Page 35 of Sold to My Ex's Brother
He blinks, and looks down at me again, his face hardening just as quickly as it softened. “Good to know you’re in good shape,” he tells me quickly, straightening up and moving to the side of the screen. “And the baby, too.”
“Yeah, they’re perfect, aren’t they?” I sigh. “Do you think we should find out the gender before they’re born, or?—”
“You can decide.”
I frown. I can feel him slipping through my fingers, the part of him, at least, that I thought would stick around a while longer. “You really don’t care?”
“It doesn’t matter to me if they’re a boy or a girl,” he replies bluntly. “As long as they’re safe. That’s the only thing I give a damn about.”
My heart sinks. Even in a moment like this, a moment that’s meant to be sweet and pure, he can’t stop thinking about his brother. It feels like Artem has wormed his way into everything, no inch of my life safe from his influence, the very thing I wanted to avoid when I first left him.
“Anton, please,” I murmur. “Can’t this just be about us? About our baby?” I nod to the screen again, but when he looks at it, I can see something has snapped shut inside of him, whatever I might have done once to keep his attention vanishing just like that.
“I need to take my brother down first,” he mutters, his gaze growing distant. “If he finds out about the baby-”
“He won’t,” I implore him. “You’ve been dedicating all your time to this, I just...I just want you here with me right now, Anton. Please.”
My voice cracks before I can stop it, and, for a second, he just looks down at me. And I think I might have gotten through to him, because he is as much this child’s father as I’m their mother, and I know he must feel at least some part of the swell of emotion that is rushing through me right now.
But the look on his face tells me otherwise. Fuck, he’s stuck on what will happen if this goes wrong, seemingly unable to consider how it might go if it turns out right.
I wrap my arms around myself as he heads for the door, no doubt already stringing together the plans for what he is going to do next.
I’ve heard talk of an informant, though I doubt that he is exactly willingly offering up information. I wonder just how far Antonwill go to shake loose the truth, if he is capable of the same brutality as his brother committed that day at the house.
The very thought of it sends a shiver down my spine, and I push it aside.
I promise I’ll do everything I can to keep you safe, little one,I swear to the image of the baby I just saw before me.Even if it means from your own father...
16
ANTON
I throwopen the door to the back room, where two of my men are standing over our latest target. Sergei Bitovsky. A name that I hadn’t so much as heard until now, but, as he slumps down into the chair, trying to ease himself away from me, I know there is nowhere he wants to be less than in our clutches.
I glance to my men, jerking my chin towards the door.
“I can handle this,” I tell them sharply, and they move to the doorway, standing just outside where I can all on them if need be. I grit my teeth, running a hand through my hair, and turn my attention to the man bound on the chair before me.
He already looks pretty roughed-up, his eyes bleary and distant, dried blood crusted on his top lip where his nose has been burst. He does his best to meet my gaze, but he struggles, clearly drifting in and out of conciousness with every passing second.
But I’m going to get what I need out of him before I put him out of his misery. I grab his chin roughly, forcing him to meet my gaze, and he lets out a groan of pain as I force his face around to me.
“Look at me, you fucker,” I order him, and he manages to draw his gaze up to meet mine, though I can tell it causes him no end of strain.
He flicks his tongue over his parched lips, the scent of alcohol leaking from his pores. No wonder it was so easy for my men to get their hands on him, it looks like he can barely keep himself upright as he looks back into my eyes.
“You work for my brother, is that right?” I demand.
He shakes his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he protests, voice throaty and distant. “I–I was just coming back from work when those bastards jumped me, and?—”
“Careful what you say, asshole,” I mutter. “Those are my mine. And we know who the fuck you work for, understand? Stop trying to bullshit me and get to the point.”
He closes his eyes for a moment, clearly trying to bring himself back down into the moment. His body tenses, and I swear I can almost see his mind racing as he tries to figure a way out of this.
“Artem,” I continue, dropping my gaze down, locking eyes with him. “What does he have you doing?” I soften up my tone slightly, enough to lull him into a false sense of security that finally convinces him to speak.
“He has... He just has me watching the doors at one of his warehouses,” he replies, though this time, his eyes slide to the side, and I can tell he is lying.
