Page 128 of Prey

“And completely ours.”

Later, after we’ve cleaned up and disposed of Richard’s body in the compound’s industrial incinerator, we lie tangled together in our bed. Dried blood still stains my fingernails despite scrubbing, a reminder of the violence that set me free.

“No more nightmares,” I tell him, tracing patterns on his chest. “For the first time in years, I’m not afraid of going to sleep.”

“Good.” His arms tighten around me, protective and possessive. “You never have to be afraid again. Not of him, not of anyone.”

I absolutely believe him. In this underground fortress surrounded by predators who chose to become my family, carrying the child of the most dangerous man I know, I’m finally completely safe.

Richard Moss is dead. The past is buried with him.

And I’ve never felt more alive.

46

EPILOGUE

JENNA

Six months pregnant. My belly stretches the soft fabric of the sundress Nikolai bought me, round and full with our daughter. She kicks constantly now—restless like her father, demanding attention like me.

“Close your eyes.”

Nikolai’s hands cover my face from behind as the plane descends. Through the window, I caught glimpses of impossibly blue water and white sand beaches before he blocked my view.

“Nik, what?—”

“Trust me.”

The plane touches down with barely a bump. He guides me down the stairs, his palm warm against my lower back where our daughter’s weight pulls at my spine. Salt air hits my skin, tropical and clean, nothing like Chicago’s industrial bite.

“Open.”

Paradise spreads before me. Turquoise water so clear I can see fish swimming twenty feet down. Palm trees swaying in the ocean breeze. And stretching into the lagoon, an overwater villa with glass floors and thatched roof—our own private slice of heaven.

“Bora Bora.” His voice carries uncertainty I rarely hear. “Two weeks. Just us.”

I turn to face him, this man who stole me and somehow gave me everything. His pale eyes search my face for approval, for happiness. The same eyes that tracked me through Chicago streets now watch me with desperate hope.

“You did this for me?”

“For us. For her.” His hand finds my belly, fingers spreading possessively across the curve. “Before she comes and changes everything.”

Tears blur my vision. Almost a year ago, I lived in a studio apartment, working night shifts, existing in careful invisibility. Now I’m pregnant with the child of a man who hunted me, claimed me, broke me open and put me back together into someone stronger.

“It’s perfect.”

Relief transforms his face. He lifts me easily, carrying me toward the villa despite my protests about my weight. Our daughter kicks against his ribs through my belly, and he laughs—a beautiful joyful sound.

The villa is a dream. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlook the lagoon. The bedroom opens directly onto a private deck with stairs leading down to crystal-clear water. Everything is white and blue and peaceful, so far from concrete cells and interrogation rooms and the blood we’ve spilled.

“How long did you plan this?”

“Since the positive test.” He sets me on the massive bed, kneeling to remove my sandals. “Wanted to give you something beautiful before?—”

“Before what?”

His fingers trace my ankle, my calf, memorizing. “Before you wake up and freak out over what I am and what I do.”