I slowly open my eyes, and a strong headache spreads from my temples to my forehead.
A burn explodes in my lower lip, and my body feels like a heavy brick.
I prop myself up on my elbows and groan when nausea assaults my throat. Damn it.
I’m not a drinker, so why the hell did I consume so much alcohol…?
Memories from last night hit me in my already-fried brain.
The party, the engagement, the…way Kirill so easily suggested that it’s normal that he has Kristina and me.
I bit and punched him and was so determined to leave, but then a few steps later, I collapsed outside of his bedroom due to the amount of alcohol I consumed on an empty stomach.
He must’ve carried me here. That’s the only way I would’ve ended up in his bed.
I look down at myself and release a breath when I find my crumpled shirt and even my chest bandages intact.
If I’d let him have his way with me after swearing never to go near him, I’d never forgive myself.
The pain that I didn’t even manage to numb with alcohol resurrects from the ashes, and my bleeding heart nearly bursts from the pressure.
My hand balls into a fist, and I hit the center of my chest, but it’s still hard to breathe or even find a reason to breathe.
I start to get out of bed. I can’t stay here where I’m surrounded by his scent. He’s not mine anymore. He’s Kristina Petrova’s.
He was never yours, idiot.
That reminder brings tears to my eyes, and I stumble out of bed so fast, I fall in a heap of covers.
My knees take the hit and I cry harder. Right then, moments from when he carried me back here last night come to me in small bursts.
I grab the edge of the mattress in horror and recall the epic breakdown I had. I should’ve ended it after I punched him, but when he carried me here and laid me on this very bed, I held on to his neck and begged him to be with me.
Oh, shit.
“What does she have that I don’t? Why can’t you be with me?”
“I chose you over my family, so the least you can do is choose me over her.”
“Is it because I’m not feminine enough? Do you hate that I’m like this? I can abandon that, too. I might get killed, but who cares? You certainly don’t, you fucking asshole!”
“I can’t believe I dedicated my life to you, and you so easily replaced me with some beautiful blonde. I’m a blonde, too, by the way. But I have to hide that or else those people will find me.”
Oh, no.
Shit.
Fuck!
I cradle my head between my hands. I can’t believe I said all of that out loud. I was crying, too, and hugging him. Then I pushed him away and cursed him in all the languages I know—including French. When he tried to lay me down on the bed, I punched him in the chest. He let me do whatever my intoxicated brain thought of.
That’s so damn embarrassing.
I really shouldn’t have been allowed to drink. At all.
Especially when I’m heartbroken.
But then again, that’s the reason I started drinking in the first place. I couldn’t stop replaying the image of that woman, his fiancée, hanging on to his arm, and I needed to make it disappear.
Even if only for a moment.
I didn’t know I would make a fool out of myself in the process.
I rack my brain for what else I could’ve said in that hyper mood. It’s a disaster that I mentioned leaving my family. If I also revealed their identity…
No, I don’t think I did.
There was a lot of crying and cursing, though, which contributed to my epic headache.
I touch my forehead and freeze when I recall Kirill’s lips on it last night before he murmured, “You can hate me all you want, curse, hit, and take all your emotions out on me, but you’re not allowed to leave me.”
I think that was around the time I finally fell asleep.
My gaze filters back to the clock. Eleven a.m.
Fuck.
A small knock sounds on the door, and I freeze. If it’s Kirill, I don’t know how the hell I’m going to deal with him. It’s hard enough that he thinks this whole thing is okay. How can he possibly think that he can have the best of both worlds and I’ll be okay with it?
I secretly took pride in how he never looked at any other woman the way he looked at me. Hell, he’s never even looked at other women, and I was the sole object of his desire.
I was even fascinated by how he couldn’t get enough of me. How he made an effort and made me feel like it wasn’t just about the physical connection.
But then, not only did he get himself another woman, but he’s also going to marry her.
The knock comes again, and I release a breath. It can’t be Kirill. He doesn’t knock.
Anna steps inside, holding a tray, and pauses when she sees my state. I stumble to a standing position and wince when pain explodes in my temples.
She hastily places the tray on the nightstand and sits me back down.
“Don’t force it,” she says in a soft voice. “You okay?”
I nod.
“Kirill said you weren’t doing well and could use some breakfast.” She motions at the tray she bought, which is similar to one she’d make for Kirill.
Anna warmed up to me after she found out I saved him in Russia and again after that cartel shipment incident.
I think I got her seal of approval for having the ability to protect Kirill. And for what?
