Page 62 of The Pakhan’s Hidden Heir

But I slowly lift my eyes, blurry vision and all, to see his serious expression. As usual, Akim’s correct.

Raina would never approve of me walking in to see my son while I’ve been drinking.

She’s a purist, and it’s probably one of the reasons I’m so sickly in love. It enrages me that I can’t have her, and it compels me to keep her. I need her.

“I have to speak to her,” I slur again, reaching for the door, but Akim cuts me off, wrapping both arms around my torso as I lean in.

My body lurches around, head hanging like a sick dog. I’ve got it in my head that this is the only way. She’ll never stay if I ask her, though I have mother’s ring and I could do that.

And she’s a romantic at heart. I saw her reading Dickenson and Poe. Such great romantics of their time.

She doesn’t want a man who walks in stubbornly demanding marriage. She would want a great sweeping proposal with flowers and candles and music.

I’m in no state for that.

The best I could do is stomp in there and order her around. Agnya was the soft one—my soft side. I was never a gentle man, or kind. Never able to be what any woman needs, and never able to handle the pain of rejection or loss. I’m a failure, weak, cowardly. I can’t stand in front of her in my drunken state and let her see how I punish myself for my own cowardice.

“Woah, slow down.” Akim helps me straighten then lays the folder from under his arm on the stand next to Raina’s door. “Let’s get you to bed, okay? We’ll help you sober up and you can talk to her in the morning.”

Thank god for his arms that keep me upright or I’d face plant on the floor and there I would lie until morning when I wake with a hangover. But Akim is my brother in arms, my right hand, my backbone right now. He’s keeping me from making a fool of myself.

I begrudgingly turn toward my room, just a short walk down the hallway, and let him guide me there.

It isn’t the first time he’s had to put me to bed drunk, or the first time he’s had to stop me from barging in to be with her.

He’s a good man, but he’s wrong now, at least about having her around. I know I need her, and even when I sober up I’m going to go back there and tell her just that—he’s right about that, the sober part.

“You’re a good man,” I grumble as I crawl into bed with my tie still tied tight. My stomach feels like I’ve swallowed acid. I could use a glass of water, but just as quickly as the thought enters my mind it flees, leaving me lingering on thoughts of her again.

“Get some rest, Bash. You can tell her whatever you want to tell her in the morning.” Akim draws the covers over my body as I start to lie down, then pries the whiskey from my grasp. “Or you can tell me and I’ll relay it before she lies down.”

If I tell him what I need to tell her he’ll only lecture me how stupid it is, but I’m too drunk to care right now.

And I’m so close to passing out I don’t have proper control of my mouth.

It has a mind of its own, spouting off my inner secrets to anyone in hearing distance. I hate myself but I speak anyway.

“I’m keeping her. You tell her, she belongs to me and she’s staying. I need her, Akim. You understand me?” My voice is so slurred I’m not sure he understands me until I see the scowl darken across his face. He’s not happy, but neither am I. I won’t be happy until Raina’s back in my bed for good.

Living alone is miserable.

Life with a good woman is as essential to survival as the weapon I keep lodged in my waistband, which Akim takes from me and sets on my nightstand for safe keeping.

She’s a risk—keeping her is dangerous for her and me. For our son too.

But I have to do it.

Living without her is no life at all.

“I’ll tell her, boss. You rest.” I can hear the distaste in his tone, but I roll over and shut my eyes.

There will be plenty of time tomorrow to bicker about my poor choice.

Tonight I need to rest and sober up.

Besides, even if I wanted to sit up I don’t think I could.

My body is so heavy, my mind so fogged with drink I can’t keep a single train of thought.