Page 125 of Taken By My Grumpy Pakhan

“I am not going to do anything stupid.” I was already pulling my coat on, already reaching for my phone. “I’m going to find her. And when I do, she is going to learn exactly what happens to people who use me and think they can disappear before I notice.”

“And if she’s not what Svetlana says she is?” Nikolai argued. “I know I said her exit was for the best, but this is Svetlana. You can’t possibly trust her.”

“Then when I find her, she can prove it to my face.” I was at the door before he finished the sentence. “Get every man we have looking. I want her found tonight, Nikolai. I don’t care what it costs.”

“And Volkov?”

“Volkov can wait his turn.” My hand was already on the door. “Right now I only care about the person who let him in.”

Chapter Thirty-One

Genevieve

“All good,” the doctor smiled, wiping off the gooey paste from my abdomen. “You’ll have to keep your feet up for the rest of the day, though. We need to monitor that ankle ache.”

“Will do,” I replied, even though I had zero plans of doing as she said.

As someone who had been working nonstop since before I was a teenager, having no job for the first time drove me dangerously close to the brink of insanity. Taking frequent walks and feeding the ducks in the pond were the only reasons I had yet to lose my marbles.

She wiped the probe, her eyes focused on her task as she spoke. “The pharmacy will have your drugs ready on the way out. I added a little something to help you sleep better.”

I was done with the appointment in no time. It was my second visit since the first one, so there wasn’t much to be done, but I still got anxious.

The doctor assured me everything was fine and my worries were common with most first-time mothers, but I still couldn’t relax.

The knowledge of a life growing inside you—even if they were barely six weeks old—had a way of changing and refining the way you saw the world around you, the way you related to it, and the way you related to yourself.

Despite my need to get out of the house, I hadn't taken another job simply because of the stories I’d consumed on the effects of stress on pregnancy, especially in the first trimester.

I stepped out into the afternoon light, one hand resting low on my stomach out of habit, and reached into my bag for my phone.

A black SUV rolled up to the curb beside me, stopping directly in my path.

I looked up just as the back doors swung open and two men stepped out. Big men, dark suits, faces set with a determination that caused all the muscles in my body to lock up at once.

“Genevieve Sinclair,” the taller one said. Not a question.

“Who’s asking?” I replied, already stepping back, scanning the sidewalk for anyone, anything.

“Get in the car.”

“No,” I said, louder than necessary in the hopes of attracting some audience.

A woman walking past glanced over; she halted for a moment, but a glare from the man pushed her feet forward, quickening her pace like she hadn’t seen anything at all.

The shorter one moved first, reaching for my arm. I swung my bag at him without thinking, caught him across the jaw, and bolted for the clinic doors. I didn’t get three steps before a hand closed around my arm and yanked me back so hard I nearly lost my footing. I twisted, clawed at his wrist, and screamed for help until my throat burned with it.

“Let go of me!”

“I would go easy if I were you,” he hissed into my ear. “I hear all that fight and adrenaline is not good for the baby.”

Everything in me went still. The scream died in my throat and my fight slowed to a stop. I lifted my eyes to find him watching with satisfaction, a sardonic smile gracing his brutal features.

“That’s what I thought.”

“Please,” I whispered. “Please don’t hurt her.”

“Nobody wants to hurt anyone,” he said, straightening up. “Get in the car and this stays easy.”