I dedicated my life to him, but he gave me the middle finger in return.
“Thanks, but I’m not hungry.”
“Nonsense. Look at your malnourished face.” She brings me a bowl of what looks like soup. “Here, have this. It’ll help with the hangover.”
I start to protest but stop when she raises a brow and hikes a hand on her hip, silently saying, ‘I dare you to try.’
Clearing my throat, I grab the bowl and drink it in one go.
Anna doesn’t leave until she gets me to eat a piece of toast with jam and butter and two boiled eggs.
After she’s gone, I take a shower and head to the closet. My heart shatters all over again, and I burst into tears as I put on my clothes.
This part of the closet will belong to his wife now. Everything will. His bed. His body. His last name.
I hit my chest over and over again.
Why the fuck does this hurt so much? No one told me about the pain of having a broken heart.
After the wave subsides, I lift my chin and stare at my face in the mirror. Even though it’s tear-streaked and my eyes are bloodshot. I make a vow to myself that I won’t ever be this weak again.
Never.
And in order to do that, I have to remove myself from Kirill’s immediate surroundings.
A sob fights to break through, but I swallow it down even as a tear clings to my lower lid and then streams down my face.
I can do this. I’ve survived worse.
My movements are mechanical as I pack what I can fit of my things into a duffel bag. I stop at the room’s threshold and cast one last look behind me.
Every corner of this place is filled with memories of us. He fucked me in every nook and on every surface. He held me as I slept on that bed and sofa. He carried me in his arms to the bathroom and even offered me a shoulder to cry on after a hard experience.
He was there for me, until he wasn’t.
Until he ended us so cruelly that the wound is still gaping and bleeding all over the ground.
I wish him all the unhappiness in the world. I’m not much of a selfless person. I won’t wish him and his new fiancée well. I wish for them to suffer every day. I wish that he’ll see my shadow in every corner of this room and have nightmares about me.
“I hope you never forget about me and that the thought of me haunts you for eternity,” I whisper, then close the door and go down the hallway.
I don’t even know where I’ll go now. If I fly to Russia, will Babushka and Uncle accept me again? Will they make me kill Kirill now?
No. I can’t do that, no matter how much he hurt me.
But where else can I go if not Russia?
“Lipovsky.”
I stand tall and slowly turn around to be greeted with Viktor’s dispassionate gaze. He studies me from head to toe. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“I’m quitting.” My lips curve in a bitter smile. “Good for you, huh? You can finally go back to being the only senior guard.”
“That won’t be happening.”
“What do you mean by that? I want to quit.”
“That’s not how it works. There’s no such thing as quitting the Bratva. This is for life.”
“Surely there are exceptions?”
“Only if Kirill allows it.”
Shit. He clearly said no to that last night.
“Well, you can convince him of that.” I start to turn around. “I’ll go say goodbye to Karina and the guys.”
Viktor strides ahead and steps in front of me, and I stop when he narrows his eyes on me.
“What?” I whisper, not sure what to make of his expression.
“Is this why you left your post and disappeared last night?”
I purse my lips.
“You’re not the type who leaves their post. Ever.”
Yeah, well. That was the last thing on my mind after I was metaphorically hit in the face by the news of Kirill’s engagement.
“Listen.” He grabs me by the shoulders. “I know you like Boss, but he can’t be with you in that sense. He’s expected to get married and have kids. Especially if he’s shooting for the Pakhan position. You understand that, right?”
My neck heats. Can the earth just swallow me now?
I forgot that Viktor thinks I’m gay and crushing on Kirill. But for some reason, the fact that he’s attempting to comfort me—or as much comforting as someone like Viktor can offer—makes me want to cry.
“I don’t know how hard it’ll be, but try to stay,” he continues.
“I can’t do that. I’m not as emotionless as him and won’t possibly be able to watch him with her every day.”
“I don’t think it’ll be every day.”
I smile, but only because Viktor sounds weird in his attempts to offer support.
“Just let me leave, Viktor.”
He shakes his head once. “I can’t do that. Boss asked me to bring you to him as soon as you wake up.”
My lips purse. Of course he’d want to make the wound deeper.
It’s already ugly. Why does he have to rub salt in it, too?
“If you let me go, no one will know, and I’ll be out of your hair.”
His expression doesn’t change. “You can either come with me willingly or by force.”
“Is there a third option where I walk out this door, and you erase the security footage?”
“No.”
I release a long sigh. “You’re like a damn wall.”
