Leverage (The Mistaken Series)

by Nancy S Thompson

  Her knees were pressed together as her legs jittered up and down, and she was wringing her hands while her body rocked back and forth. But it was her face that twisted my insides all around, making me question whether I should leave without her. Tears stained her bright pink cheeks, her eyes were swollen and red-rimmed, and she was gnawing on her bottom lip. The girl looked a nervous wreck, and when the person with her passed by the door, I realized why.

  I froze, my eyes riveted to the man determined to destroy my family. Greg stopped pacing and stood in front of Katy then stooped down to look her in the eye.

  “How could you be so stupid, Katya, to let yourself get pregnant? Are you fucking mad?” he asked. “Do you even comprehend how high the stakes are here? I’ve waited years. And after that fiasco with your father last year, another bloody delay… This is a complication I’m not prepared for. There’s no way you can finish your job now.”

  When Katy began sobbing again, Greg stood up and resumed pacing, one arm crossed over his ribs as he nibbled thoughtfully on his thumbnail. “I’ll have to salvage this somehow, but… Wait,” he said as he stopped and spun around, obviously struck by an idea.

  He looked at Katy and smiled then leaned back and laughed as he smacked his thighs with his palms. Confused and overwrought, Katy stared at him like he was crazy.

  Greg pointed his finger at her and shook it. “Brilliant! Absolutely bloody fucking brilliant!” He raised both hands, palms up. “Just a slight shifting of the pawns.” He laughed once more. “Oh, yes, quite brilliant, indeed!”

  Katy’s expression turned to disgust. “It’s not a pawn!” she objected. “It’s a baby! My baby.”

  “And now my problem, thanks to you.”

  She stood from the bed. “Jesus, how can you be so callous?”

  “Me?” Greg replied, a hand to his chest. “It was your bright idea to undergo a beating just to convince your boy-toy not to kick you to the curb, even though you knew you were pregnant.” He pulled his chin in close. “And you call me callous.”

  I covered my mouth with both hands. What the hell?

  “Well, it worked, didn’t it?” Katy approached him, her hands out—shaking, yes—but beckoning him, calling him near. This was not a woman afraid, at least not of him. No, the way she called to him, the way she needed him…this was a woman concerned, a woman worried about what she might lose. “Greg, please, I’m not part of your game. You know this baby could just as easily be yours.”

  Even more stunned, I stumbled into the door with a gasp.

  It swung wide, and they both spun around and saw me.

  CHAPTER 38

  Hannah

  I moved away from the door, into the hall, my heart lodged in my throat as I backed into the far wall. Greg stood in the middle of the bedroom, staring at me with a disappointed frown. His shoulders rose and fell with a deep sigh, and he shook his head, as if he were about to scold me. Instead, he stomped across the bedroom toward the door, Katy chasing after him.

  “Greg, wait,” she called out, her hand at his arm.

  He simply tore himself free as he dipped his hand into his jacket pocket and pulled out his cell. That was my cue to run.

  I looked both ways then dashed for the stairs. I heard Greg’s voice close behind me. Grabbing the wood rail with one hand while wrapping my other arm around my belly, I tread down the first few stairs carefully, but when I heard Greg on my heels, barking orders into his phone, I bolted as fast as I could. Then I felt his fingers graze my shoulder, and I twisted away, teetered to one side. One foot caught the other, and I pitched forward, still five steps above the midway landing.

  I tried to keep my hand on the rail, to stop myself from plunging face-forward onto the small mezzanine, but my center of gravity was too far forward, and all I could do was reach out and hopefully catch my fall. My inertia pounded me into the landing, and I rolled onto by belly, shrieking as a sharp jolt of pain shot through me. I skidded across the carpeted landing and came to a halt just before tumbling down the next step.

  Panting through the pain, I looked over my shoulder and saw Greg stalled halfway down the first set of stairs, his brow low and his mouth mashed into an angry fissure. Again, he shook his head in disapproval. I swung my legs over the step and reached for the railing, pulling myself up as I moaned. But I couldn’t even stand up straight. Doubled over, I limped slowly down the lower set of stairs, my hands squeaking over the rail as I held myself up.

