Russian Boss’s Secret Baby by Bella King
Ch 31
MIA
Slate is acting super weird. He was happy to see me, of course, but since we escaped from the room where I was restrained, he’s hardly said anything. I was going to try and tell him about the baby earlier, just to get it off my chest, but he shut me up right away. It’s so annoying when he does that, like whatever he’s got to say is more important than whatever it is I’m trying to tell him.
“Slate, who was that?” I ask, which immediately feels like a lapse in judgement. Shouldn’t I have waited until we left? Until we were safe? I feel like such an idiot.
Instead of sighing and rolling his eyes like I anticipated, he appears very melancholy suddenly. This confuses me further. Why would he be sad about someone he was perfectly fine with trying to kill earlier. He takes a deep breath, but doesn’t respond.
“Slate,” I say, grabbing his attention again, unable to stop myself before it happens. I’m embarrassed to be so persistent, but I’m about to have a baby with someone who attracts danger like a moth to a flame.
“Mia, I really don’t want to talk about this right now. We need to focus on getting out of here, or we might run out of air. So stop asking questions,” he says, almost breaking into the voice he uses to wrangle his men.
I open my mouth to reply, but I’m able to finally control myself and stay quiet. This doesn’t stop me from inventing narratives and creating entire backstories for the insane woman who kidnapped me.
“Wait,” I say, slowing my stride. “I think I feel something over here. It’s up ahead, I feel a cold draft. Do you feel that?” I ask frantically, trying not to get my hopes up.
Slate shines his phone flashlight toward the direction of the draft, and I can just barely see what looks like an emergency escape.
“Do you see that?” I ask, practically sprinting towards it.
“Mia, be careful, you have no idea what’s right in front of your feet. If you trip and hit your head, I’ll have to carry you out,” Slate asserts.
I can’t lie, the idea of Slate carrying me out of the mine isn’t something that bothers me.
I reach the emergency exit, climbing up a ladder that leads to a hatch in the ceiling. There’s a dirty window built into the door, just big enough to see whether or not it’s light outside. I can see that the sun is just about to set, so we need to outrun the darkness.
I try to open the emergency exit, but it seems to be rusted shut. “It’s stuck,” I grumble, my low blood sugar and exhaustion weighing heavier on me as I fail to free myself.
Slate approaches cautiously. “It looks kind of old, you need to be a little more careful than that,” he says as he gently takes over trying to open it. “You need to use more controlled motions, that way you won’t fatigue your muscles as quickly,” he says, finally able to open it slowly as it comes loose.
There’s a ladder in a tunnel leading directly to the outside. I’m hesitant to step up into it, since it’s still pretty dark inside and I won’t be able to let go if I get hurt or bit by an animal.
“Here, I’ll go first, just so you’ll know what’s coming,” Slate says as he begins to step up into the tunnel.
I’m struck with claustrophobia, cursing my stupid brain for being too afraid to escape after all we’ve been through together.
He ascends, and at first I just watch him climb, carefully scaling the ladder while I build up the courage to follow. “Mia, are you behind me?” he asks from about ten feet up.
“Um, no, I have to get up on the ladder still,” I admit.
“Mia, it’s fine, please don’t get in your head about it,” he replies, exhaustion coloring his tone.
I know I can’t keep him waiting forever or he’ll just get more agitated than he already is.
I step up, and immediately I have to overcome the feeling of falling. My chest flutters, and what’s left of my energy chooses to leave me spontaneously, causing my arms and legs to shake as I attempt one step after the next. The darkness below me heightens my claustrophobia.
Eventually, we reach the surface, and all I can do is crawl out of the emergency escape onto the grass outside. If I had a choice, I would stay right in this spot until I had slept at least 12 hours and eaten three meals.
Slate, however, disagrees.
“Why the fuck did you leave, Mia?” he asks rather aggressively. His voice snaps me out of a daze, and I’m startled by his sudden change in mood.
