Page 53 of The Bratva’s Stalked Pregnant Bride

Laurel turned green at the suggestion. “I can still smell the wine,” she said, holding her stomach. “It’s like it’s trapped in my nostrils.”

That pissed me off too. My girl lived for wine, its flavors, aromas—bouquets or whatever she called it so seriously. If whoever was behind this stole that from her, I’d make sure they suffered.

I sat on the edge of the oversized, claw-foot tub while she filled it with sudsy water and made sure she knew nothing or no one could get past me, even if they made it into Lev’s house.

“You don’t have to stay,” she said weakly, sinking to her chin in the steaming water. “You must want to talk to the police in Napa, or check on your driver, or—”

“The only thing I need to do is sit right here,” I said. “Don’t you dare rush, either. Soak until you’re a raisin if that’s what you want.”

Her weak laughter was a start, but a poor one, and she only stayed in the bath for a few minutes before getting out and walking into the plush robe I held out for her. She collapsed against me, whispering something I couldn’t hear.

“If that’s another apology, I’m going to be pissed,” I said. “Where’s the woman who knows how to fight? Believe me, I know she’s in there.”

Leaning back, she smiled at me a little more heartily, and I swooped her up and carried her to the bed to tuck her under the covers. The smile remained as her eyes drifted shut, her cheek nestled against the pillow, and a beam of sunlight cutting across her face.

As soon as she was fast asleep, I closed the curtains to blot out the sun and looked down at her. My sleeping beauty, exhausted from something that never should have happened. That was on me, and it wouldn’t happen again.

Now it was time to hunt down every last person involved in scaring my wife and go after them before they targeted us again.

Chapter 31 - Laurel

In one moment, a river of masked men flowed from a gaping black cavern, faster and more deadly than lava, waving long guns. Bullets sprayed, mowing down everyone around me until I was the only person left in the world, alone. Weak. The danger closing in as I tried to run, but I was frozen in place.

The next moment I was drowning in wine, coppery and hot. Like blood. It never stopped, and no matter how I tried to wipe it from my face, it continued to pour down, the sound of glass shattering all around me, the shards cutting my skin.

I woke up with a gasp, unsure of where I was, until I saw Mik working at a big corner desk on the other side of the room. It was only a nightmare. Mik was real, larger than life, and sturdy as the marble statue holding a potted plant by the window next to him. I instantly felt safer.

But only until I remembered fleeing in the wee hours of the morning to Lev and Jenna’s house to hide out, effectively putting them in danger if Mik’s driver’s efforts to elude anyone following us didn’t work. I would never be able to forgive myself if Rand escalated even further and made trouble here.

“Oh, good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” Mik said, turning from the computer he was working on to notice I was awake. He turned his phone over and looked at the time. “It’s still technically morning, anyway, by about fifteen minutes.”

Great, I slept for hours again. It was almost as bad as passing out. I opened my mouth to say I was sorry, but Mik hurried over and kissed me soundly.

“How about I get you some breakfast in bed?” he asked. “This is still our honeymoon.”

I shook my head. “I already ruined the trip. And possibly your life. I’m not letting you serve me breakfast, too.”

He gripped my shoulders, looking at me for a long time as if he wanted to say something but didn’t know how. “Nonsense,” he finally said. “Nothing’s ruined. The vandalism at the hotel wasn’t your fault. We’re safe, and you’re more than welcome here, so don’t start acting like you’re putting anyone out.”

That was a lot. And vandalism was a pretty tame way to frame what actually happened there. As for being safe? I knew better. Rand would only continue to escalate. I ducked out of Mik’s grasp and got out of bed, looking around for something to wear other than the luxurious robe I fell asleep in. No more letting Mik take care of me or baby me.

He pointed toward the dresser, where some jeans and a t-shirt rested, and I hurriedly put them on. “Get back to whatever you were doing,” I said. “I’m perfectly capable of making my own breakfast, or lunch, by now. And I’ll bring some up to you.”

He seemed to mull it over, finally recognizing I needed to do this to feel like I wasn’t as wispy as cotton candy under pressure. Kissing me on the forehead, he pointed me in the direction of the kitchen, saying he wouldn’t mind something to eat.

“Your choice,” he said. “Breakfast or lunch. I could eat an ox at this point.”

So he had been sitting in the room with me for the entire morning, ignoring his own needs in case I woke up disoriented and afraid. Would a sandwich make up for that?

The hallway was lined with family pictures of people I recognized from the family dinner in LA, with an entire gallery of an adorable little boy ranging from an infant to about four years old in the more recent snapshots.

That very same little guy jetted past me at the bottom of the wide, curving stairs, followed by someone I assumed was a nanny as he made for the garden outside. I followed in that direction until I came upon the kitchen, even bigger than the one in Mik’s mansion, and smelling like fresh cinnamon rolls.

I breathed deeply, glad I was no longer plagued with that awful red wine smell that had turned my stomach the night before. Entering through the archway, I looked around to see a cozy nook tucked away in the corner beyond the long granite countertops and kitchen island. Both Jenna and CJ were working on laptops, with plates full of crumbs sitting beside them and half-empty coffee cups.

“Oh, Laurel, it’s so good to see you again,” CJ said, as if it wasn’t just a day ago. It actually felt longer than that to me, too.

“Are you okay?” Jenna asked, jumping up to rush to the coffee machine. “Can I get you some of this? Or tea? There are cinnamon rolls, nutty bread if you want toast. Or I could scramble some eggs?” With a glance at the round silver clock on the wall, she changed her suggestions to include grilled cheese or chicken salad.