Page 52 of Ripped Veil (Ripped Bratva)

“I know, I know,” I say, trying to look at the situation logically. “It wasn’t safe. But… to come here? To accept his help?”

“I might not have thought it was a good idea,” Charity reasons. “But you have the trump card.”

I frown. “Huh?”

“Theo, dummy!” she says, pointing at the baby in my arms. “We have Theo.”

I curl my hands around him protectively. “My son is not a trump card, Char.”

She sighs and nods. “I’m sorry. Bad word choice. That’s not what I meant. I just meant that he’s not going to hurt you or Theo.”

“If he even believes me…”

“Why wouldn’t he?”

“I don’t know. It was a one-time thing,” I sigh. “Like a nightmare. And he basically accused me of being a spy working for some… horrible organization.”

“Astra Tyrannis,” Charity says at once. She doesn’t stumble on the name at all.

My eyes go wide. “You’ve heard of these people?”

“I’ve heard the name mentioned before,” she admits. “It pops up now and again in the circles I work in.”

“And?” I press. “Who are they? What do they do? Why does he care about them?”

She hesitates slightly. That’s how I know it’s bad.

And yet, the hesitation irks me anyway. I’ve contributed to it, and God knows there’s plenty about this world I still don’t understand. But sometimes I hate that Charity treats me with kid gloves. Like I’m too fragile to handle certain truths.

I walk over to the bed, set Theo down against the covers, and gaze at him with new eyes.

My son. Phoenix’s son. Is he a miracle, like I’ve always thought?

Or is he the anchor that’s about to drag us to the bottom of a dark and stormy ocean?

I shudder and busy myself with checking him over. His diaper is full, which reminds me of the list of supplies I’m supposed to be writing.

“Can you look for a pen and paper?” I ask Charity. “I need some things for Theo.”

Clearly relieved for the distraction, she searches the sprawling mahogany desk jammed along one side of the room. “Here we go,” she says triumphantly. “What do we need?”

“Diapers and formula. A couple of onesies. Diaper cream. A swaddle cloth, a milk bottle…” I trail off as I try to think of what else I might need. “A soft towel so I can wash him.”

Charity writes quickly and then looks up. “What about for you?”

I frown. “What about for me?”

“Don’t you want anything for yourself?”

“No,” I say immediately. The thought of owing Phoenix anything is nauseating. We shouldn’t be here. The locked door is proof enough that whatever we’ve found ourselves caught up in is bad news indeed.

Maybe my dark-eyed protector should’ve stayed hidden in the shadows.

“Come on, Lys,” Charity argues, gesturing around the room. “The guy’s clearly loaded. We’re talking Bratva money here. That’s serious fucking cash.”

“Language,” I hiss.

“Theo’s three months old,” Charity points out. “He can’t understand a word we’re saying.”

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