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The man turns his face just enough that I can see the corner of his bloody smile. “What family?”
He has no one. Just like Pavel. The man doesn’t have any family so he has nothing to lose.
Yakov sees that, too. He knows there isn’t another option.
Before I can look away or plug my ears, Yakov grabs the man’s head and twists. His spine snaps with a dull, wet sound. Then he drops to the floor.
His body is still settling into the carpet when Yakov grabs my hands and pulls me to my feet. He walks me past the man’s body, shielding him from my sight, and leads me to the hallway. As we go, he barks orders at some of his men who are sprinting down the hallway toward our room. They scurry off to deal with the body, but Yakov’s focus stays fixed on me. He leads me to the sitting room next door and sits me down on the couch.
The room is quiet compared to the chaos of the last few minutes. For once, I’m okay with this silence.
Yakov places his hands on either side of my face, turning my head from side to side to inspect me. “Are you hurt? Are you okay?”
“I’m okay, Yakov. I’m—Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
As soon as I know he’s alright, the reality of everything washes over me. The enormity of what just happened hits me like a blow to the chest. I inhale sharply… and start to weep.
Tears pour down my face. I bury my face in Yakov’s chest and soak through his shirt.
“Everything is okay,” Yakov says again and again. “You’re safe. I’m going to keep you safe.”
I’m crying so hard I can’t catch my breath. Crying so hard I can’t see. The only reason I know Yakov is still with me is because his hands are smoothing up and down my arms.
My stomach tightens as I gasp for air. Every muscle in my body seems to tense at once. When they finally relax, I gasp for air.
“Am I hyperventilating?” I rasp. “Is that what this?—”
Before I can get the words out, another wave pummels me. My stomach tightens again. This time, I press my hands to my bump and it’s hard as a rock.
“Yakov. My stomach.” I groan as a pain I’ve never felt before wraps around my lower back. “I can’t breathe.”
Yakov lunges to the hallway. “Hope! Call Dr. Jenkins. Get him here! Now!” He’s shouting orders like normal, but there’s fear in his voice.
I look up at him through watery eyes. “Am I okay? What’s happening?”
Maybe I was shot and didn’t realize it. Is that possible? I don’t see any blood. I didn’t—but the rest of that thought is lost in another burst of pain as my stomach tenses until I’m sure I’ll be ripped in half.
Yakov holds my hand and rubs circles into my back until Dr. Jenkins pushes through the door.
“What’s going on, Luna?” Dr. Jenkins asks, pulling a stethoscope out of his black bag. “How are you feeling?”
“How are you here already?” I croak.
“I was coming for our regular evening appointment.” He presses the cold stethoscope under the neckline of my shirt. “Hope called when I was parking. How are you?—”
“She was attacked,” Yakov blurts, cutting him off. “A man broke in and tried to shoot her. I took care of him, but now…”
Dr. Jenkins nods calmly. When another wave of pain hits me, he lays his hand on my stomach.
Then he jerks it back like I’m on fire and turns to Yakov. Dr. Jenkins is always so calm, but his eyes are wide now. “She needs to get to a hospital. Now. She’s in labor.”
57
YAKOV
Luna looks gray under the fluorescent lights of the emergency room. Her hand is limp around mine—but for the first time in hours, she’s finally asleep.