He doesn’t react to that and starts walking in the direction of the basement.
“What is he doing down there?” I ask to distract myself from thinking about the doomsday-like feeling of having to see Kirill.
Viktor, however, doesn’t answer. The heavy weight of his steps contrasts with my lighter ones, and I grab the duffel bag’s strap tighter.
Kirill usually comes down here when he’s either in the mood to torture someone or for the home theatre.
I really hope it’s the second option.
Viktor stops in front of Kirill’s underground suite. I’ve been here before, and it looks a lot like his room upstairs, minus the balcony and the view.
“Are you going to go in as well?” I ask Viktor almost pleadingly.
To my horror, he shakes his head and motions at the door. I contemplate running, but that’s impossible with Viktor here—unless I shoot him, and I don’t want to do that.
I inhale deeply to dispel the shaking in my limbs and push the door open. It automatically clicks shut behind me, and I flinch, then I immediately scold myself.
What the fuck am I being so jumpy about? I’m not the one in the wrong here. He is.
And I’m not going to cower away from him.
It’s just that…the wound is too fresh and too raw. I don’t know if I can stop myself from being emotional when facing him.
And he’s an apathetic psycho. If I’m the one being all over the place while he’s calmly standing there, it’ll look like I’m the irrational, crazy one, when it’s the other way around.
“Going somewhere, Sasha?”
I freeze and stare at the dark corner where his voice came from. The dim lighting of the room makes him look like a devil slithering out of hell.
He has one hand in his pocket and the other wrapped around a glass of whiskey. There’s a cut on his lower lip, exactly like the one on mine from when we warred last night.
Despite having his glasses on, his eyes pierce right through me, and it takes everything in me to stare back without feeling the need to bolt.
“I want to quit,” I say in a surprisingly leveled voice.
A cruel smirk lifts his lips. “You can quit, but you can’t leave.”
“I’m getting out of here. I don’t care if you agree or disagree.”
“You’re already packed and probably believe what you’re saying, too.” He steps toward me, and my legs shake, demanding I retreat, but it’s too late when he stops in front of me and lifts my chin with two fingers. “I told you this last night, but I’ll repeat it again, in case you were too drunk to remember. You can never leave me. That option isn’t on the table, under the table, or even in the fucking room.”
I let the duffel bag fall to the floor and slap his hand away. “Don’t touch me.”
He shoots for my neck this time, but I jump out of reach. My eyes must be blazing with volcanic anger.
“Sasha…” he warns.
“Don’t Sasha me. You have a Kristina now, don’t you? Go to her to fulfill your twisted fetishes.”
“If you keep acting like this, I will.”
My lips part.
“You don’t like that, do you? The idea of me touching her has turned your face into that of a ghost. So stop being difficult and accept that she means nothing. Absolutely. Nothing.”
I shake my head a few times. I can feel the emotions rushing through me and the fight slowly leaving my limbs. I don’t want to feel this way, but I do.
“I can’t watch you with her. Even if you say she means nothing, she’ll be your wife, and I can’t put myself through that. Don’t make me, Kirill.” I approach him and take his hand in my shaking one. “If I ever meant anything to you, spare me this torture and let me go.”
His jaw tightens, and his hand feels stiff and heavy in mine. “No.”
My nose tingles, and my eyes burn, but I release him with a jerk. “I’m leaving anyway.”
I grab my duffel bag, but Kirill pushes it out of my hold and throws it against the wall. Then he grabs me by the hip. I freeze for a second, still unable to prevent my mind and body from reacting to him.
When I finally snap out of it, he’s already released me, but not before he pulls my gun out of the hoister and slips it into the back of his pants.
He sighs deeply and looks at me as if I’m the villain in this story. “I was hoping you’d see reason so it wouldn’t come to this, but you forced my hand, Sasha.”
“What do you mean…?”
“You’ll stay here until you come to your senses.”
“Are you…locking me up?”
“I prefer not having to use this method, but you’re being unreasonable and refuse to change your mind, so I have to resort to this.”
“You can’t do that, Kirill.” I push against him, but he easily pushes me back, and I stumble and then nearly fall.
The man who looks back at me is more a monster than a man. A heartless person with no care whatsoever about what he’s doing.
“You promised you’d never leave me, and I’ll make sure you keep that promise.” He strokes my chin, then the cut on my lip that burns. “No matter what, Solnyshko.”
And then he leaves, and the door closes behind him, cementing the finality of the situation.
He really is putting me in confinement.
