Page 45 of Stolen By the Bratva King

“I thought it wasyou,” I say. “Did something fall out there?”

Before Vlad can answer, another loud thud comes from the front of the condo. Vlad and I freeze, staring at each other. My heart crashes against my ribcage.

“Police!” a male voice pierces through the momentary silence.

Vlad instinctively spins on a heel toward the sliding glass doors in the living room, but he’s too groggy with sleep and still too drunk. His motor skills fail him, and he trips over the rug, tumbling over the coffee table, glass shards spraying as he slams into it. He rolls off the side and hits the ground with a heavy thud.

“Goddamn it!” I roar.

The front door crashes open, splinters of wood flying everywhere from the broken door frame.

I try to scream, but the sound gets strangled at the base of my throat.

A sea of black and metal swarms inside my apartment. In my drunken stupor, instead of bolting like Vlad just tried to do, a surge of anger sends adrenaline swirling through my veins. I leap forward, throwing myself to the middle of the circling men in uniform.

“Where’s your warrant?” I snarl, my fists raised, ready to defend myself and protect my home.

“Right here,” one of the officer’s snarls right back, his smile without humor. His eyes are glaring slits.

He holds up a piece of paper and shoves it at my chest. I take it and squeeze it in my fist, throwing the crumpled ball to the floor without bothering to read it.

I send a glacial glare right back to him. “What grounds do you have storming into my home in the middle of the night like this?”

The scathing smirk grows on the officer’s face, and I have to use all my willpower not to pummel his face with my knuckles. But I relish the way the crunch of cheekbone would sound.

Alcohol and fury send me spiraling into this urgent need to become violent.

However, now that the police are in my house, Vlad gets a second wind himself and rushes up behind me. He tries to rein me in, grabbing my wrists and yanking me backward.

“Let go of me,” I spit through clenched teeth.

My fists fly, punching nothing but air. I’m clumsy and slurring. The alcohol sloshes through my brain, giving me a drowning sensation.

My arms and legs won’t cooperate and do what I want them to do. I curse myself for drinking so much. I know better.

My job is too important, and I should never allow myself these mental slips. That’s how much of a chokehold Hazel has over me, and I need to get myself under control. Forgetting her is in my best interest.

“I’m trying to help you.” Vlad’s voice is a low rumble, and his breath is hot on the back of my neck.

“David Petrov, you’re under arrest for the illegal possession of a murder weapon used in the recent shooting of a judge…” the rest of the officer’s words fade out and I hear nothing but a severe buzzing in my ears.

In that moment, I see red. I charge forward, veins in my neck and temples straining under my skin.

“David!” Vlad’s warning voice shouts, but it’s too late. I’m lumbering toward the arresting officers.

One of them slams me so hard into the wall, an explosion of white stars bursts in my vision.

Pain zaps through my head and I groan against it. “Fuck you!”

“Just comply.” Vlad’s urging voice rings through again.

“I didn’t do anything,” I shout.

“That’s what all criminals say,” a tubby officer with frizzy, carrot colored hair laughs as if he loves bursting into people’s homes unannounced. “Stay still, or I’ll tact on a resisting charge,” he adds as I squirm in his grasp.

A desperate fight or flight response barrels through my system. I snatch my hands away from him. The next several seconds are hands and fists and arms slapping, punching and legs kicking.

I hear the officers breathing coming out sharp and rushed. The crackle of his radio hisses near my ear.

---