Page 40 of Stolen By the Bratva King

I roll my eyes. “Will you shut the hell up please? You’re giving me a headache. What are you even laughing at?”

“You’re in love,” Vlad exclaims.

When he says it, my heart hammers in my chest so hard that it hurts, and all the blood rushes to my brain and makes me dizzy. My face is on fire like he threw gasoline in it and set it aflame.

“You’re wrong. You have no idea what you’re talking about,” I hiss, scraping my fingers across my thighs.

“Calm down, Dave. What’s so bad about being in love? Especially if it means you get a nice woman to warm your bed at night.”

I fly off the couch and march in Vlad’s direction. I loom over him. He stops rocking and his face grows as pale as the moonlight. It’s almost silver. “Be careful what you say to me if you don’t want me to pummel your face until it looks like a splattered melon.”

Vlad’s skin glistens with a slick layer of sweat beading at his temples and above his brows. “Relax, boss. It was just a joke.”

“It wasn’t a funny one,” I growl.

Vlad straightens in his seat. “Maybe I should go.”

“You’re too drunk to drive,” I tell him.

I return to the couch and collapse. I release a long exhale, my body deflating.

Vlad’s apologetic stammer comes a moment later across the room. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I crossed a line.”

“Don’t worry about it.” I close my eyes to keep the room from spinning. “I overreacted because of the alcohol. I need to stop drinking.”

Vlad is quiet. I use the time to dissect what he said, as well as I can with an intoxicated brain. He’s wrong. I’m not in love with Hazel. I barely even know her, and she abandoned me.

No. That’s not the right word.

She quit.

I meant what I said, earlier. The bratva life is not for her. It’s for the best that she disappears from my life. I don’t need to get involved with a woman,anywoman. I have a business to run, and it’s falling apart on me as it is, without female drama.

The low rumbling sound of Vlad’s snoring ruptures the silence. I count to three inside my head and lug myself to a standing position.

I leave Vlad where he is, head tipped back in the recliner, arm thrown haphazardly over the side. I stumble down the hallway to the bathroom. My bladder is nearly splitting. I switch on the light and groan as the harsh vanity bulbs burn my retinas.

I dig my palms into my eyes sockets and try again, blinking into the mirror. My reflection reveals how haggard I feel inside.

As I relieve myself, nausea spins into my stomach and almost sends me to my knees. The wall in front of me is cool and firm, providing me with stability as I lean over the bowl, taking slow, deep breaths.

I close my eyes and wait for the swell of sick to fizzle out, which it thankfully does. I swallow the bile back down my throat and flush, fumbling with my hands on the wall to stay upright.

I don’t look in the mirror on my way out of the bathroom. The man who would stares back at me is not someone I want to face today.

Alcohol is a temporary fix, but reality is pressing into the base of my skull, demanding attention. I squeeze my eyes shut and roar like a bear, clenching my teeth.

Why does this woman have such a strangle hold on me? My pulse is too fast. Sweat and nausea makes my shirt cling to my back. I need to go to bed and sleep it off.

I can’t stand Hazel for putting me through this, but I hate myself more for allowing it.

I don’t have my father. I lost the support of the woman who I didn’t’ realize until now was helping keep me glued together.

My crew is in shambles, my best captain passed out cold in my living room.

I’m losing control, and I need to find a way to fix it all.

So, why do I miss Hazel to a point where it’s becoming a physical pain, starting in my heart, and spreading like a disease through my body? I can’t breathe without her. I’m suffering alone, a void in my soul that’s becoming a crater in her absence.

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