  Sweat beaded across my forehead, trickled down over my temples, and dripped between my swelled breasts. And just as I reached the bottom of the stairs, it slicked my palms to the point I could no longer keep hold onto the railing. My hand slipped away, and I fell to my knees on the cold tile floor, panting in pain and exertion. I groaned aloud. The sound echoed across the cavernous entry with its high ceiling and polished marble floor.

  With both arms curled around my middle and my eyes pressed tight, I sucked a loud breath through my teeth. I started to pant, quick and shallow, as the contraction ratcheted up for a good thirty seconds. It clamped down on my belly and stretched across the small of my back. Then it slowly eased, receding in short waves as my muscles quivered and began to relax. With one last cleansing breath, I sighed and opened my eyes then swung my head around so I could locate Greg.

  Before me were two of his burley-chested, thick-armed goons, their eyes pinned on Greg, silently questioning what they were supposed to do with me, an eight-month’s pregnant woman, obviously injured and now in labor. Behind me, Greg sauntered unhurriedly down the last few stairs. He tsk’d me with a churlishly clicking tongue as he shook his head in reproach.

  “What is it with you Karras women?” he asked with disdain. “Always so reckless with your unborn children.”

  I sat back on my heels and glared up at him. “This is your fault. You did this.”

  He put a hand to his chest. “No, no, no, not I, Mrs. Karras. I’ve gone above and beyond to make sure you were safe and comfortable.”

  I scowled at him, shocked and utterly outraged. “You are a very sick young man.”

  He crossed one arm over the other and drummed his fingers impatiently above his elbow as he studied me. “I fear you misunderstand me, Hannah. May I call you Hannah? Mrs. Karras seems so…formal,” he explained with a swish of one hand. “And you and I are about to become rather…close.” He smiled, but it was chilling, evil, and I couldn’t help but shudder as another contraction seized me.

  I rocked on my knees, my arms tight around my belly, the muscles rippling beneath my fingers. “Please,” I ground out harshly. “I need to go to the hospital. My baby!” I begged.

  Greg stooped low to the floor, put his hands on my arm, and stroked it. “Yes, you need a doctor, and I have just the thing.” Looking up at his men towering above us, he snapped his fingers and directed one of them to my side. “Grab her arm,” he ordered, then directed his attention to me. “Let’s get you more comfortable first, shall we? Come, back into the den. There’s a cheery fire burning, and you already know how comfy the sofa is. Please, let us help you,” he said as they stood me up.

  In defiance, I wrenched free of his guard, but Greg held firm. With a sharp jerk, he turned me around to face him squarely, both hands on my arms.

  “You don’t want to lose your baby, now do you, Hannah?”

  He looked deep into my eyes, and I saw and felt an evil so dark and abhorrent, I began to quake all over.

  “I didn’t think so,” he added with a hint of a grin. Then he spun me around slowly and walked me through the entry foyer, down a dark hall, and back into his den.

  As he sat me down on the sofa, another contraction tore through me, and, God help me, I was relieved to feel Greg’s hand rub small circles along my lower back. He looked over his shoulder and barked, “Summon Dr. Jelavich immediately!” to his man in the doorway. “I want him here right away. We’ve a child to save.”

  I turned my face into the sofa an
d sobbed.

  ***

  Twenty excruciating minutes later, an old man, easily in his late seventies, bustled into Greg’s den. He was slight, stooped, and bald with just a few wispy hairs combed over his shiny head. Gold wire-rimmed glasses sat perched at the end of his thin nose, covering gentle, blue eyes that sparkled with energy, belying his advanced age and the incensed set of his narrow lips. He didn’t look very happy at being summoned here, but when he caught sight of me rocking along the edge of the sofa, Greg at my side with my hand involuntarily in his, he hesitated for a brief moment then fixed a reassuring smile on his face. He rushed over to join us, placing his worn, black bag on the coffee table before offering his hand to my host.

  “Dmitriev,” he said by way of greeting. He added a curt nod as he shook Greg’s hand.

  With a pat to mine, Greg stood and gestured toward me with a swing of his arm. “Stepan, I’d like you to meet Hannah. Hannah?” he said, turning back to me, “This is Dr. Jelavich. He’s an old family friend and trusted physician. I believe the good doctor has delivered his fair share of newborns, so he should prove to be quite useful during your stay. Doctor, Hannah, I leave you to it.” Greg bowed slightly, turned, and started to walk away.