“I saw you beat the fuck out of Eli,” I reply. “Even worse, I saw how horrible he looked after you did. What else was I supposed to do?” I reply. If he wants a direct conversation, he’s going to get one.
He sighs heavily, as if he’s frustrated with me for answering honestly.
“Don’t sigh at me. You need to try to see this from my perspective. If you were a woman in my position, you’d do the same thing,” I continue, making sure to lay on the guilt as much as possible.
“Oh yeah? And what position is that?”
I freeze.
Now we have to talk about the baby.
“I mean, being a woman is terrifying, Slate. Look at yourself, you’re a huge tattooed Russian man. Nobody fucks with you to begin with. For someone like me, that isn’t an advantage that I have. I just have to use my judgement in every situation,” I say. I’ve decided to start very slow with the baby conversation.
“That can’t be everything,” he replies. Doe he already know? There must be a reason he won’t accept my answer.
“Slate, yes it can be. Look at the situation I just got myself in trying to escape from you. I was picked up by that psycho bitch, who I’m assuming is an ex at this point, just because I’m affiliated with you,” I continue. I mean, I do need to put these things into perspective for him.
“I know about the baby,” he says, completely cutting off my monologue and the point I was making with it.
Wait, what?
My stomach sinks. “How do you know?” I ask, relenting to his demanding nature.
“I found the test after you went missing, I was looking for things that could show me where you were or why you left,” he says, now with a softer tone in his voice. He can never stay upset with me for long.
“Okay, then let’s talk about the baby, Slate,” I reply. “I want to have this baby with you, but I can’t be worried that our child will ever see you hurt someone like that, and I need a real promise, not the bullshit one you gave to me,” I say.
Slate stops halfway to the car. “You know I didn’t mean for you to see that, I wasn’t trying to scare you,” he says, only turning around partially to speak to me. “I would never let our child see something like that. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
Do I feel like fighting him on this? How he’ll have to actually pay attention to our child instead of expecting me to know every single danger while he continues on with his life as he knows it now?
“I want the baby to know what it feels like to have two supportive parents. I’m not going to be the only one raising them,” I respond. I know nothing of his family or their dynamic, so he could be either too familiar or oblivious to what I mean.
“My father was hardly around when I was growing up,” he says as he opens the passenger side door for me.
I get in, and the inside of the car is so quiet in contrast to the nonstop chaos from the past 24 hours. I choose to just sit and listen to the silence for a moment.
Slate gets into the driver’s side. “He provided for us financially, but he didn’t know anything about any of his kids after they grew up. Didn’t know any of my friends or my brother’s interests. I was grateful to him for all he did for us, but I couldn’t help but feel like I would have rather had a better relationship with him. I don’t want our kid to have regrets like that,” he says as he turns on the car.
“My mom left when I was a kid, so I know what it’s like to only have one parent. I need you to promise that you’ll try to stay safe for us,” I reply.
Slate slows at a stop sign at the end of the lonely road where the mine was, looking at me as he stops. “I will do everything in my power to keep all of us safe, and that includes being safe from Katya.”
“Who is Katya?” I ask.
“She goes by Katie in the US, but her birth name is Katya,” he says. “She is my ex, you’re correct. She followed me here to the States after I left Russia to start a new life for myself,” he continues, that far-away look on his face returning.
“You know, the person you killed was the Imposter,” I add, unsure of how he will take this information.
“How do you know?” he asks, clearly interested.
“She told me right before she intended to kill me. She was trying to make a show out of how much better she is than you now, it was pretty sad,” I say, smiling at the thought of her trying to prove her worth to me as she was trying to work up the balls to kill me.
Slate laughs a little. “You’re telling me she joined forces with that guy to try and get back at me?” he asks, seemingly very pleased with the information.
“Yeah, seems like it,” I reply, the weight of the conversation leaving my shoulders as we both ease up.
