Page 13 of Obsession of the Bratva

I stared at him, and he stared back before stealing the drink from my hand. I considered stabbing him, but I simply turned around and ordered another.

“You look terrible,” Fyodor said. “You smell like whiskey and sweat. I’m not sure when the last time you bothered to shave.”

“Thank you.”

“You might be depressed,” Jarek added, taking a sip of my drink.

“See?” I looked toward Jarek. “This is why nobody likes him. He always passes judgment before thinking twice.”

Fyodor rolled his eyes, but Kliment remained silent. That worried me more than anything because Kliment only stayed quiet when he was assessing a situation or preparing for a war. The bartender returned with another drink, and I grabbed it immediately.

“Nico.”

Kliment’s voice was calm. Too calm.

“What?”

“Look at me.”

“No.”

“Nico.”

I sighed and finally looked at him, but his expression didn’t change. I knew that look. The one who said he already knew something was wrong. The one that said he wasn’t leaving until he found out exactly what it was.

“What happened?” he asked.

“Nothing.”

Jarek snorted.

“Nico.”

“Nothing happened.”

“You disappeared. Viktor reached out to me, saying you were nowhere to be found,” Kliment added, confirming my suspicions.

Goddamned Viktor and his concern for me.

“I was busy.”

“Doing what?” Fyodor asked.

“Being miserable.”

I took a sip of my drink, and nobody spoke. Which was unfortunate because if they kept being quiet, I might actually have to think. And thinking was exactly what I was trying to avoid. The alcohol helped a little bit with that, but every few seconds, the memories came back.

Always.

Fucking always.

I laughed suddenly. A bitter sound.

“What?” Kliment asked, his gaze trained on me.

I looked down at my glass. “Do you know what the worst part about all this is?”

Nobody answered. Good. Because I wasn’t asking.