  The doctor turned and spoke gruffly in Russian. Greg came up short just as reached his desk. He spun on his heel, his brow raised, and an impatient grin tightening his mouth.

  “I’ve done nothing, Stepan. Hannah just had a slight tumble down the stairs and has been experiencing a few…twinges. I thought it best she be examined and called you. Now, if you would please see to my guest, I would be most appreciative, and—ah, ah, ah,” he said when the doctor tried to interrupt him, his finger raised in warning. “Stepan? Do your job. Clear?” he asked, but it felt much more like a warning than a question.

  It looked as though the doctor was yet another soul under Greg’s thumb. He gave Greg a long, hard stare then bowed his head in deference. Greg returned the gesture before he swung back around and slumped into his desk chair. With a sigh, the doctor turned his attention on me as I continued to rock, moan, and pant my way through another contraction.

  He motioned toward the sofa. “Please, Hannah, lie back. Try to relax,” he commanded in strongly accented English.

  He opened his bag and rooted around, pulling out a stethoscope and blood pressure cuff. He put the stethoscope to his ears and warmed the chestpiece with a long, hot breath.

  “May I?” he inquired politely, to which I nodded. He listened to my heart, front and back, then took my blood pressure, mumbling “Good, good,” after each procedure.

  With a brief glance toward Greg, he looked back down at me with kindness and sympathy, resigned to his impotent role of caretaker. “So, you fell then, eh?” he asked.

  I simply nodded.

  He tightened his mouth. “Hannah, do not fear me,” he whispered. “Whatever has happened here, I am now your physician. You can trust me to act in your best interest. I will help you, regardless of what my…of what Grigory has done. You are safe with me, I promise.

  I nodded once more, and the doctor smiled warmly, genuinely.

  “Good. Now, tell me, have you had any other children?” he asked, and I confirmed. “Live births?” I raised a finger. “Good. Then tell me, how far apart are your contractions?”

  “They’re…intermittent, sometimes sharp, not like a regular contraction.”

  He held up his stethoscope. “May I listen?” he asked, his hand on my belly, and I nodded yet again.

  Careful to preserve my modesty, he slipped the disk under my dress and listened intently with his eyes closed, moving the disk all over my swelled abdomen for what felt like a full five minutes. When I started to moan and clasped my hands over my belly, he pulled back and straightened my dress into place as I rocked my head from side to side.

  “Any spotting?” he inquired, his brow scrunched in concern.

  “I…don’t…know,” I panted in clipped, shallow breaths.

  It was his turn to nod, adding another reassuring grin, however forced and insincere. He patted my arm and rose then approached Greg, who stood and leaned back against his desk.

  “Well?” Greg asked.

  “She needs to be admitted to the hospital where she can be monitored,” he answered.

  Greg raised his brow and shook his head. “That’s not going to happen, Stepan. You are her only hope, I’m afraid. So do everything in your power and see to it both mother and child survive. That’s an order.”

  The doctor huffed in frustration. “Fine. I suppose I can administer something to help stop labor, but it’s not a definitive solution. It might not work.”

  Greg clapped the doctor on his shoulder. “Then be prepared to deliver the child.”

  I choked on a sob at his words.

  “Dmitriev!” the doctor bellowed then softened his voice. “Grigory, please, we must take this woman to the hospital immediately. I insist.”

  Greg smoothed his face over in feigned patience. “Stepan, I am deeply offended that you would consider disobeying a direct order.”

  “I am not your employee, Dmitriev, and therefore do not take orders from you.”

  “Oh, but you do, Stepan. After all, that was the arrangement you had with my father, was it not?” Greg asked. “I can surely check the records, but I’m rather certain your deal was to do whatever Dmitri asked, and, in turn, my father would make sure you stayed out of prison. As always, I am honoring that arrangement.”

  Greg offered an amused grin, and the doctor snapped his mouth shut. He walked back to his bag and pulled out a vial and packaged syringe, filling the chamber with a specific amount of the clear medication. After disinfecting a spot in the crook of my elbow, the doctor tapped the syringe then carefully injected the drug into my arm.

