Alexandra: Romania I (Bruiser's story)
Author’s note:
Hey everyone ❤️
This book will stay ongoing while I'm writing the series, as I will add bonus chapters for each book here, instead of at the end of each book.
The first two chapters here are Lex&Stone's POV of what happened in Romania during Bruiser's story (2nd book) and their reunion.
I hope you’ll enjoy them ❤️
-Bee
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I shouldn’t have come back.
The thought wasn’t a whisper; it was a scream in my head. I didn’t really mean it, but as I watched the man in the leather jacket, it was all I could think about. He wasn’t just some Romanian street thug.
“Oh, God,” I breathed. My stomach did a slow, nauseating roll that had nothing to do with the baby.
Addie was looking at me, her eyes wide with a confusion. She saw just a man; I saw a Romanian criminal with our names written in blood.
“Don’t look at him again,” I hissed, grabbing her wrist. My grip was probably too tight, but I needed her to listen to me.
My mind was already racing. I wasn’t the girl who ran anymore. I was a woman who had survived a kidnapping and stopped a trafficking ring from being born in my husband’s club.
As we ducked into the cleaning closet, the smell of bleach hit me, sharp and clinical. It reminded me of the infirmary where I’d first met Ella. I pressed my back against the door, the metal cold through my jacket. I could feel the baby kick—a tiny, frantic movement as if he knew his mother’s heart was trying to beat its way out of her chest.
The voice outside the door—“Stone’ whore”—made my blood turn to ice. They didn’t even see me as a person. I was leverage. A price tag on Stone’s back. I looked at Addie in the dark. She was the “success story,” the one who stayed on the path. But right now, her PhD didn’t mean shit. The only thing that mattered was that she followed my lead, or we were both going to end up in a shipping container.
“Let’s go,” I whispered as the footsteps faded.
The silence after the footsteps faded was heavier than the noise. I could hear Addie’s breath—shallow, jagged, terrified. She was looking at me like I was a stranger, and in a way, I was. The girl she’d grown up with in the village didn’t know how to calculate exit strategies. But that girl wouldn’t survive the next hour.
We slipped out of the closet. My hand stayed over my stomach, a protective reflex I couldn’t suppress. Every time my heart hammered against my ribs, I felt a sharp, twisting anxiety. I’m sorry, little one, I thought, closing my eyes for a split second. I’m so sorry I brought you to the wolves. For a moment, the fear threatened to paralyze me.
I thought of Cole. I thought of the nursery we’d just started painting. I thought of the way he’d looked at me the morning I left, pleading for me to stay. If I died here, he’d never recover. He’d burn the world down.
No.
I shoved the fear into a dark corner of my mind and slammed the door. Fear was a luxury for people who weren’t being hunted. I wasn’t stupid for coming back. I had to save Addie. I didn’t regret it, but I had to finish it.
The mall felt like a labyrinth designed by a sadist. Every reflective surface was a threat. We moved through the back corridors, the air smelling of trash and damp concrete. When we reached the loading docks, I didn’t hesitate. I saw a delivery van.
I didn’t ask. I commanded. I threw the last of my American currency at the driver, my voice dropping into that low, lethal register I’d learned from watching Cole handle the club.
The drive was a blur of adrenaline and nausea. I was on the phone with Cole, hearing the raw, jagged desperation in his voice. It tore at me. I wanted to tell him I was scared. I wanted to cry. But I had to be strong. I had to coordinate with Cyber. I had to keep a terrified driver from bolting.
The flight from Budapest to JFK was a fever dream. I sat in that pressurized cabin, staring at the back of my eyelids. Every time the plane jolted, I felt a phantom pain in my abdomen, a terrifying “what if.” I was exhausted, the kind of bone-deep tired that makes your teeth ache.
As the Iron Skulls’ SUV pulled onto the Teterboro tarmac and I saw that small private jet, I felt lighter.
“Last leg,” I told Addie, squeezing her hand. My voice was steady, even if my soul was shaking.
The final flight across the States was the longest of my life. I couldn’t sleep. I watched the sunrise crawl over the mountains, the gold light feeling like a benediction. I kept my hand on my stomach the whole time, a constant silent prayer.
We’re almost there. He’s waiting.
When the wheels touched down in Salinas, I didn’t wait for the “all clear.” The second that door hissed open, the smell of home hit me like a physical force.
I saw him.
Cole was standing there, looking like he’d been carved out of the very mountains surrounding us. He looked older, grayer, his posture so rigid it looked painful.
I ran.
I didn’t care about the stairs. I hit him at full speed, and for the first time in forty-eight hours, I let go.
His arms wrapped around me, hauling me off my feet, and I felt the sob break out of my throat. He was shaking. The man who feared nothing, was vibrating with a terror so pure it broke my heart.
“I have you,” he rasped into my hair, his voice a broken wreck. “Fuck, baby. I have you.”
I buried my face in his neck, breathing in the scent of his leather and his skin. The fear, the adrenaline, the guilt—it all poured out of me into his chest. I had saved my best friend. I had brought our baby home. I was a mess, a target, and a fool.
But as Cole pressed his large, calloused hand over my stomach, checking for the life inside with a reverence that made my knees weak, I knew I’d do it all again.
“I’m sorry,” I sobbed into his vest. “Cole, I’m so sorry.”
“Shut up,” he whispered, his grip tightening until I could feel his heartbeat against mine. “You’re home. That’s the only thing that matters. You’re home.”
