Page 45 of Pregnant with Bratva Twins
I promise myself, and them, that I will not give in to fear. Not today. Not ever.
Chapter Twenty-Two - Markian
The car rattles as it creeps down the cracked street, headlights casting harsh, yellow light on the battered mailbox and the weathered Victorian ahead. I roll down the window, the night air heavy with salt and the faint rot of seaweed left to fester beneath the pier.
Lui is already out, hands in his pockets, eyes sharp. The porch light flickers above his head, casting strange shadows on the peeling trim and the sagging steps.
The house tilts toward the road, every board and windowpane tired from decades of wind and neglect.
My boots hit the pavement with purpose as I step out, scanning the empty street, every sense alert. This place could be any of a dozen dead ends, but I feel it in my bones. This time, the trail is real.
We approach the door. Lui knocks, three short raps. I stand behind him, jaw set, shoulders squared. For a heartbeat, nothing moves. Then the latch clicks and the door swings wide, spilling a thin rectangle of light onto the porch.
Inside, the house is a tomb of lemon polish and old secrets. Faded wallpaper peels at the corners, a grandfather clock ticks slow and steady somewhere out of sight. We’re greeted by Mrs. Granger herself: old as driftwood, white hair pinned up tight, her eyes a steely blue that’s seen too much. She waves us in, the rings on her fingers catching the low light.
We follow her down a narrow hall. My boots echo off the hardwood, the walls close around us. The parlor is cramped, filled with sagging armchairs and doilies that smell faintly of dust and sunlight.
Mrs. Granger settles into her throne by the fire, eyeing us over her spectacles with the lazy patience of someone who’s seen her share of men with questions and nowhere else to go.
I lower my voice, keep it steady but unmistakable. “You rented a room to a woman. Blonde, short. Mid-twenties.”
She leans back, eyes narrowing. “Lot of lost souls pass through here, sonny. But I remember her. She was skittish. Jumped every time a car went by.” Her voice is raspy, but there’s a trace of kindness behind it, something I can’t quite place.
Lui steps in, polite but firm. “Did she leave anything behind? Any notes? Forwarding address?”
Mrs. Granger snorts. “No, just memories. Sweet girls, those kids. The little one loved my old cat—followed her around all day, tried to feed her bits of toast when she thought I wasn’t looking.” She glances at me, lips pressed tight. “One day, they just vanished. Packed up in the night, real quiet. No goodbyes. Didn’t even finish her last week’s rent.”
Girls. Plural. She hastwochildren. Who else has she fucked?
My hand is tight around my phone, knuckles white as bone. I take in every word, every flicker of her gaze. There’s nothing in her voice but nostalgia and a touch of pity. No fear. No deception. I trust my gut, and it tells me she’s telling the truth.
As Mrs. Granger describes Jessa—her haunted eyes, the way she clung to the girls in crowds, how she’d spend hours watching the street from her window—something sharp coils inside me. Rage, first. She’s still outmaneuvering me, always two steps ahead, always ready to vanish. She’s taught the girlsto do the same. I can almost picture them: two little ghosts in threadbare dresses, playing on the porch, never quite belonging.
Beneath the anger is something uglier. Jealousy. Did she run alone, or did she find someone else? Some gentle, soft-spoken man who helps tuck the children into bed, teaches them to ride a bike, laughs with her over dinner?
I grit my teeth, the image crawling under my skin. If he’s there when I find her—if he thinks he can take what’s mine—I’ll put a bullet through his skull. No hesitation.
“She seemed happy?” I ask, voice coming out harsher than I intend.
Mrs. Granger studies me, her gaze lingering a beat too long. “She was scared, but the girls… they were happy enough. Kids are like weeds, you know. They grow wherever they’re planted.” She sighs, the fire reflecting in her eyes. “She was always looking over her shoulder. Like she knew the world wasn’t done with her yet.”
I nod, lips pressed tight. My jaw aches from the tension. I don’t move, don’t let my eyes stray from hers, afraid she’ll slip something vital if I look away.
Lui takes down notes, but I barely hear him. My mind spins—dead ends, years wasted, every night spent hunting, every friend and enemy burned in the pursuit of a ghost.
This is real. This is close. I can feel it. The war is almost over.
As Mrs. Granger’s voice trails off, the room feels colder. The only sound is the ticking of the clock, and the rush of blood in my ears.
“She had another kid?” The thought needles at me again. “Did she… did she ever mention someone else? A man?”
The old woman shakes her head, a hint of a smile on her lips. “No, sonny. She was alone. Or wanted to be.”
I sit back, unclenching my fists. “Thank you,” I say, the words rough in my throat.
She only nods. “If she was running from someone, I hope you’re not him.”
I let that hang in the air as Lui stands. I thank her again and walk out, leaving the parlor and its ghosts behind.
