Bratva Boss’s Secret Triplets by Bella King
Chapter 19
April
I’ve gotten a better idea of the layout of the building now that I’ve been walking around for a bit. For someone who seems to have no decorum whatsoever, I have to admit that Rebel has a good eye for design and architecture. From the outset, I’d never assume this place was a hyper-secure mafia headquarters.
When I return to my room, the world has stopped moving with me as it had while I was walking, and all of my anxious thoughts begin to fill up my brain again like a dammed river, coaxing the walls to burst open in a fit of hysteria.
Dean hit me in the stomach, hard. Everybody knows that’s how unborn babies die, and I have three of them fighting for the space that could potentially soften the blow if I only had one in there. How do I find out if they’re okay?
If Rebel has already been following me closely enough to know where I go to the doctor, I doubt he’d just let me leave the compound if I promised to be extra good and come right back. I wish I had a space somewhere to just go and cry for an hour. I think that would get me pretty far at this point.
Before I’m able to break down completely, Rebel enters my room, nonchalantly carrying my suitcase in his arms. It’s partially open, and I remember specifically that I haven’t opened it since we got here. What the fuck is he doing with it in the first place?
“Why do you have that?” I ask, trying my best to sound irritated without being too confrontational. “Were you going through my stuff?”
Rebel shrugs. “Nah, it’s the security staff. They just wanted to make sure you’re all good. Remember how I said they’d shoot you dead if you did so much as leave my car without warning? I’m shocked they didn’t seize the suitcase as soon as we stepped inside,” he says, haphazardly dropping the suitcase on the floor next to the bed.
I’m still angry with him. I feel violated, like a criminal who is going through the intake process at a prison rather than someone who needs shelter from a violent ex.
It’s so hard to be grateful to Rebel when I feel like he’s abusing his position as my temporary protector. The way he just takes whatever he wants despite my protests makes me want to rip off his head and toss it off an overpass.
“You look mad,” he says, his reply cutting into the dead air around us as I wait for some form of apology. “I already told you it was necessary, I wouldn’t just take your stuff without a good reason,” he continues, trying hard to backpedal himself onto my good side again.
“Just... don’t touch my stuff anymore, okay? I appreciate what you’re doing for me, I really am, but that doesn’t give you the right to micromanage me,” I reply, doing my best to assert myself.
Rebel rolls his eyes at me and scoffs. “Yeah, fine, I’ll do my best,” he replies sarcastically, turning to leave the room. He closes the door behind him with a passive-aggressive slam.
I’m already so tired of him and I have no idea how long I’ll have to spend here. As much as I hate to be the bigger person all the time, it might be in my best interest to stay friendly with him.
I think about Dean being loose in town, undoubtedly looking everywhere for me. I’m willing to bet he’s going to hang out around my workplace waiting for me to emerge from the safety of Rebel’s secret headquarters.
Dean isn’t a big man, and the version of him that I knew was more pathetic than dangerous, but if he’s on drugs now, my whole understanding of who he truly is could be void. If he wants to hurt me, he will, and he has.
It would be stupid for Dean to come after Rebel with all his reinforcements. On my own I’m powerless against him, especially with the triplets that I need to keep safe.
Following Rebel around like a shield seems to be my best bet, and then once it’s safe again, I’ll have to disappear immediately. I can’t have Rebel seeing me showing, and with three babies instead of one, that’s likely to happen much quicker than I’m ready for.
Thinking about Rebel finding out about the babies puts my stomach in knots. He clearly cares about me, but he’s also a loose cannon. Would he get angry with me? Would he make me get rid of them? Would he want to raise them with me?
No, that’s stupid.
Men like Rebel don’t raise babies.
I would definitely be on my own in taking care of them, even if Rebel and I decided to be together and collaborate. He doesn’t strike me as being particularly egalitarian. I’m almost positive that he’d be gone on dangerous missions nearly every day while I’m home by myself, up to my eyeballs in dirty laundry and dishes while the kids run wild.
What would it be like to have a family with such a dangerous person? Would someone come after us to get even with him? I picture him waking me up in the dead of night to gather the kids and escape to a safehouse before our windows get sprayed with bullets from a machine gun. If I think any more about this, I’m going to give myself an ulcer.
A future of destitution and uncertainty flashes before my eyes. I have visions of visiting Rebel in prison with all the kids in tow, dressed head to toe in rags because all of Rebel’s dirty money has been seized by the FBI.
We would live in government housing, or witness protection if I didn’t get somehow convicted of guilt by association, in which case the children would be split up and thrown into foster care with families who forget their names and only feed them frozen meals.
I’m at a loss for ideas. I just have to ride this one out and see what happens. It’s not a comforting realization, but I don’t have anything clever. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe I never well.
