Page 48 of Dark Christmas

Those bastards were right there, watching, waiting. One wrong move, and it could’ve been a bloodbath. I clench my jaw, keeping the anger in check.

They won’t get another chance.

Chapter 24

Amelia

My heart’s racing like I’ve just sprinted a mile. I glance at the sideview mirror at the two men following our car. Both look like straight-up thugs, with hand and neck tattoos like they just stepped off the set of an action crime movie.

Chatting with the guy at the store about our imaginary kitten helped for a minute, but now with these bodyguards trailing us, the reality of the situation sinks back in.

We’re being hunted.

As we turn onto our street, my eyes drift to my little house.

Home.

God, I just want to be back there, snuggled up on my couch, pretending none of this is happening. But I can’t.

I can’t go home.

The stalkers know where I live. And clearly, they know where I work, too. I clench my jaw, trying to keep it together, but a wave of frustration hits me. My life was normal—baker’s hours, coffee shop, chill weekend kind of normal. Now I’m out here dodgingassassins with Melor and his backup crew.

And the worst part is I don’t know if I’ll ever get that normal life back.

We park outside Melor’s place and step out of the car. Just as I think I can catch my breath he and the two mob-movie extras begin talking in Russian. It’s the first time I’ve actually heard him speak it, a reminder that he had a whole other life before me, a life that, apparently, isn’t done with him yet.

They continue to talk as we step inside the door. One of the guys asks a question to which Melor gratefully replies in English. “My place is a fortress; no one’s getting in.”

But one of the bodyguards isn’t having it. “Mashkov would have our asses if we didn’t check thoroughly,” he says, deadpan.

Melor concedes—apparently, there’s no point in arguing with Mashkov’s orders. As the men split off to do their sweep, I stand there, sighing to myself as I head toward the fridge. I spot a bottle of white wine, and for a second, I seriously consider pouring myself a glass. I could really use it after tonight.

But then reality slaps me in the face. Not with a baby growing inside me. No wine, no stress-relieving glass of anything. Just me, my overworked nerves, and this ticking time bomb situation.

I lean against the counter, trying to concentrate on my breathing. I’m not safe. Melor isn’t safe. And now, there might be a baby to worry about in the middle of all this.

I shut the fridge door. No wine. Just worries.

Melor comes up beside me, his presence calming, even though my mind’s still racing. “I’m sorry you’re caught up in this,” hesays softly. “But I am going to resolve this soon. I promise.”

Before I can reply, the men return, speaking in Russian again. It’s like nails on a chalkboard, reminding me how much I’m out of the loop of my own life. I roll my eyes and cut in, “Can you please speak English so I can understand? I’m part of this, too. I want to know what’s going on.”

The men exchange glances, waiting for Melor to give the green light. He nods once. “The house is clear,” one of them says. “We’re staying in a hotel two blocks away. We’ll be in touch if you need us.” He hands Melor a business card.

Melor thanks them, and just like that, they’re gone, the door clicking shut behind them. The second they’re out of sight, I plop into one of the bar seats, tears pricking the corners of my eyes. It’s all too much—too much danger, too much uncertainty. I thought I could handle it but now I’ve got a baby to think about. I don’t even know if I can keep myself safe, let alone a tiny human.

I blink, trying to keep the tears from falling, but it’s a losing battle. Everything’s spiraling, and I don’t know how much longer I can fake acting like I’ve got it under control.

Melor comes over and wraps his arms around me, pulling me close. His warmth and strength are comforting for a second until reality hits again, a new reality. I'm hiding something huge from him. How the hell am I supposed to tell him I’m pregnant?

He holds me tighter, his voice firm. “Everything’s going to be fine.”

I’m too exhausted to argue. Melor feels the tension in my body and adds, “I promise, Amelia. The problem will be solved by Monday.”

I want to believe him, but the sinking feeling in my stomach won’t go away. I know he’s trying to reassure me, but I also know that promises like that don’t always hold up in real life.

“I’m going to do whatever it takes to keep you safe,” he murmurs in my ear.