Page 84 of Baby for the Bratva King

The vomit comes from nowhere, and before I know it, I’m throwing my guts up in the kitchen sink. Bile and bleach are not a good combination. I smell the horrid scent and retch again.

“Fuck,” I groan, washing my hands with water, cleaning the sink again.

I feel much better after throwing up and continue cleaning the kitchen with no issues.

Felix is a mafia leader—this fact must be really starting to sink in. I see meat and immediately think about murder.

On top of this, I have my father to worry about, and he’s never made me feel good.

I need to shake these stressful feelings off with a dance at the studio.

“I only have two shoulder mounts in the tank today,” I groan to Fleur, on the pole next to me.

“Yeah, you look dreadful, whiter than you looked in your costume last night—or should I say my costume.”

“Thanks for letting me borrow your outfit.”

“You’re welcome.” Fleur wipes down the pole, unlacing her boots. “I’m normally the one getting black-out drunk on Halloween.”

“You’ll be pleased to know I didn’t get drunk.”

“Oh?” Fleur stands up, leaning into the pole. “Then explain… this.” She circles a finger around her face in demonstration. “You look like you’re still in costume.”

“I threw up this morning.”

Concern lines across Fleur’s face. “Oh no⁠—”

“No,” I butt in before she says something that is totally not true. “Hold your horses. I’m not pregnant.”

Fleur arches an eyebrow, pressing her back into the pole. “When does your period start?”

“Not for another few days. I’m fine. I took the emergency contraception, remember?”

“Which you left on the countertop for days.”

“Trust me, I’m fine. Just a little overwhelmed after running into our father last night.”

“What?” blinks Fleur, mouth gaping open. “When? How? Where?”

“He was at Felix’s launch party last night. Of all things you can be for Halloween, he decided to dress up as the grim reaper.”

“Why did nobody take photos of him?”

“Because nobody recognized him,” I say, grabbing my stuff and heading out of the studio. “He was wearing a mask.”

“He’s feeling guilty.”

“And threatened," I add. “Perhaps even a little angry… even though he didn’t show that side.”

Fleur reads my mind as we lock up the studio. “Shit. He was nice?”

“The kindest he’s been to me in years. And it felt good, Fleur, like he was finally coming to his senses.”

“What did he say?”

I haul my bag over my shoulder as we head outside, crossing the road. “He expressed concerns about me working as a stripper, and then started rambling on about Dracula, drawing similarities between Felix and vampires, and how he was capitalizing on my vulnerability.”

“Sounds enthralling,” says Fleur as we enter the coffee shop.