Forty Five

Forty Five
 “SHELTER OF DARKNESS”

Astrid's POV

The engine of the snowmobile roars below me as we slice through the blackness, the wind nipping at my exposed skin. Eagan’s body blocks mine from the worst of it, his strong heartbeat rhythmically beating on my back despite everything that just went down. I place my own hands across my belly, which remains flat, protectively holding the life within me.

The path up the mountain draws tighter, trees blurring as Eagan forces the machine up beyond all reason. I never ask where we’re going. Right now, “away” is what counts.

“Wait,” he says against my ear and we break off the main path on a sharp turn. We ride the snowmobile down a steep hill and I feel that drop in the pit of my stomach.

A building appears in the snow, a chalet built into the mountainside and barely visible against the rocky landscape. No lights, no tracks to it. The perfect hiding place.

Eagan kills the engine, and all of the sudden there is nothing to hear, so much louder than all that had just come before.
"Can you walk?"

"Yes." Even my voice sounds odd to my ears, remote and empty.

He pulls us to a stop, helps me off the snowmobile, gripping me firmly but gently. My legs are shaking, the adrenaline draining into exhaustion. The images play in my head—Blair pressing that gun against my face, the fire in Eagan’s eyes, the way her body slipped off the cliff.

"Astrid." "no," Eagan's voice slices through my musings. "Stay with me."

I zero in on his face, all those chiseled planes softened with worry. "I'm here."

The chalet door swings open at his touch—no key, no code, just an advanced biometric scanner I didn't see. It’s not the luxury inside I expected but industrial practical. There's a big main room that has very little furniture, a kitchen area, some doorways I'm hoping are bedrooms.

“No one knows about this place,” Eagan says, locking the door behind us. "Not Liam or any of my guys."
"How long have you had it?"

"Five years." He’s brisk in his pacing through the space, activating systems (security feeds appear on a hidden panel), testing the comfort level. "Emergency protocol. You and I have never had to use it, until now.”

I sink into a leather couch, the recent hours starting to sink in. My hands won't stop shaking.

"You're in shock." Eagan drops to his knees in front of me, grabbing my hands. “I have to look for injuries.

"I told you, I'm fine." But I don’t protest as he gently explores my body with his hands, looking for injuries.

"The baby?" A strain sounds in his voice that you had never heard.

"Still there." I attempt a weak smile. "Stubborn, like its father."
Something flickers in his eyes — relief, possessiveness, something more I can’t call. He jumps out of his seat and heads to a cabinet to find a first aid kit.

"Your wrists are bruised where they tied you up." He is methodical as he works, washing the abrasions, dabbing them with antiseptic. "Anywhere else?"

"Just bruises." I watch his hands, rough with the potential for violence, so soft upon my skin. "Eagan, how did you know? About the trap?"

"I didn't." His jaw tightens. "Not until it was too late. I knew they would do that."

"It's not your fault."

"It is." His eyes are cold with rage, but not for me, for himself. "I trusted the wrong people. I let you become a target."

“I decided to stay with you.” The words are stronger than I expect. “I’ve made that choice every day since the auction.”

He turns his head and keeps treating my wounds without a word. There’s a hush as a heating system rumbles softly; snow falls through the windows in a steady pattern. For a moment, we could be any couple in his secluded cabin — not a mafia king and his pregnant, captured lover.

“You need to rest,” he says at last. “The bedroom is that way. I'll keep watch."

"What about Liam? Your men?"

I have procedures for this kind of thing. They’re going to go dark and regroup at stand points. Liam knows how to work without being hands on.”

I nod, but don’t leave. "And Ren?"

Eagan's expression hardens. "He's a dead man walking. He just doesn't know it yet."

“He said something about the baby was worth millions.” A shiver goes up my spine at the memory. "What did he mean?"
Eagan pauses, carefully choosing his words. "Human trafficking. Black market adoptions. Organ harvesting. Take your pick."

"That's not everything." I’ve studied him long enough to know when he’s holding back.

He steps toward the window, looking out at the darkness.
“There’s talk of a group that does designer babies. Genetic experimentation. Fetuses with certain parentage they pay top dollar for.”

Horror washes over me. "Because of you? Your DNA?"

"Possibly." He doesn't look at me. "Or yours.”

The insinuation lingers between us. I have never met my parents, never wondered about my origin outside of the walls of the orphanage. Is there really something in my blood worth hunting?"

I need a shower,” I comment at once,crisp with the weight of these thoughts. "Where's the bathroom?"

Eagan points to another door. "Through there. I'll find you some clothes."

The bathroom is consistent with the rest of the chalet — functional, expensively understated. The hot water is burning my skin, and I embrace the pain. It rinses the feel of Blair’s fingers off, the gun pressed to my head, the horror I felt during those moments in the car.

I come out in a towel, and Eagan is on his satellite phone, speaking low and dangerous.

"I don't care what it takes. Find him. No one goes to bed until we have a spot.” He pauses, listening. “Double the normal price for instincts. Triple it for his head.”

