Preg-Not

22

She was positive they were packing heat, and hopefully also hunger.

"Excuse me."

They were enormous like Maksim, but lacked the hand and neck tattoos. One of them gave her a fleeting glance. He looked confused by her presence.

"Are you guys hungry?"

They remained stiff. Were they not allowed to talk to her? That was fine. She just wanted to pass over the food.

She walked inside and picked up an untouched plate along with two forks.

She was sure that Maksim placed fifty more goons around the building, so these two could take a five-minute break.

"It's still warm," she offered. "I don't want to throw it out and be wasteful."

They gave her a side-glance, but said nothing. She was starting to feel pretty stupid as she stood there, holding the plate.

"Please go inside, Mrs. Kuznetsov."

Mrs– what?

The name made her jerk, and the plate fell from her hands. It shattered loud enough to make her wince.

"Shit. I'm sorry."

Footsteps thudded as a third guard ran toward them, hand at his hip and eyes scanning for trouble.

"Miss Raelynn," Bernice touched her arm with a trembling hand. "Please come inside."

Raelynn threw a final "Sorry!" at the men before following Bernice. Like a child on time-out, she sat on the bed. She was alone, since Bernice left to clean up the mess she made.

Maksim arrived four hours later. His arrival was announced by yells and curses that were loud enough to make the floor shake.

"I ought to put a fucking bullet in your skull, you son of a bitch. You were told to keep her inside. Should I have translated it to Russian? You had one fucking job."

All this because of a broken plate? For fuck's sake!

Raelynn left the bedroom and walked past a trembling Bernice, who likely thought she was going to be mauled next.

"She's fucking pregnant. I should shoot your dick off to make sure you don't reproduce, imbecile."

She peeked out the door and whispered, "Maksim."

"Did you forget who you were working for? If I find a shard of glass on her feet, I'll slice your throat open with my bare hands."

"Maksim," she tried again. "Leave him be. It was my fault. Just come inside."

As Maksim pinned the guard to a wall and spat words to his face, the other stood in place as if nothing was happening.

Five long seconds went by, and she felt a small kick that surprised her since she had felt no movement in hours. Taking another approach, she said, "he's kicking."

That got his attention. Maksim looked at her, and she stepped away from the door to lure him inside. "Do you want to touch?" She kept walking backward.

Maksim released the guy and followed her. When she sat on the edge of the bed, he kneeled and cradled her with knuckles that were still red from violence.

"привет, арахис."

"What does that mean?"

"Hi, peanut."

Raelynn snorted. "Might want to change the nickname. He hates peanut butter."

After a minute, Maksim asked, "Why is he kicking so erratically?"

"Probably mad I haven't played Russian music in a while."

"Really?" he whipped out his cellphone. "What do I play?"

"Anything, honestly."

A song started playing. Raelynn didn't understand the words, but the woman's voice was beautiful.

Maksim lowered his head to place his forehead on the bump.

She palmed his shoulder and squeezed softly. "Please don't hurt those guys, or fire them. I was the one who gave them a hard time."

"Did your feet get cut from the glass?"

"No. I'm fine."

"I still need to–" he stopped to chuckle. "He kicked my nose."

Raelynn bit her lip. "He agrees with me. Can you please let it go?"

"Very well."

She rubbed the bump, thanking it for its help. When she scanned Maksim, she noticed that he was stressing his leather shoes in the kneeling position he was in. It hurt to see them getting damaged, because she knew they cost her yearly salary.

"You should take your shoes off before you crease them."

"He kicked my cheek this time," Maksim said. Shoes were the last thing on his mind.

"Maksim."

"Huh?"

"The shoes."

"Yes. I will buy you some later."

His words made no sense, but he was too distracted to notice. He increased the volume of the song and chuckled when he felt another kick. He slipped a hand under her skirt to stroke the bump skin-to-skin.

She didn't mind the contact, so she stood still as the bratva king played with fetuses and creased his expensive leather shoes.