Page 3 of Cruel Bratva King

Eva was a fashion designer, which meant her fashion sense was perfect—or close to it. She wore a black leather skirt that barely covered her ass, a puffy-sleeved pink top and an ankle-length heel.

She was beautiful, and I was just there, messed up.

She placed the bottle of tequila and glasses on the coffee table. “Tell me what happened. Don’t start with Lila, she was old already, and her death was expected, so skip to the next story.”

I huffed as I made my way to the cushion and crashed on it, propping my legs on Eva’s. “I lost a case today.”

“The case with Mr. Conner?”

I nodded. “He’d lied about paying his taxes. It turned out the plaintiff had evidence that he’d falsified the information on his tax return.”

Eva’s jaw fell open. “Why the fuck did he do that?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Mr. Conner wasn’t a prestigious businessman, and it didn’t surprise me that he’d stooped that low to avoid paying his taxes.

“It is,” she answered. She opened the tequila and poured some into the glasses. “And the rent?” she asked, handing one of the drinks.

“Derrick used the rent to buy stuff for his baby.” I narrated my call with Derrick to Eva, and by the time I was done, I could see her visibly get upset.

“We should call the cops on him,” she suggested. “I told you sooner that he was an asshole, but you didn’t listen.”

She had, but I was too blinded by my feelings to listen. “I don’t think that will be necessary.”

Her eyes widen. “Why? You don’t plan on letting him get away with it, do you?”

I didn’t want him to, but with a baby on the way and a pregnant girlfriend, I knew Derrick wouldn’t be able to pay me back, even if his life depended on it. I also didn’t want to get involved with him again after the way things ended between us. Our breakup had taken a toll on me, and I didn’t want to put myself through that a second time.

“Forget him. I’ll figure it out.”

A minute passed, and Eva reluctantly agreed. She finished her drink, and I hadn’t even taken a sip out of mine. “This won’t do,” she said, wincing. “It’s Friday night.”

She pinned her gaze on me. “What happens on Friday night?” I was totally lost.

“We party on Friday night.” She slammed her glass on the table. “Dress up, you need a night out, and I’m taking you to the biggest club in Chicago.”

I shook my head, depressed from the thousands of thoughts in my head. “I’m not up for it.”

“Well, I insist.”

“I’m sleepy.”

“You’ll sleep better after a few shots of liquor and an hour of dancing.” She stood, grabbed my hand, and dragged me out of the cushion. “Who knows, you may meet a sexy guy in the club tonight.”

“No, Eva. No sexy guys, I’m too exhausted for all of that.”

Two hours later, I was in the middle of a club, squinting my eyes to protect them from the flickering Neon lights and frustrated at the loud music in the background. My ear drums were being tormented, but Eva had the opposite reaction to it; she was smiling and dancing.

“Don’t just stand there like a stick,” she yelled to me. “Dance.”

“I’m too tired to dance,” I yelled back at her. “I’ll just watch you dance.”

“Fine then.” She emptied her shot of liquor down her throat and went to dance with one of the guys who had his eyes on her. He’d been winking at her since we entered the club thirty minutes ago.

Alone now, I placed Eva’s glass on a tray and walked by one of the strippers in the club before I retreated to the club's bar and pulled out a stool. I hailed the bartender. “A glass of Martini, please.”

“Make it two,” a deep, thundering voice, thick with a Russian accent, said beside me.

I whirled around to the source of the voice.

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