  “She’s going to need an IV drip,” the doctor warned as he peeked up at Greg. “And she should be resting in bed, not here on this couch.”

  “I’ll take care of the bed,” Greg agreed. “You handle the IV.”

  Doctor Jelavich patted my hand. “You’re in good hands. I’ve handled many deliveries.”

  I offered a smile in gratitude, but I was very apprehensive, and I’m sure my expression spoke volumes to that end.

  “I’ll be back soon with everything necessary, just in case. Don’t you worry.”

  I snorted. “How can I not? You’re leaving me in the care of a madman.”

  With a sympathetic look, the doctor gathered his bag, tipped his head at Greg, and left. Greg leaned his head through the door and snapped for one of his men who immediately appeared before him.

  “Danill, gently carry Hannah back up to her room.” His man nodded and closed the distance between us while Greg turned his gaze on me. “And you, my dear Hannah, might consider reining in that tongue of yours, or I might be tempted to show you just how mad I truly am.” With that, he smiled and left.

  CHAPTER 39

  Hannah

  Greg’s minion was a mountain of a man, much closer to seven feet than six, his shoulders nearly as wide as he was tall, and his chest so immense, I don’t know how he kept from bursting through the buttons on his dress shirt. The sight of his arms as they bulged into three distinct masses beneath his suit jacket was intimidating. His face, though, was pleasant, younger than mine, but not by much, early thirties perhaps, with caramel-colored eyes, a square jaw, and an aquiline nose. If he wasn’t so threatening, he’d be beautiful. But he was threatening, positively frightening, in fact, and I cringed as he bent down to scoop me up.

  I batted at his hands. “No, please, leave me be!” I begged as I squirmed in my seat, resisting his efforts as much as I could.

  He released a frustrated sigh then sat down along the edge of the cocktail table, an empathetic smile stretched across his face. He leaned forward with one elbow on his knee and offered me his other hand.

  “I’m very sorry, miss,” he said in the twangiest English accent I�
�d ever heard, like Eliza Doolittle in My Fair Lady. “My name is Danill, but ev’ryone ‘round ‘ere calls me Danny. I s’pose you can, too, if you’d like. Go on, then, take it. I won’t ‘urt you none,” he urged, and I accepted his handshake. “An’ what shall I be callin’ you, now, miss?” he asked, and I couldn’t help but soften as his warm eyes sparkled with genuine cordiality.

  “Um…Hannah. You can call me Hannah.”

  “Oh, right, I ‘eard Dmitriev call you that earlier. Very pretty, as are you.”

  I forced a weak smile and mumbled, “Thank you,” before a question rose in my head. “Um…Danny…why do you call him Dmitriev? I thought Greg was a Chernov.”

  “Yeah, ‘e is, but…’e took that name back in London to protect himself from bein’ recognized, an’ as a way to honor his da. ‘E’s kind oov a complicated fella, Grig is, an’ a bit scary, too, which is why I need to get you up to your bedroom straight away,” he said and tried to pick me up again.

  “No, stop! It’s not my room and you know it,” I complained and looked him in the eye. “Danny, you seem so…nice. How can you do Greg’s bidding? Don’t you have a conscience?”

  The man returned a fathomless gaze and sighed, his shoulders seemingly deflating to half their original size. “Miss ‘annah, I’m only tellin’ ya this ‘cause I’ve ‘eard a bit oov your story. See, I’m from a neighborhood called North Tottenham, on the northern side oov London. I lived there with me parents and l’il sister. Our folks, like most people there, were immigrants, from a tiny mining town in Russia. They came to London with noothin’. The neighborhood’s poor, no jobs, lots oov gangs—Caribes, Russians, Turks—not to mention the police.

  “When I a boy, there were skirmishes with the police after a woman died durin’ a police search. An officer died in the rioting, an’ the police reacted. Me da was ‘urt in the ruckus an’ died a slow, painful death from infection ‘cause ‘e couldn’t afford to go to ‘ospital. Me mum was left ta take care of me an’ me l’il sister, Dariya, just a wee babe. She worked long hours for a lotta years, an’ wasn’t really ‘ome much to watch after us.