, you wouldn’t be standing right now.”
My body shudders. I close my eyes, wishing I could disappear. “Please,” I whisper. “I don’t know anything. I’m nobody. I just want to live my life.”
He holds me pinned for another agonizing moment, the muscles in his arm flexing with restraint. My wrists ache in his grip.
For a second, neither of us moves. I feel his heartbeat, steady and slow. He watches me, searching my face for some answer only he knows. My breath hitches. I’m trapped, and we both know it.
The kitchen is silent except for our breathing, ragged and uneven. His hand stays tight on my wrists, his body caging me in. Every instinct tells me to fight, but I have nothing left.
All I can do is stare back at him, wide-eyed and terrified, and pray for a way out.
