Page 87 of Vicious Betrayal

"Yes. But she's done working for them. She brought me a note they tried to slip her ten minutes ago. But they're right on top of us, Declan."

"What's your plan, Cormac?"

I run a hand through my hair. "This is on me, Declan. All of it. It’s my fault. I put the entire family at risk. I’ll handle it and make sure none of the heat touches you or the men."

"Cormac—" Declan starts.

I snap the flip phone shut, cutting the call off before he can argue.

"No!" Oksana lunges forward, grabbing my wrists, her face pale as a ghost. "What are you doing? What did you just say to him?"

"Oksana—"

"Are you giving yourself up?" she cries, panic ripping through her voice as tears spill over her eyelashes. "Are you going to let them take you so I can walk away? You can't do that! Cormac, they'll put you away for the rest of your life! It's not your fault, Cormac, it's mine! I'm the one who lied to you! I'm the one who stole the files! I did this to you!"

"Shut up and listen to me," I snap, my Irish brogue thickening under the strain. She freezes, her breath catching in her throat, her chest heaving against my hands.

"At the end of the day, Oksana, this is my fucking fault," I say harshly. "I’m forty years old. I’ve survived twenty years in the most ruthless organization in this city because I never let my guard down. I had a gut feeling from the first night you walked up to my bar that something about you was dangerous. I knew the age gap was a liability. I knew your father’s connections were a minefield. Every single instinct I had told me to send you home and never look back."

Her lips part, trembling, but she doesn't interrupt.

"And what did I do?" I continue, my voice dropping to a harsh rasp. "I ignored every rule I’ve lived by because I wanted you. I let myself be selfish. I let myself believe that I could have a pretty young wife and a baby and a normal fucking life, and because I was so desperate to hold onto that fantasy, I left the door wide open for the feds to walk right in."

I step closer, towering over her, making sure she hears every single syllable. "My men are facing federal indictments right now because their enforcer was too busy playing house," I growl. "I put Declan in danger. I put Rian in danger. That's my sin, Oksana. Not yours. You were a twenty-year-old girl with a gun to her family's head. I was the fool who handed them the bullets."

She stares up at me, shattered, tears streaming silently down her cheeks. "Cormac..."

"We've both made fucking mistakes," I say quietly, snapping the burner phone in two. "But tomorrow morning, I'm going to handle this. I'll go to the feds, and whatever happens next, I'll make sure it lands on me. Not Declan or his organization or my men, not your family, not you."

"Cormac…" She lets out a sob. "No. Please, no."

I reach out, pulling her close to me. "You're having my child, Oksana. I have to protect you and them. And this is how I do it."

26

OKSANA

The weight of Cormac's arm around my waist in the motel bed is the only thing keeping me from feeling like I'll drift away entirely. I've cried so much I feel hollow. His breathing is deep and steady against the back of my neck, warm air brushing over my skin with every slow exhale.

Tomorrow morning, I'm going to handle this. I'll go to the feds…

His words replay in my mind. He thinks he's being noble. He thinks that by offering his own neck to the guillotine, the blade won't fall on Declan, or his men, or me. And maybe he's right.

But they'll interrogate him, try to wear him down, and when he refuses to give up Declan, they'll bury him in a maximum-security penitentiary for the rest of his life. He'll grow old behind bars. He'll never know his child outside of phone calls and scheduled visits. He'll never ride his motorcycle or be free again.

All because of me. Because Katya couldn't face an arranged marriage. Because Reyes saw a terrified twenty-year-old girl and knew exactly how to pressure me into saying yes. I walked into Cormac's life with the intent to bring him down, and he was lonely enough to open the door and let me in.

I can't let him do it. I won't. If one of us has to burn for this, it's going to be me.

Every muscle in my body aches. My stomach rolls with the familiar, sour wave of morning nausea, but I swallow it down, forcing my pulse to stay slow and steady. Around four in the morning, Cormac's grip finally relaxes. His fingers slip from my hip, resting limp against the coarse wool blanket.

I wait, watching the rise and fall of his broad chest. Then, moving fraction by fraction, I slide my legs toward the edge of the mattress. The bedsprings give a tiny, sharp creak. My breath catches in my throat. I freeze, hovering half-off the bed, my knuckles digging into the worn sheet.

Cormac shifts, his brow furrowing as if he senses the cold air where my body used to be. But he doesn't wake. He turns onto his uninjured side, his face buried in the flat motel pillow, his breathing settling. I let out a trembling breath and stand up.

The room is dark. I move on silent feet toward the dresser. Cormac's heavy leather jacket is draped over the single wooden chair. In the front pocket is the other prepaid burner phone he bought at the gas station. My hands are shaking so violently I can barely hold the plastic pen I find in the dresser drawer beside the yellowed motel stationery.

I press the paper against the hard wood and write, my handwriting rushed and jagged: