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He chuckles. “Give the victim thing a break, will you? You enjoyed it just as much as I did, maybe even more. I distinctly remember you pulling me back into your room when I tried to leave.”
“You distinctly remember a lot of things that never happened,” I reply, refusing to agree with him even though what he said was true. He already holds too much power over me, and as he just said, I need to give the victim thing a break. The only way for me to do that is to take back power and put him in his place.
Jasha shrugs, pulling out his phone and tuning me out.
I watch him sit there with a blank expression for almost a minute before it’s too much for me to handle. I’ve done everything right, save for one little mistake in bed with him, and my entire life gets turned upside down. He doesn’t even seem to care, but why would he? All he ever thinks about is himself.
I stand up suddenly, slapping the phone out of his hands and glaring at him. “We’re not done talking,” I say, my voice tight in my throat but remaining firm.
“That was rude...”
“Shut up. Shut. Up,” I snarl, shooting daggers from my eyes.
“You must be hangry. Americans say that, don’t they? It’s a combination of hungry and angry,” he replies calmly.
I narrow my eyes at him, but my stomach growls in response to his suggestion. Why does my body always betray me?
“Ah, that’s right,” he says, grabbing his phone off the ground and standing up. “I’m sure this train has some food on it somewhere. I could use a bite to eat.”
“Just like that?” I ask as he steps past me to the sliding door. “I don’t think we were done talking.”
He grins. “I thought you told me to shut up?”
9
Jasha
Lola’s quiet fuming dissipates the moment I pull out a premade meal from a cart tucked away in the dining compartment.
“I’m fucking starving,” she says, crossing her arms and leaning back against the wall.
“Maybe you are pregnant after all,” I mutter.
“I showed you proof already. Don’t you think that –”
“Enough,” I groan. “Jesus, I can’t even joke around you.”
“You think this is the time for jokes?” she asks, throwing up her hands. “You stole a train from the Italian Mafia and now they want to kill us both. Nothing about our situation is funny.”
“Exactly what I’m talking about. You have a stick up your ass. I think a cock would be nicer.”
She rolls her eyes. “You’re just a big jokester, aren’t you? Not a single ounce of Bratva in you. I thought the Russian Mafia was all about honor and respect.”
“Is there a microwave in here somewhere?” I ask, looking around.
“You’re not even listening to me, are you?”
“Nope,” I reply, stepping past her as I spot a microwave tucked into a shelf on the other side of the compartment. I peel the plastic back and stick the tray in the microwave, setting the timer for three minutes.
When I turn around, she’s practically standing on my toes. “You’re not supposed to microwave it like that. It’ll splatter all over the place when it gets hot. You should cover the top.”
I chuckle. “You’re cute, Lola. I’m sure you’ll make a good mother, but you’re going to make a terrible member of the Bratva.”
She looks at me with a mixture of surprise and confusion, pulling her head back and studying me like she’s trying to figure out if I’m still joking. “I’m not ever going of be part of the Bratva,” she says.
“You already are,” I say, placing my hand on her belly. It’s the first time I’ve touched her belly since finding out that she’s pregnant with my baby, and both of us freeze the moment I make contact.
Something inside of me shifts, and I stand rigid for what feels like a lifetime. I see the baby being born as a girl, crying as she leaves the warmth she’s always known and into the sterile coldness of the hospital room. She’d look around for her father, needing the type of protection only he can provide, but would he be there?
