Lahat ng Kabanata ng Pregnant by My Dead Husband's Best Friend: Kabanata 21 - Kabanata 30

The ring feels heavier than I remember.I hold it under the harsh fluorescent lights of the garage. The diamond glitters, cold and indifferent. It’s a small stone, but right now it feels like a boulder tied to my finger.My hand shakes. The gold band vibrates against my skin."It was in a pawn shop," I whisper. "On 4th Street. I saw the man put it in the safe."Drakon snatches the ring from my palm. He holds it up, inspecting it with clinical detachment. He doesn't look at me. He looks at the object like it’s a piece of evidence in a murder trial."He bought it back," Drakon says flatly. "He walked into that shop, paid cash, and sent it here.""How did he know?" My voice snaps, high and brittle. "How did he know I sold it? How did he know where I was?""Because he's watching." Drakon closes his fist over the ring. "Markos! Front and center!"Markos jogs over, his shotgun held across his chest. He looks pale under the security lights."VP?""Red Alert," Drakon barks. "Full lockdown. I

The door slams shut, vibrating in the frame.Drakon is gone.The alarm screams on—WHOOP-WHOOP-WHOOP—a rhythmic, deafening pulse that rattles the teeth in my skull. The red emergency lights strobe in the hallway, bleeding under the door like a spreading stain."Stay here," he said.I look at the empty bed. The sheets are twisted, still warm from our bodies. The smell of sex and sweat hangs heavy in the air, clashing with the metallic taste of panic.I can't stay here. I can't sit in this cage while he runs into a bullet meant for me.I scramble off the bed. My legs are shaky, trembling from the aftershocks of what we just did—and the fear of what’s happening now. I grab the black silk robe hanging on the bathroom door. It belongs to Drakon’s sister or an ex-girlfriend—I don't know, and right now, I don't care. I shove my arms into the sleeves and tie the belt tight, knotting it like a lifeline.I grab the Glock from the nightstand. It’s cold against my palm.I unlock the door. Click.I

"I have to go."Drakon buckles his gun belt. He checks the load in his Glock. Click-clack."Don't," I say from the bed. I'm hugging my knees, watching him armor up like he’s going to war. "Stay here. Please.""We need allies, Thalia. The Vipers are neutral. If I can get their President to sit down, maybe we can stop the Reapers from bringing in more Nomads."He walks over to me. He leans down, planting a hard kiss on my mouth. He tastes of coffee and danger."Markos is outside the door," he says. "You don't open it for anyone but me or him. Understand?""I understand.""Lock the deadbolt behind me."He leaves. The door shuts. I turn the lock. Thunk.I listen to his heavy boots fade down the hallway. Then the roar of his bike starting up in the courtyard below. Then silence.I stare at the bars on the window.Ten minutes pass. Twenty.The walls start to close in. The air in the room feels stale, recycled. I pace. I check my phone—no signal in this fortress of steel and concrete.I need

"Nikos!"The name tears from my throat, raw and terrified.I scramble backward on the pool table, kicking the scattered balls onto the floor. Clack-clack-thud. I point a shaking finger at the high window."He's there! He's watching us!"Drakon spins around instantly. He places himself between me and the window, his body a shield. His hand dives for the gun he discarded on the barstool. He brings it up, aiming at the glass in one fluid motion.The room goes dead silent. Fifty men turn, weapons raised, scanning the dark glass.Nothing.Just the reflection of the neon beer signs and the dust motes dancing in the light."Clear!" Markos shouts from the door, having run outside the second I screamed. "Perimeter is clear! No sign of a ladder. No sign of climbing gear."Drakon lowers the gun slowly. He turns to me. His chest is still heaving from the sex, sweat glistening on the wolf tattoo, but his eyes have shifted. The heat is gone. Replaced by a cold, clinical assessment."He was there,"

The lock clicks.I wait for the door to open. I grip the knife in my boot, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.Nothing.No handle turning. No creak of hinges.Just the sound of soft footsteps fading down the hallway.They didn't unlock it. They double-locked it. They sealed me in."Markos?" I whisper.Silence.He’s gone. They’re all gone. Drawn into the trap like moths to a bug zapper.I run to the window. The courtyard is empty. The gate is wide open.I look at the digital clock. 8:15 PM.Drakon is riding into an ambush. He thinks he’s hunting Kyros. He thinks he’s ending the war. But Nikos is pulling the strings, and he’s going to slaughter them all.I can't stay here.I grab the knife from my boot. Drakon said it never leaves my skin.I jam the blade into the doorframe, right where the deadbolt meets the wood. I’m not a thief. I’m not a spy. But I’m desperate.I dig the steel in. Wood splinters."Come on," I hiss, sweating.I wrench the knife handle. The metal g