Page 50 of Claimed By the Pakhan

“Alexander Kuzmin,” he spits, noting the huge pile of jackets on the floor. Instead of questioning my decision to rearrange our closet, he tosses something else on top of the pile.

“Thanks for your contribution.”

“They’re your clothes from when you were hit by the car.”

“And I’m supposed to say thanks?”

“Say what you want?” grunts Emil, sliding his hands into his pockets. “I thought it might help you remember something.”

“What happened to you protecting me?”

Emil scratches his head, clearly agitated. “It’s a long shot, but maybe these clothes might help you remember something about the accident.”

I chew on my lip. “How will this help you?”

“Like I said, it’s a long shot.”

I study him for a beat before grabbing the clothes, which now look more like rags.

“I went to the hospital. They were handed into the police station, saved for an investigation that has now been closed.”

“An investigation regarding…?”

“It’s protocol for the cops to investigate every accident, but apparently it led nowhere, so they gave me back your clothes.”

I run the tattered fabric through my fingertips. “What the fuck happened to my jeans?”

“The paramedics had to cut your clothes. Apparently, they performed CPR at one point. Your heart stopped beating… and so did mine.”

My heart is missing a few beatsnowas I listen to Emil. The pain hardened across his face has to mean something. He was terrified of losing me. Still is terrified.

“Anyway,” he says, turning on his heel, “I’ll leave you to it.”

I collapse on the bed, overcome by a faint spell. The twins are taking a toll on my body, making the simplest tasks feel impossible, but they kicked earlier today. Their health matters more than my inability to climb a flight of stairs.

I thread the rags through my fingertips, mixed emotions running through me. I almost died, and yet I managed to escape pretty much unscathed.

I always thought miracles were a fantasy, but seeing the state of my clothes, hearing about the trauma of it all has me second guessing that belief. It takes a miracle for all three of us to come out of this alive. I stroke my lower belly, grateful for my little warriors, pushing through tough times.

I’m setting the clothes to one side, lifting from the bed when I see a piece of paper slip from the jean pocket.

I frown, grabbing the jeans, sure I’m hallucinating. But this time, I’m not going crazy.

“Holy shit,” I gasp, turning the screwed-up piece of paper in my hands, spreading it out on the mattress. The document has been torn in half. The question is, did that happen before or after the car accident?

Regardless, I now have answers. I was so busy reading documents that I forgot to check the road before stepping out…

Which means something interesting must have been on the report.

I sit on the bed, bringing the document closer. A shipping manifest departing from Vancouver has Luka’s name on it. I zero in on the figures, desperately searching for a date, but the bottom half has been ripped where the date would have been.

This doesn’t provide much. Emil has been at war with the Kuzmins for a while, so they may have ships docked at Vancouver, members of their Bratva stationed over there keeping an eye on rival activity.

I fold the document up, slotting it back into the pocket,

Heading downstairs, I find Emil looking particularly stoic, staring out through the window, watching birds bounce across the branches.

“Everything okay?”