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She’s wearing a large hoodie, and she hugs herself like she’s trying to disappear into it. She’s not wearing any of the clothes I bought for her today. She’s trying not to call attention to herself, but why?
And why is she so deep into the south side of the city?
The possibility that Anatoly might be nearby makes me sick to my stomach. I would beat him senseless just for looking at her, but I fear he’d do much worse if he knew she was mine.
“This is awkward.” A nervous laugh escapes from her mouth. “Really awkward.”
“Yeah, what the hell are you doing here?”
I catch her looking past me toward the bathroom, and I turn to see a man in a grey hoodie and sweatpants shuffle out. He was in there with her.
I immediately jump to the worst possible conclusion, reaching into my pocket to commit murder in plain sight. Valerie lurches at me, grabbing my sleeve before I can pull my gun. “Wait, it’s not like that!”
I jerk my arm away, staring down the man as he makes a hasty escape down to the ground floor. “Certainly looks like something neither of you want me to know about,” I snarl.
“No, Pasha, I’m serious. We weren’t doing what you think. I was just…” She sighs, pulling a little bag from her hoodie, dangling it in front of me as the pink and white lights flow over us. The atmosphere is thick, but I know immediately what she’s holding.
Why wouldn’t I? I’m the one responsible for the supply.
I snatch the bag out of her hand, clenching my fist just as hard as my teeth. “I told you to stop doing coke.”
“Give it back,” she whines.
“No,” I growl, crushing it in my fist until the bag breaks. I open my hand, and it falls onto the floor like snow.
I can see the desperation in her eyes, the hopelessness now that her stash has been ruined, and I realize this is a problem for her. If I left her alone right now, she’d get on her hands and knees to snort what she could off the ground before it was trampled by drunken dancers.
“You’re not buying any more of this shit again. The Bratva sells. They don’t use.”
“I’m not part of your Bratva,” she says, her eyes welling up with tears. “And I don’t want to be. Just leave me alone, Pasha. Let me live my life.”
People are starting to look at us, and I realize I’m embarrassing Valerie. I grab her arm, pulling her into the bathroom and shutting the door, allowing us a private place to work this out.
As I slide the lock in place, I hear her sobbing. I turn to find her with her head in her hands, slumped over against the wall with her knees to her chest. Seeing her like this is devastating, but I hold myself together. She needs strength and support in a time like this.
I approach her slowly, allowing her to vent before I even attempt to have a conversation with her. I just sit down next to her, staring at the door as the muffled music echoes through the clinical white space.
A tube light buzzes overhead.
15
Valerie
Pasha’s hand on my shoulder is exactly what I need, but it’s everything I hate right now. He’s determined to ruin my life, to take everything that gives me any joy away from me and replace it with his asinine rules.
I hate Pasha Chazov. Allowing him to get this close to me was a mistake that I regret with every cell in my body.
He doesn’t know what I’ve been through. He can’t possibly imagine losing your twin sister in a car crash, watching the light leave her eyes as blood runs from her mouth. He can’t imagine the horrible wrenching pain I felt in my heart, how I thought I would die from sorrow as I laid in the hospital bed listening to a doctor tell me that Julia didn’t make it.
I felt worthless and empty after that. Honestly, I still do, and if Pasha wants to take the only thing that makes me feel alive anymore away from me, he’s going to be responsible for whatever happens to me as a result.
He moves his hand across my shoulders, pulling me into a side embrace. “It’s okay, Valerie. I’m here for you.”
His words are empty to me, void of any meaning or benefit. He just doesn’t understand. He’s incapable of knowing pain like this.
I wipe the tears from my face, mascara streaking across my cheeks and the back of my hand. I laugh at how messy I am, how pitiful I must look to him. Here’s his dream girl, sitting in a club bathroom and bawling her eyes out because she can’t do coke. Pasha must be deeply regretting his choice right about now.
“I’m sorry I did that in front of other people,” he says softly.
