Page 39 of Stolen By the Bratva King

“What’s the proof on it?” Vlad inspects the bottle. “One shot equals a forty-five minute coma?”

I smirk at him. “You’re weak.”

He feigns offense, then pours himself another to prove me wrong. “Only when it comes to women. I guess we’re not all that different.”

I glare at him. “Watch your tongue or you’ll be leaving without it.”

A chuckle escapes his mouth. “Let’s just keep drinking. It’s safer.”

“Can’t argue with that.” I pour another, lift my glass, and clink it against his. Another round goes down the hatch.

The alcohol burns in my throat, warms through my veins, makes my senses dull. I yank the bottle and my shot glass off the counter and weave my way to the living room where I plop down on the couch, releasing a loud belch.

Vlad meets me and sits in the recliner opposite me, but he doesn’t lean back. He props his elbows on his knees and continues giving me that intense stare down as if he’s ready to interrogate me. “I will get my guys on the details of tonight’s shooting.”

“I don’t want to talk about work.” My vision swims.

Vlad rubs his forehead. His eyes are bloodshot, probably mirroring mine. “No problem, but we should probably get ahead of Oleg before he does something really stupid.”

I try to bring Vlad’s face into focus but my vision’s blurry with alcohol. “He’s already done a lot of stupid things.”

“I know.” I can’t tell if Vlad is nodding in agreement, or if he’s nodding because he’s drunk.

“You know, it’s really messed up that Hazel left me,” I blurt out. The truth is not afraid to come to the surface when one is impaired.

Vlad’s head tips up, but his eyes are glossy and narrowed as if he’s trying to focus on me and can’t. “You say it like you were in a relationship with her.”

I tap my finger against the armrest of the couch. “Nothing like that.”

“Oh.” Vlad frowns. “But you still act like it’s a loss.”

I explode into drunken laughter at his frown. “Does that disappoint you?”

“I just want you to be careful with her. You say you trust her but…”

My spine snaps straight and I glare at Vlad. He’s my most trusted advisor, yes, but he needs to watch his step. “Idotrust her, and it would be in your best interest to remember who you’re speaking to.”

Vlad’s face is flushed, but it’s because of the alcohol, not because he’s embarrassed. “I thought you didn’t want to talk about work?”

My jaw clenches. “Can you not grin at me like that?”

“Like what?” He grins harder.

“Like that. I’m going to punch you,” I say without a hint of amusement.

His smile fades, his mouth dripping down his chin. I know it’s not really happening, but my drunken mind is playing tricks on me.

I sigh and lean forward, scrubbing my hands over my face. “I need to go to bed.”

“I thought we were going to drown our sorrows?” Vlad slurs.

“I think we’re managing that quite well,” I admit.

Vlad bursts into hysterical laughter.

“What the hell is so funny?” I scowl. I’m in the mood to be an angry, mean drunk, not a free-spirited, light-hearted one.

Vlad throws his head back and rocks in the recliner, his mouth open in a bellowing laugh.

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