Page 5 of Forced Bratva Wife

“Taste, taste.” I grabbed the bottle again. “Water.”

Taking one more swig and returning it, I nodded my head. I was doing better now, and that itchy feeling like something might set me off again faded.

I laid back on my pillow, staring up at the ceiling. It was just more white expanse since I wasn’t able to paint, and therefore, not much to look at. I sat back up. I was too wired to fall back asleep right away, even as that post-panic exhaustion clung to me. Crawling over to the end of the bed, I pulled up a folder from the stack on the floor.

I had some case studies and reports that would give me a brief break before I could finally rest again. So, I grabbed them and made my way back to the head of the bed, where I leaned against the wall since there was no headboard on the platform.

Yanking the covers tighter against my legs, I shivered a bit before settling a bit, then cracked open the manilla-bound book. I had several blank spots in the case reports to fill out from the past week. At least my notes during rotations were excellent.

Taking the pen from the center of the folder, I started referring to the pad of notes I’d taken as I updated the files. I still couldn’t believe I was coming up on the end of my third year of med school. It was Step 2 tests and audition rotations in my future.

“You got this, Parker. You’re fine. If you can handle clerkships at Chicago General, you can do anything.”

I was planning on staying in Chicago for my fourth year and residency because I didn't want to leave the city. This is where I wanted to be. I loved it here, despite all the shit with my father. The city was incredible, and growing up here made me appreciate the amazing public transportation and entertainment options all the more. Not that entertainment has been a thing as of late. Ahh, med school.

Internal medicine with a focus on emergency care was what I’d chosen. I always prided myself on being quick on my feet. Growing up with a shitty alcoholic father did that to you. I loved it. Working fast, the ticking clock demanding that you act immediately, it was almost zen for me. I just blocked everything else out and dealt with the problem in front of me.

At least I had a miraculous two days off this time around. It was practically unheard of to get two in a row and not be on call with one of the residents. But I’d lucked out beyond reason, and I was going to enjoy every damn second of it.

Well, I was going to try to sleep eventually and then enjoy the time.

“Bright, shiny future, dammit. And you are going to love every damn second away from that house.”

My blood ran cold for a moment, and I pushed back the anxiety that wanted to swell forward again. I was out, I reminded myself, and that was already a damn miracle. Pavel Kozlovsky was a possessive, controlling asshole, and one that I didn’t see coming even when he was right there next to me. Doing a good enough job of fucking me up that I’d never once pursued a relationship with anyone. Hell, I barely had girlfriends I could just chat to.

Maybe I didn’t see it sooner, though, because he wasn’t as bad before Mom died. But cancer doesn’t care if you were Rebecca, Pavel’s wife and Parker’s mom, or the damn Queen of England. It was ruthless, especially when it was stage four metastatic breast cancer.

At the beginning of medical school, I briefly considered specializing in oncology. However, the reality of seeing patients constantly succumbing to cancer was too emotionally difficult for me. I wanted to be in a situation where there was a chance to help. Right then and there, I needed to do my best to overcome the problem, but in any case, it wouldn’t linger. I wouldn’t have to watch people fade away over months.

I flipped the page. “Oh, Jimmy. Please tell me you’ll be more careful with fireworks next time.”

The kid had damn near blown his fingers off but instead was left with severe burns. Treating him had been quite eye-opening, especially considering the reality of burn damage. It was impressively effective at destroying more than you would think.

Scrolling down more of the descriptions of Jimmy’s pain management, a yawn stretched my mouth wide. I quickly followed it with a smile. Oh, good. Sleepy.

I closed the folder, deciding I could finish tomorrow, and laid back down. Sleeping in tomorrow sounded fucking wonderful.

Chapter 3 - Lev

My finger was still poised next to the trigger as I frowned at Pavel. Had the fucker really just thrown his daughter on the pyre to save his ass? Christ.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” I cocked a brow at him, leaning forward with the muzzle pressed against the asshole’s forehead.

“My daughter, Parker. You can take her to cover my debts. Please,” he begged. “She’ll make for a good wife. I’m sure of it! She’s…she’s studying to be a doctor. At the hospital now. Sharp as a tack! Really!”

A doctor. The thought piqued my interest. There was always a need for someone with a good set of hands around the house. Injuries happened, after all, and Pavel was speaking pretty highly of her.

Still, she was in school to become a doctor. How much could she know at this point? And would that even be worth the hassle of having to snatch her up and get her back to the house?

Obviously, Pavel knew what kind of people we were, but desperate times and all that. So maybe the fucker really was just terrified, and this was all that he had to offer? I didn’t relish the thought of having to settle for a non-cash prize, and I had a feeling Sergey wouldn’t love it either.

However, a little leverage against a person to use in the future was always a smart idea. If we could figure out who’d been spending the dimes on, that would be valuable. But I still had some questions.

“What happened to the money, Pavel?” I leaned my face closer to his, directing my words right into his ear. “Maybe you tell me that, and I’ll think about this daughter of yours.”

“I…” The guy was stalling again, and my patience, as stated, was lacking.

Jabbing the point of the gun against Pavel’s skull, I yanked him forward by the collar of his cheap shirt and pushed—hard.

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