"Your way? She's not gonna marry you, Cousin. And if she does, will all hell break loose?" His uppercut has me swinging wildly away, but I return it with a low jab and he doubles over and grunts.
"I just have to give her a reason to say yes."
Kazimir hits me with a body shot that I deserve for dropping my guard, but I absorb it and answer with a cross that he blocks. When it comes down to it, I may very well go and kill Maksim Orlov myself. He has what I want, whether I like it or not, and maybe it's not her affection or her desire, but it's her, nonetheless.
When Kaz comes at me with a fast jab, hook, jab, I feint right but catch the blow on my shoulder and spin around, falling to my knees. When I'm down, he taps my head a few times and I spit at his feet.
"Drastic times call for drastic measures, Cousin." He hovers, playing devil's advocate. He's always been the rebellious one and now he's trying to get me to play along. "Orlov is a snake. You think he's gonna let her get away when he sees dollar signs? She could be Jezebel herself, fucking every man in this city, and as long as her daddy signs that contract so Orlov gets his ten percent, he isn't gonna care. You know as well as I do that he'll bed her on the wedding night and bring home a whore the next day."
Just the thought of him treating her like that enrages me. I want to rise up and wrap my arms around Kaz's hips, barrel him into the ropes and unleash on him. But it isn't Kazimir I'm angry with. It’s life.
I'm pissed that Roman taught us all that blind killing isn't good. I'm mad that there's this code in our family to do things with the least violence as possible. We're criminals, yes, and we take things and hurt people at times, yes, but what Kazimir is suggesting would be a hard no from my cousin. He will never permit me to murder Orlov in cold blood just so I can have thegirl. As much as my own body gets energized at that thought, I can't do it.
Kaz taps my head again and clicks his tongue. "Your secret's safe with me, Cousin. Just don't wait too long. Orlov is already lining up with Belova. The marriage is somewhat cosmetic at this point. Wait much longer to move and you'll have to answer to Sergei as to why his beloved son-in-law is dead."
I watch my cousin climb out of the ring and shuffle toward the heavy bags and I stand and start tearing the tape off my wrists. Killing Orlov isn't on the table. I have to keep telling myself that.
If not, I’m gonna use that intel Timur got me and go hunt him down tonight. If she won’t say yes to me because of him, I may just remove him as a means to force her hand.
Because she's mine.
And I’m not taking no for an answer.
13
MARINA
Ilie on my side with my knees pulled up and the covers bunched around my waist, waiting for Elira. I texted her an hour ago asking her to come over, and after a week of the nausea and fatigue, I've had enough. I need relief, and she's supposed to be bringing me peptic syrup or antacid tablets, though I don't hold out much hope for either of them working.
Every morning, I wake up with the taste of bile in the back of my throat. No matter what I eat, it gets worse, and no matter how much I sleep, I can't seem to feel rested. I told her about it a week ago, and she insisted that I'm pregnant, but I refuse to believe it. Besides, I can't go to our family doctor without my father knowing, which is never going to happen. So I did the only thing I could do. I called on my best friend.
When her light knock comes on my door, I groan inwardly but I force myself up in bed and pull the covers higher over my chest. "It's open," I say.
Elira walks in and closes the door behind her quietly. When she sits down on the edge of the bed, it jostles and shakes my belly,making my stomach roll again. I can't seem to get a handle on this sense that I'm going to vomit suddenly, and I press my eyes shut hoping to quash the bile rising in the back of my throat.
"I'm scared," I whisper, because I'm terrified. An unplanned pregnancy was definitely not part of my "adventure of a lifetime" plan. I got so carried away having sex with Stepan, I never stopped to think what would happen if I wound up knocked up. And we had unprotected sex at least a dozen times so far.
"Marina, you've been nauseous for a week." She sighs and rests her hand on my knee. "You cried at a laundry detergent commercial the other day." I almost laugh at her because it sounds ridiculous, but it's true. And in public, no less. We were having lunch at a bar and the TV was on, and I almost lost it.
"It could be stress," I mumble, still not willing to believe I've messed my life up this badly. And to think Stepan wants to marry me too. What would he do if he found out there's a chance I'm carrying his baby?
"It's not stress." She reaches into her purse and pulls out a small pink box. "Take the test. If I'm wrong, we'll laugh about it tomorrow over coffee. If I'm right, we need to know now and not in three weeks when the options get smaller."
I let my head fall back against the headboard and groan, but I know she's right. It's not like I have many options. I've heard what they do to abort a baby and I'm just not comfortable letting any doctor touch me like that—ever. Besides, how could I do that to Stepan? He's done nothing wrong. He just flirted with the wrong girl, and I didn't use boundaries to tell him I was off limits. Now this is my mess to clean up.
"Go," Elira says, pushing the test into my hands. "I'll be right here when you come out."
I grumble the entire way to the bathroom, test in hand, and shut the door behind me. Shame makes every step heavier than it needs to be, and I feel acutely aware of how badly I've messed up. If my best friend thinks it's that obvious, then I've been lying to myself. Every drink I refused has been because I knew deep down what was happening, not all the other excuses I've given myself.
My hands fumble the package open and I slide my shorts and panties down, hovering over the toilet to pee on the little stick. I don’t even have the heart to wait for the results, so as soon as the deed is done, my pants are back up and I’m washing my hands.
Beating myself up won't stop this from happening, but it does make me feel better momentarily. So as I carry the test out of the bathroom, I manage to berate myself for how stupid I've been a dozen times on the way before dropping onto the bed and putting the test in her hand. I bury my face in the pillow and try not to cry.
"Oh, dear," she says quietly, and I don't even have to ask her what the results are. I thought these things took a while, but maybe the results happen faster when the woman taking the test should've known better. "Okay." She breathes out a long, slow breath and says, "How far along, do you think?"
My chest aches and tears burn my eyes as I grumble, "Oh, my God," into the pillow, but it's not really news to me. The sickness, the fatigue, even the way my tits hurt every time Stepan touches them—all proof I ignored the past two weeks. I prop myself up on my elbows and look up at my best friend who's waiting for an answer. "Maybe eight weeks. That's when Stepan and I first…"
Her face is drawn, and she looks down at the test again. "What are you going to do? You have to tell your father and?—"