Page 41 of Stolen By the Bratva King

I’m drunk enough to admit to myself that I need her. I can’t survive without her.

But she hates me, and I’ll never get her back. The only thing I can do is try to piece together an organization that’s falling apart faster than I can keep up with and pray that’s enough. If not, this could really be the end of me.

15

Hazel

Isend another file to the recycle bin, then another, repeating the process over and over until everything I’ve ever written about David has been deleted from my laptop.

Anxiety seeps into my bones and festers like a sickness.

The blank screen stares at me as tears press into my eyes. My chin quivers and I draw in a deep breath. Its shaky, but I successfully will myself not to cry.

I won’t cry over this. Not overhim.

David hasn’t been in my life long enough to have the power to destroy me. I’m not the type of woman who falls apart over a man anyway. I’ve always been much stronger than that, fiercely independent to the point of fault. This time, it seems to be working in my favor.

I crack my knuckles and get a second wind of resolve. I pull up suggested articles, fluff pieces, clickbait stories about celebrities from a list Robert gave me several weeks ago.

I read through the bits and sigh, wondering if this is really all I’m cut out to handle. I try to write up the piece, but I’m only two paragraphs in when the frustration hits me like a punch to the stomach.

“I can’t do this,” I say out loud, to no one. The response I get is the unyielding silence filling my apartment.

I lean back in my chair and stare at the screen, at the ridiculous words I just wrote for the clickbait celebrity story.

It’s something I don’t care about, feel no connection to, that I don’t want my name attached to. I curse myself, Robert, and David. I don’t know who I’m angrier at out of the three of us.

I’m losing control of my life, of my choices, of my fizzling spirit. A well of tears successfully pushes their way to the front of my eyes, streaming down my face, hot and salty.

My shoulders shake with sobs that I desperately try to suppress, but once the gates are open, they flow freely, breaking loose inside my chest.

I stand up and scream. There’s so much agony in it, I startle myself. I hate Robert for always pushing these silly stories on me, not letting me explore outside my comfort zone, always holding me back from my talents and potential.

But then I hate myself even more because I insisted I be given more serious, hard-hitting, difference making stories. Now that I’m in the thick of it, the pressure is too much, and I’mstillgoingto fail. I hate to admit that Robert has been right all along about me.

And I hate David for stealing my heart, for luring me into his bed, for taking my breath just by looking at me. The memory of him haunts me like a dark shadow following me everywhere, lurking just behind my shoulder.

“Why are you doing this to me?” I whisper to no one, choking out the words, wishing I had the answers, wishing someone cared enough to listen.

I can’t even take my own advice, so why should I expect anyone else to?

My hands, as if suddenly independent from my brain, pick up the laptop off the desk and throw it across the room.

Another angry scream erupts from my chest, burning in my throat. My laptop slams into the wall. The crack and shatter noise afterward makes me shiver from head to toe and I bite down on my lip until I taste blood.

The laptop falls to the floor, the screen cracked, a mess of color, dangling off the hinge from the keyboard. I turn away, unable to look at what I’ve done.

I storm into the kitchen, panting hard, feeling like a lunatic, as if I’m watching myself from a safe distance, but unable to stop my actions.

I climb onto the counter and rake my fingers across the top of the cabinet over the sink. My fingers find the box I’m looking for and it crinkles in my hand as I pull it down.

I stare down at the pack of cigarettes as if it’s my lifeline. Chest heaving, I yank open the drawer beside the sink and pluck out a lighter, then march to my balcony.

I sag into one of the deck chairs. I got this set on clearance, and I love to read and have a glass of wine out here to relax and unwind after a long day.

It seems like lately, every day is a long day, and there is immense stress to go with it. In this moment, I long for the simplicity of my life before I met David Petrov. More bitterness courses its way through my chest when I think about him.

There are so many what-if’s going through my head. If I could go back in time and tell my past self to stay in the car and never go near that warehouse, I would.

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