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"Does that issue at work mean that we're going to have to move again?"
He stills for a moment and then goes back to cracking eggs. "For now, we stay put. A plan is being worked out."
I’m happy to hear this. Maybe he’ll continue to be this sweet, sexy Liam I’ve come to love. Knowing we’ll be apart soon, having some time together, even if it’s just a fantasy, is something I want to experience.
A few moments later, he sets an omelet in front of me and puts another plate down and sits with me at the table.
I inhale. "Smells delicious. Are you as good in the kitchen as you are in the bedroom?"
His brows shoot up as if he’s surprised by the question. But then his mouth slides into a wolfish grin. "Well, I can take these plates off the table, and you can find out right now."
I laugh. "I meant cooking."
"I knew what you meant. But I think it's safe to say my bedroom skills are not limited to just the bedroom. If you'd ever like to find out."
Here I am on the run from mobsters, having an omelet cooked by the head of the Bratva, but instead of thinking about the danger, the only thing in my mind is eating breakfast and experiencing more of Liam's skills.
25
LIAM
When I was a little boy, I had what most people would think was a normal life. My mom made breakfast and Dad and I sat at the table. Then he'd go off to work and she'd take care of me and the house. I suppose today, that might seem sexist, but the point is, my childhood was traditional. And it was happy.
When I was about six, my mother died. I was told she'd been sick, although I don’t remember that part. A few years later, my father died, and that was when I first learned about the world we lived in. At eight years old, I discovered my father was murdered by a rival at “work” which I learned involved criminal activities. It was then I heard rumors that my mother was poisoned. My safe, happy childhood was taken away by rival Bratva members.
My uncle was very young at the time, but he took me in and raised me like a son. At a young age, I was groomed to be strong and lethal. It’s probably why I became friends with Niko, as his life wasn’t so different from mine.
A few years later, my uncle married and had his sons, Robbie and Artyom, but I was still the heir apparent.
I can't pinpoint the moment I decided I didn't want that title. The closest I can get to one is when I found a stash of pictures of me with my mother and father during those happy, innocent early years. I remember a warm, loving home. That's what I wanted in my life.
I’m not sure why this memory is popping up except that as I see Kate sitting at the table waiting for brunch, her stomach round with our child, I have a sense of calm. For this moment, life feels perfect. Everything I've ever wanted is right here, right now.
Moments ago, she asked if we needed to leave, and my first thought had been to find a way that we could stay in this hideaway forever.
But there's no room for pipe dreams in my world. Surviving, with fleeting moments of happiness, like now, is the best that I can hope for. And when this is all over and Kate and the baby are living safely and happily away from all this, the only thing that will bring me any satisfaction in life will be knowing they are alive and well. I meant what I said to her earlier. The only goodness in this world right now, the only thing for me to fight for right now, is for her and our child.
I set her omelet in front of her and take a seat with mine across from her.
She inhales. "Smells delicious. Are you as good in the kitchen as you are in the bedroom?"
I look up, surprised by her question. When the meaning sinks in, or at least, my take on the meaning, everything inside me lights up with erotic energy. "Well, I can take these plates off the table, and you can find out right now."
She laughs, and I’m mesmerized by the beauty of it. "I meant cooking."
"I knew what you meant. But I think it's safe to say my bedroom skills are not limited to just the bedroom. If you'd ever like to find out." The only reason I haven’t cleared the plates yet is that she’s pregnant and I’m sure the baby needs nourishment.
I watch her and realize that I’m seeing the woman I’d met nearly a year ago. She'd been afraid but had retained her sense of humor. There'd been an effervescence about her, and the idea of it being gone because of the circumstances in her life that brought her into contact with the brutal Bratva and Mafia felt like the biggest crime in the world.
But that part of her isn’t gone. She sits across from me flirting, bantering, and my dick is already as hard as a rock. It’s still pulsing from the memory of her lips wrapped around it. Fucking hell, she’s got a fantastic mouth. Thinking of that means there's no stopping the fantasy of fucking her on this table. And then, I want to pack up, use contacts I trust, and whisk her away somewhere where we can hide and live a quiet, happy life. If only that dream could become a reality.
But I know better than anyone that it can't. If I leave, there's no doubt that Dimitri Babichev will take over. The Bratva is worldwide, and I have no doubt he'd reach out to them for help in finding us. Again, I’m reminded that Kate and the baby’s happiness and safety happen without me in their lives.
So, all I have is this one little slice of time where I can be the man I want to be for her. Where I can soak up her goodness and have a piece of her in my heart to keep for the rest of my days.
I push away the danger, the blood thirst I have to rip Babichev into a million pieces, so I can focus on her.
"What are you thinking about?"
