Filthy Lies (Akopov Bratva Book 2)

The contractions are coming so fast now I can barely catch my breath between them. Each one feels like my body is trying to turn itself inside out.

The door opens. I’m praying it’s the doctor, but there’s no way the man who enters knows a damn thing about babies. He’s blunt, hunched, and broad-shouldered, with a face that looks like it’s been repeatedly introduced to a brick wall. He speaks rapidly in Russian to the woman.

I can’t understand the words, but their tone tells me everything I need to know. They’re worried.

“What’s happening?” I ask when I can speak again.

To my surprise, someone replies. “Your husband is causing problems,” the woman says, looking annoyed. “He’s found three of our safe houses already.”

A wild, irrational hope flares in my chest. Vince is coming. He’s hunting for me, systematically eliminating possibilities. It’s just a matter of time.

If I can hold on long enough…

The man passes something to the woman, then leaves. When he’s gone, she turns and approaches me with…

“What the fuck? Is that a syringe?” I shrink back against the wall.

“Something to slow labor. We need more time.”

“No!” I knock her hand away when it gets close. “You’re not giving me anything. I don’t know what’s in that.”

Her face hardens. “Don’t be stupid. This will help.”

“Help you, maybe. Not my baby.” I cradle my belly. “Nothing goes into my body unless a real doctor tells me what it is.”

She lunges for my arm, but I’m faster. Fueled by maternal instinct and sheer desperation, I grab her wrist and twist. The syringe goes clattering to the floor.

“Touch me again,” I snarl, “and I’ll make you regret it.”

Something in my eyes must convince her because she steps back, rubbing her wrist.

“Fine,” she spits. “Have it your way.”

The woman storms out, the door clanging shut behind her like a funeral bell.

Left alone, time bends and blurs and loses all meaning. Minutes pass, one so dull that my mind goes blank and the next rippling with so much pain that I lose the will to even scream anymore. It’s like that, high and low, black and white, boring and agonizing.

But beneath it, I find something.

A little kernel. A tiny, stubborn root.

Beneath the pain, there is power.

Beyond the suffering, I soar.

Maybe it’s because my body is doing exactly what it’s designed to do: bringing my child into the world against impossible odds.

The woman comes in every so often. Her frown turns down deeper and deeper with each visit. She keeps checking her watch, growing increasingly agitated. I hear raised voices outside the door. Arguments in Russian.

Something’s wrong. I can feel it—an intuition beyond the pain. My body is sending signals I can’t quite interpret, but they’re screaming danger.

“I need to push,” I realize suddenly. “The baby’s coming now.”

“No!” She whirls toward me. “You must wait for the doctor!”

Right on cue, the door bursts open. A small, nervous-looking man hurries in carrying a medical bag.

“This is the woman?” he asks in accented English.

“Do you see any other fucking woman in labor, you idiot?” seethes the blond bitch.

Grumbling, the doctor kneels beside me, his hands shaking slightly as he pulls on gloves. His eyes meet mine, and I see genuine concern there.

“How long have you been in labor?” he asks.

“I don’t know. Hours?” I grip his forearm during another contraction. “Something feels wrong.”

He examines me quickly. His eyes flit too fast to seem confident. I wonder if he’s here voluntarily or if they’ve threatened him, too.

“The baby is in distress,” he says finally, looking up at the blonde woman. “Heart rate is dropping. We need to get her to a hospital immediately.”

“Not possible,” the blonde replies coldly.

“Then the baby might die!” he exclaims in an unexpected burst of emotion. “And possibly the mother, too. The cord is compressed.”

Die.

The word echoes in the hollow chamber of my skull like a bullet ricocheting inside a metal box. Again and again and again.

Die. Die. Die.

My baby—this stubborn, fierce little creature who has survived my broken heart, my shattered trust, gunfire, betrayal, and now labor in this filthy hellhole—might die.

And suddenly, I’m not scared anymore.

I’m fucking homicidal.

A primal rage ignites in my blood, transforming the pain of contractions into something else entirely. It’s like someone has replaced my veins with gasoline and tossed in a match. The burning spreads from my center outward until even my fingertips tingle with it.

My child will not die here.

I will rip this building apart with my bare hands before I let that happen.

“Get. Me. Help.” I clutch her wrist hard. “Or I swear to God, when my husband finds us—and he will—you’ll wish he’d killed you quickly.”

The blonde woman’s face contorts with contempt. But she still says nothing. So I turn to the doctor.

“Do something,” I plead, grabbing his hand. “Save my baby. Please.”

The doctor hesitates, then nods firmly. “I’ll try. But you must do exactly as I say.” He turns to the woman. “I need clean towels, hot water, and better light. Now!”

She looks like she might argue, but another man appears in the doorway and barks an order. She leaves quickly.

“Listen to me,” the doctor says quietly once we’re alone. “This is very dangerous. I will do what I can, but…”

“I understand,” I whisper. “Just save my baby. That’s all that matters.”

He looks at me with something that I can almost mistake for respect. “You are very brave.”

I’m not brave; I’m terrified. But in this moment, a strange calm settles over me.

If I die bringing this child into the world, then that’s what happens. Vince will find our baby. He’ll raise that baby with all the love and protection in the world. He’ll tell stories about me, about how much I loved them both.

The thought brings an unexpected peace.

“Vince will find us,” I tell the doctor. “My husband. When he does, tell him I wasn’t afraid.”

The doctor’s eyes widen, but he nods.

The woman returns with supplies. The contractions are unrelenting now, my body working with unstoppable force, previously unused gears within me grinding and groaning as they’re called into action.

“I need to push,” I croak.

“Not yet,” the doctor warns. “The cord⁠—”

But my body doesn’t care about his warnings. The urge is there, biological and undeniable. I bear down with all my strength.

The doctor moves quickly between my legs, his hands sure despite his fear. “Okay, now, I need you to pant. Short breaths. Don’t push!”

I try to follow his instructions. But it’s hell to resist what my body longs to do.

“Come on, little one,” I whisper to my belly. “Fight. Your daddy is coming for us. We just need to hold on.”

The doctor positions himself at the end of the mattress. “Very well. This is as good as we’re gonna get. Now, when I tell you, push with everything you have.”

I’m on a precipice. The end of one chapter. The start of another. Staring down the barrel of the greatest battle of my life, and my weapon is nothing but the raw, animal strength of my own body.

The pain isn’t pain anymore—it’s transcended into something holy and monstrous. I never knew I could hurt like this and still be conscious. Still be alive.

Vince once told me that when he killed his first man, he felt like he’d crossed a threshold into a different world. That’s where I am now—suspended between existences, my body splitting open to bring forth life even as death hovers at the edges of the room, patient and hungry.

I’m no longer Rowan St. Clair, the marketing girl with a crush on her boss.

I’m not even Rowan Akopov, the Bratva wife.noveldrama

I’m something ancient and terrible—a vessel of creation, a harbinger of blood and miracles.

If I die, I die with purpose.

If I live, I’ll never be the same.

Only time will tell which door I get to open.

“Now,” the doctor commands.

And I push.

“Now!” he commands.

And I push.

The room spins around me. Black spots dance in my vision. I’m vaguely aware of shouting, of the doctor’s urgent instructions, of my own body working beyond the limits of endurance.

“One more,” the doctor urges. “The baby is almost here.”

With the last of my strength, I push.

And in that moment, suspended between life and death, I send a silent plea into the universe:

Vince, find what’s left of us. Love our child enough for both of us.

I push one final time as darkness closes in.