Page 21 of The Bratva’s Stalked Pregnant Bride

Her reaction was better than I hoped. She adorably bobbed on her toes and clapped her hands once, and I could almost imagine the happy sound that she made when she realized she got what she wanted after all. She always would if I had anything to do with it.

It was irritating enough that no one was out there to help her bring the crates in, but I waited to see if the delivery boy helped before rushing out. She probably would have found some reason to believe my assistance was actually interfering with her job, and besides, I liked watching her. The smallest act of signing her name was enough to have me leaning in closer toward the screen. She was way, way under my skin.

Then something bizarre had me tensing up. The delivery guy tossed the paperwork into the truck, and instead of getting back in, he took something from the driver that looked like a wad of cash before taking off, running out of camera range. Several moments went by, and he didn’t return, but by then, the driver was out of the car.

Now I was really tense, coiled and ready to strike. Something wasn’t right. When he dragged Laurel behind the truck and out of view, I jumped up, hauling ass toward the back. It couldn’t have taken me a full minute to crash out into the alley, but by the time I rounded the other side of the vehicle, his filthy mouth was crushed against hers.

I had come to see how sensitive Laurel was to high-stress situations. She didn’t handle them well at all, no matter how valiantly she tried to hide her distress. Now she wasn’t even able to put on a brave face, terrified and barely clinging to consciousness.

I was already seeing red. Now all I saw was this asshole’s imminent death. I ripped him away from her and flung him to the ground, cracking open one of the crates to grab a bottle. He moved in time to save his skull, and the bottle shattered on the concrete.

At that point, I sensed a gaggle of my employees squawking at the door, so murder was off the table. I shouted something to the attacker about staying the hell away from my fiancée, so wild with fury I barely knew what was coming out of my mouth.

Laurel sank to the ground, out cold. With a roar, I shoved the man away before he could make my face worse than it was. I barely got a good punch in before I turned to make sure Laurel was okay. He took the opportunity to leap onto his truck and drive off, leaving my woman in a cloud of exhaust.

“What do we do?” someone behind me shrieked.

“Call the cops,” someone else yelled.

I cut them a hard look, and they shut up. “Clear the path,” I said, picking Laurel up to carry her inside. She was coming around, but barely. “No cops. I’ll deal with this myself.”

Someone gasped, but they scattered and let me get her inside, where I tried to get her to drink some cold water. She was conscious but didn’t seem to know where she was, mumbling for her mother to please stop.

“She’s disassociating,” Todd said, looking very knowledgeable.

“What the hell is that?” I asked, holding her close to my chest.

“Shock from the trauma. Are you sure we shouldn’t call the cops? You were only defending her.”

“Leave it for now. It’s all on the security camera. I’m going to take her to the hospital.”

“No,” Laurel said. “I just want to go home…” She faded out again, her head lolling against my chest.

That was that, and I got her in my car, keeping my hand on her wrist the entire way. She slumped against the window, every once in a while taking a gulping breath, rousing herself for a moment, and then slipping away again.

Holy fuck, this was bad. At her apartment, I rummaged through her bag to find her key before carrying her through the courtyard and up the stairs to her door, ignoring the clearly curious person who rushed out of the office to have a look. I got Laurel inside, setting her on the couch.

“Mik?” she asked, stunned to see where we were and who she was with. “What’s… the wine… did you…”

“Everything’s fine. You’re home. And you’re going to bed.”

“No, I need to bring in the wine.”

“That’s already done. Bed or hospital. Your choice.”

She was quiet, her chin resting on her chest. I thought she might have passed out once more, but she snuggled against me as I picked her up again and headed to her room. The narrow bed had a pink butterfly cover on it that tugged on my heart for a reason I couldn’t quite understand. Pulling it back, I lay her down and then pulled her shoes off, tossing them under the desk, crammed into the tiny space.

Tucking her in, I waited for her to argue some more, but she was already fast asleep. I rolled the desk chair next to her bed and sat there, watching the smooth rise and fall of her chest and the way her lashes rested against her cheeks, the slight furrow of her brow that slowly eased.

Asleep, not passed out. After about half an hour, I was more confident that she was fine, just in shock from the sudden and bizarre attack. What the hell was that? After emailing the security cam footage from the restaurant to CJ, I called her, speaking in a low voice with my eyes locked on Laurel.

She didn’t wake up, so I stayed put, not wanting to leave yet. I explained the attack to CJ and asked if she could help identify either of the men. Twenty minutes later, she called me back.

“Okay, I was able to piece your time stamps together with some of the cameras on the street near your building. It looks like the one guy who ran took off and kept going for about ten blocks before I lost him.”

“Did you see it looked like he took some money from the driver before taking off?” I asked.

She made a noise of assent. “Probably paid to unload the crates?” she asked. “Don’t ask me why, though. Now, you’re not going to like who the driver is.”