Our eyes lock from across the room. He doesn’t apologize for what I’ve heard, nor do I particularly want him to. This is how he is – the power-hungry man who destroyed Love Island City, the man who would take the world to dust to protect what he calls his.

“There are clothes on the bed,” he tells the caller, then hangs up.

I locate a basic outfit — sweatpants, a thermal shirt, thick socks. All black, all fresh with tags. Of course he would have emergency provisions.

By the time I get back, Eagan is holding a glass of amber liquid. He gives me water, which I gladly drink.

"What happens now?" I say, sitting next to him on the couch.

"We wait. We plan. When it's safe, we move."

"Back to Love Island City?"

He studies me. "Is that what you want?"

I'm thrown by the question. No one has ever asked him what he wants before. “I don’t even know what the fuck I want anymore.”

“You wanted to get away from me once,” he reminds me flatly.

"Things change." My hand drops down to my stomach again, a new reflex. "I've changed."

Eagan sees the movement, his eyes tracking my hand. He doesn’t ask he just reaches out -- his hand covering mine over top of where our baby lives. The sheer intimacy of it takes my breath away.

“I’ll teach you how to shoot tomorrow,” he says, the fact that he even says those words so out of the blue I almost laugh.

"What?"

"To protect yourself. If I'm not there." His eyes are deadly serious. “I’m not going to have you defenseless again.

"I'm not a killer, Eagan."

“You killed Old Rick Hunt,” he reminds me. "When you had to."

The memory flares—the knife materializing in my hand, the hot spatter of blood, the sound he made as he died. In the process, I had simply done what I had to do to stay alive.

"That was different."

“No.” His hand tightens around mine. "It wasn't. That’s the way this world we’re living in, it doesn’t forgive weakness. Especially now."

He’s correct, and I wish he were wrong. "Okay."

Eagan seems to be surprised from my swift compliance. "Okay?"

"Teach me." I turn my hand to grasp his. "Not just shooting.
Everything. How to spar, how to flee if necessary. How to disappear."

His expression darkens. “You gonna just disappear on me, Astrid?”

“Not really. I” — I look him in the eye, levelly — “you know you didn’t.” "I'm planning to survive. For this baby. For us."

The word “us” dangles between us, heavily laden with meaning neither one of us has fully grasped yet.

Eagan’s hand slides from my belly to my face, cupping my cheek with surprising gentleness. “There are things I won’t be able to shield you from. Not completely."

“Then let me not be safeguarded altogether.” I lean into his touch. "Prepare me instead."

His gaze changes, respect, maybe, or recognition. He leans down, and his lips meet mine in a kiss that begins soft but soon becomes fierce and urgent. His hands grab my waist, dragging me onto his knee.

"I didn't think I'd ever see you again," he whispers in my neck. “When the comms went out, when I found out what Ren did..."

"I'm here." I thread my fingers through his hair, pressing his face into my chest as he lets his mouth travel over my collarbone. "I'm not going anywhere."

His hands slip under my shirt, his touch warm on my skin. "You can't know that. No one can."

"Then I am here now," I correct myself, with a gasp as his teeth skim a delicate spot. "That has to be enough."

It’s enough, at least for tonight. Buried in this secret fortress, where the snow is falling outside, and danger circles like vultures… I only feel alive when I’m with you. His touch is both greedy and reverent, taking every inch of me and giving of himself in turn.

Later, while we’re lying twisted in sheets, his hand travels once more to my stomach. We leave somewhere else.” Somewhere new."

"Not Love Island City?" I draw with my finger on his chest, over his heart.

“It was never our home. Just a stepping stone."
I think of the orphanage, the only home I’ve ever known, but it has become a tomb of memories. "Where, then?"

"Anywhere." His voice contains a surety that I’ve never heard before. There's more to this world than the city, Astrid. Much bigger."

While he sleeps, I stay up to watch the rise and fall of his chest. The man who owns me is a monster, a killer, and to own me he bought me at the auction. But he’s also the father of my child, my protector, maybe the closest thing to love I will ever know.

I ease off the bed gently, I don’t want to wake him. The chalet is quiet and I tip-toe across the open area, curiosity forcing me to investigate our temporary home. A locked door gives way to a code I’ve memorized from watching Eagan — his birthday, not that he knows I know it.

Inside is a stockpile that takes my breath away. Weapons of all kinds are lined up on the walls — handguns, rifles, knives. Ammunition. Body armor. The tools of his trade.

I grab a gun, holding it to me, feeling the weight in my hand. It just feels wrong — alien — and I know I need to make it feel right. For the baby. For survival.

"Start with that one." I hear Eagan’s voice from the rear. He’s just standing there in the doorway, shirtless, gazing at me with unfathomable eyes. "It's easier for beginners."

I don’t want to be a beginner, I say, turning to look at him. "I need to be good enough."

"You will be." He takes a step forward and corrects my hold on the weapon. "I'll make sure of it."

As he stands behind me and moves my hands, I feel something fall into place inside me — a determination, a focus. This is my life now. This dangerous man; this dangerous world. The baby inside me will be born into that world.

I need to be strong enough to defend it, even if it means becoming someone I never thought I could be.

Someone like him.