Page 46 of Pregnant with Bratva Twins
In the car, I lean back and stare through the windshield at the town lights blurring past. My jaw tightens. The rage is there, burning. Something sharper cuts through it—regret, longing, the ache of everything I’ve missed. I picture Jessa’s face, the kids’ laughter, the years I can never get back.
I swear to myself: whoever helped her hide, whoever cost me my family, will pay.
For now, the hunt is on again. The trail is warm. This time, I won’t stop until I bring them home.
I step out into the thick, humid dark, the door slamming shut behind me with a sound that echoes off the silent street. The world here feels paused, suspended, as if it’s holding its breath for what comes next. The air is heavy with the scent of brine, rotting kelp, and something metallic underneath. I lean against the side of the car, feeling the night press against my skin, eyes burning with exhaustion and something sharper.
Lui hangs back, arms folded, watching but not approaching. He knows me well enough to give me space when I need it, to let me stew in the storm I carry everywhere. I closemy eyes, let the darkness settle around me, and replay the old woman’s words in my head.
“She was skittish. Jumped at every sound. Packed up in the middle of the night, no goodbyes.”
Three and a half years, and all I have are scraps. Ghost stories. Every lead I’ve ever had, every trail, every risk, every burned bridge, just so I could walk into a parlor full of dust and memory, and hear that she’s slipped through my fingers again.
I get into the passenger’s seat, slam the door hard enough to make the glass shiver. My hands go to my thighs, gripping until it hurts. For a long moment I just sit there, the engine off, the city lights blurring across the windshield.
My mind won’t quiet. It keeps turning back, always, to Jessa: her face lit by lamplight, her body pressed against mine, the secrets she kept even then. I remember the feeling of her slipping away, the ache that’s never dulled.
Jealousy twists in my gut, bitter as bile. I picture her in the boarding house—alone, or was she? Did she meet someone new in some shitty coastal town? Did some gentle, useless man learn to make her smile, help raise my daughter alongside his own, slip into the space I left behind?
I see him in my mind’s eye. He could be tall, kind-eyed, the sort of man who reads bedtime stories, who holds her when she cries. My daughter—my blood—might have called him Daddy.
A laugh breaks free, short and vicious. I can’t decide what hurts more: the idea of another man touching her, or the bone-deep knowledge that I missed everything. Their first steps. Their first words. Birthdays, Christmas mornings, lost teeth, every quiet moment of comfort or chaos. I wasn’t there for any of it.
Instead, I was waging wars. I was hunting ghosts, burning down everything I had left for a family that vanished before I could even hold them close.
No one touches what’s mine. No one beds my woman. If he laid a hand on her—if he thought for a second he could replace me—he’s dead. Simple as that.
I dig my nails into my thigh, breathing slow and hard, willing the world to stop spinning for just a minute. The rage and regret are tangled together, impossible to unravel. I’m not sure which is worse: the heat of jealousy or the cold ache of loss.
Lui finally slides into the driver’s seat, closing the door quietly. He doesn’t speak right away. Instead, he pulls out his phone, scrolling through something, probably already gathering new intel. When he finally speaks, his voice is measured, steady—a rope thrown to a drowning man.
“She didn’t leave a trace,” Lui says, still looking at the screen. “No forwarding address. No contact information. A few people in the next town over described a woman matching her. Blonde, two girls. I’ll pull surveillance. Start leaning on locals. Someone saw something.”
I nod, jaw tight, gaze locked on the darkness ahead. “No mistakes, Lui. No loose ends. If anyone gets in our way, they disappear.”
He meets my eyes, and for a second, something passes between us. Respect, warning, understanding. He nods, slipping his phone away. “Understood.”
Lui drives, and I stare ahead at the lights smearing past the glass. Streetlights flicker over my face, casting hard shadows, the taste of salt and exhaust sharp in the air. The moment shifts inside me. For three years I’ve been the hunter, the ghost.
Tonight, that ends. I feel the steel settle in my spine. This isn’t just about finding her anymore; it’s war. I’m not waiting for another rumor or another lead. No more patience, no more mercy. The old rules don’t matter. I am taking back what’s mine.
My blood is out there. Living, breathing, laughing without me. No one keeps my daughter from me. No one keeps my woman. I’m done chasing ghosts. I will burn the world to get them back.
I imagine the reunion: Jessa’s eyes wide with shock and fear, the girls clinging to her legs, confusion and hurt on their faces. Maybe they’ll cry. Maybe they’ll hate me. I don’t care. They’re mine. I will teach them who I am, and I will never let them go again.
I pull out my phone, thumb flying over the screen as I send orders. The jet will be ready. The team will be small: trusted, loyal, paid enough to forget what they see.
Surveillance gear, cash, weapons. I tap contacts that haven’t heard from me in years. Phones ring, messages ping, and the old network rumbles to life, hungry for a new mission.
“She thought she could vanish. She taught the girls to hide, to blend in, to run. She made them ghosts like her. I’m done with shadows.”
I call Viktor, an old Bratva soldier who owes me more than one favor. He picks up on the second ring, voice gruff with sleep.
“Markian. You still alive, brother?”
“Get the jet. We leave in an hour. I want eyes everywhere. If you see her, or those kids, call me. Do not approach. Do not spook them. I’ll do the rest myself.”
There’s a long pause, then Viktor’s voice, sharp and eager. “Understood, Boss. Welcome back.”
