The drive home does nothing to settle my churning thoughts. I'm on edge, skin crawling with pent-up aggression I couldn't fully expel. Maybe Lyah can help me work off this excess energy. The idea of losing myself in her soft body is suddenly all I can think about.
But when I enter our bedroom, she's already asleep, curled protectively around her growing belly. Something in my chest tightens at the sight. Fucking hormones. She’s supposed to have those, not me. I don’t even want to use our personal shower to clean off the blood and gore I’m covered with.
Frustrated and restless, I head out towards the main bathroom, opening my phone as I go. As I skim through my messages an unexpected notification catches my eye. An email from Lyah's sister, marked urgent, sent to the little used email address they keep in touch on.
The subject line nags at me, so I flip to the content only to have everything I’ve believed crash down around me.
Fuck me, I’ve been played!
The words on the screen blur, then snap into focus with sickening clarity. My blood runs cold, then hot with rage.
Lyah, a man called Zack Kincaid came to see me. He says he’s your husband. I didn’t believe him at first, but he showed me the wedding certificate. I’ve attached a copy. It’s real. Call me asap. Gabi.
Married. The word echoes in my mind, a thunderous accusation.
My hands clench into fists, oblivious to my nails biting into my palms. The urge to destroy something—anything—is overwhelming. But I force myself to breathe, to think, while I tap a key to print out the offending document.
Emylyah lied to me. Has been lying this whole time. And now she's carrying my child while still bound to another man.
A growl builds in my throat, low and dangerous. I've killed for less. The rage surges through me, a tidal wave of betrayal and violence. I want to storm back into that bedroom and shake the truth out of her. But I can't trust myself right now. Not with her or our unborn child.
My bastard son who the Bratva will refuse to accept as my heir. A child whose birth certificate may very well bear another man’s name, since my own marriage is now void.
I’ve never raised a hand against a woman, but right now, I want to throttle the beautiful little liar.
Instead, I stalk to my office, slamming the door hard enough to rattle the frame. The familiar scent of leather and whiskey does nothing to calm me. I pour myself a generous glass, downing it in one burning swallow before hurling the empty tumbler against the wall. It shatters spectacularly, shards of crystal raining down onto the carpet.
"Fuck!" I roar, sweeping everything off my desk in one furious motion. Papers flutter, my laptop crashes to the floor. The destruction isn't enough. It will never be enough.
I grip the edge of the desk, knuckles white, trying to wrestle my temper under control. Think, dammit. There has to be an explanation. But all I can see is red, all I can feel is the sting of her deception.
A soft knock at the door snaps me out of my spiral. "Niko?" Lyah's voice, thick with sleep, drifts through the wood. "Is everything okay?"
Her concerned tone only fuels my rage. How dare she pretend to care when she's been lying to my face this whole time? What’s her game? I want to ignore her, to let her stew in uncertainty, but my mouth has other plans.
"Come in," I growl, my voice barely recognizable.
The door creaks open slowly, and Lyah steps inside, her eyes widening as she takes in the destruction. She's wearing a tiny camisole, the fabric stretched tight across her small baby bump. The sight of it twists something inside me.
"Niko, I heard a crash, what's wrong?" she asks, reaching for me.
I jerk away from her touch, my lip curling. "Don't."
Confusion and hurt flash across her face. Good. Let her feel a fraction of what I'm experiencing.
"Who's Zack Kincaid?" I ask, my tone deceptively calm.
She shakes her head, her brow furrowing. “I-I don’t know.”
Fuck me if she doesn’t sound like she’s telling the truth.
Unfortunately for her, I don’t believe a word out of her beautiful lying mouth.
Chapter Nine
LYAH
“Answer the fucking question, Emylyah," Niko snarls as he advances on me with lethal speculation. I’ve never seen him like this. And he’s covered in blood, hastily wiped away, and a stench that has my usually cast-iron stomach roiling.
