Page 44 of Cruel Bratva King

“How long have you been awake?” My voice sounded huskier than I expected.

She sat up and leaned her back against the headboard. “Long enough to see your brows squeeze as you stared at my stomach like it’s housing some kind of alien,” she said coyly and stretched her arm to rake her hair with her finger, exposing her taut pink tits in the process.

I cleared my throat and kept my eyes on her face. “I feel strange,” I whispered. “It’s almost like… we know each other.”

I made to withdraw my hand, but she covered mine with hers, keeping it in place, much to my surprise.

“Sort of,” she said with a shrug. “You two are bonding.”

Her soft chuckle put me at ease, and the corners of my lips tugged upwards. “But it’s not been born yet.”

She laughed at that, and I wanted to record it and listen to the sound of it over and over again. “It doesn’t have to be,” she said. “I think unborn babies can recognize their parents before they are born.”

“Uh-huh,” I replied with a curt nod, obviously unconvinced, and withdrew my hand as I leaned against the headboard beside her. “Of course.”

She rolled her eyes and rubbed her neck. “No, hold on and think about it for a second. It only makes sense for the baby to recognize the touch of its father.”

“Okay,” I smirked. Conversing with her about our baby was more fun than I ever thought it would be. I loved watching her try to prove a point like she always did, and I enjoyed listening to her speak. “But I didn’t touch it,” I said.

“Technically, you didn’t,” she argued like I knew she would. “But with your heart, you did.”

Her words threw me off-guard, but I tried not to express how much of an effect they had on me. “Yeah,” I said and masked the emotion behind my voice with a light cough. “That should explain why I felt a strange warmth all over.”

She beamed. “Exactly.”

In that brief moment, as I watched the bright smile on her face and her eyes light up, I knew there was nowhere else I would rather be than by her side, listening to her talk about strange theories surrounding unborn babies.

She seemed to have taken note of the change in the air around us. It felt lighter and almost felt likewewere bonding. She shifted her gaze and swiped most of the hair on the side of her face behind her ear.

I also straightened and decided to give her more room on the bed. I turned away from her and swung my legs out before rising from the soft king-size mattress—naked and unashamed. And though I couldn’t see her, I felt her hot gaze seep holes into my back.

With a satisfied smirk, I slid my fingers into my hair and teased it. Slowly, I made my way to the closet and pulled out a pair of sweatpants I had only ever worn once. After putting them on, I faced her.

She remained in the position I left her in and, true to my instincts, had her eyes on me the entire time. I nudged towards the bed, and a strand of overgrown hair fell over my eye.

“Are you feeling alright?” I asked as I sleeked back my hair with a gentle sweep of my hand.

She scanned her body and looked back at me. “Don’t I look alright to you?”

“You do,” I agreed with a shrug. “I thought we could take a shower and head out to grab breakfast, but you seem to like that bed very much. That’s why I asked, to know if you are feeling alright.”

She giggled, stretched her legs out, and rested her hand on her stomach. Despite the faint blush that dusted her cheeks, she maintained confidence in her tone as she spoke. “I’m sorry, Sergey. But I had no idea that you wantedusto take a shower and head out to grab breakfast. I don’t read minds.”

I scoffed with a smirk and nodded slowly. “Good one.”

“However,” she continued with a more serious edge to her tone, and I knew Lilianna Anderson was about to get down to business. “There is something I would like to discuss. Given that you are my baby’s fatherandthe present hostage situation I am in, you have a right to know.”

I arched a brow and folded my arms across my chest. “Know what exactly?”

She sucked in a deep breath and let it out with a shudder of her shoulders. “That I am concerned about the well-being of my baby.”

“Ourbaby,” I corrected.

“Yeah, that.” Her eyes were sad. “As I said, I am concerned about the well-being ofourbaby. I need to know that it is in good health and growing fine. Just because my life is a mess doesn’t mean it should automatically be subjected to that pressure as well. It’s young and innocent—”

“And unborn,” I interrupted.

She frowned and held her chin up stubbornly. “Anddeserves a much better life than the one we have had.”