BAD APPLE: The Complete Series (Parts 1-5) (6 page)

Irina

I took the deal like a champ and spent three days watching a chef, or whatever, totally take over my space and tell me what I should be doing to make my products a winner, as if I need it!

I took that hit and took it with at least some grace, only to turn around on Friday morning and see Luka leaning against the kitchen door at half past five in the morning, scowling at me.

“You look like shit.”

I roll my eyes at the great hulking asshole as he saunters in and hops onto my worktable, snatching up a freshly iced red velvet mini cake.

“Thanks. What are you doing here?” I ask, ignoring his penetrating look and going on with my job, which is the only thing keeping me together right now.

I love my family, but they’re smothering me to death most of the time, and having the peacekeeper known as Luka just waltz in unannounced is a sure sign that I’m about to get some bad news.

“Mama got a call from the orphanage this morning.”

Oh shit.

I’ve been digging a little, doing some research about finding my birth mother, but I’ve kept it quiet because I know my family. It would hurt my parents dreadfully if they thought the life they’d given me and their love wasn’t enough.

This whole thing was always just about knowing, not really having contact with someone who’d given me up so easily.

But my
mamen’ka
is a firecracker, and dramatic to boot. She cries when the roses die, for goodness’ sake! This would hurt her. A lot.

I look up at Luka with tear-filled eyes and finally see the depth of his anger and feel my knees buckle when not one ounce of the love I’m familiar with trickles forth.

“I was just curious, Luka. I never wanted anyone to know,” I plead, fighting against tears when he slowly gets off the table and looks down at me balefully.

“You’re selfish, Irina. Selfish and spoiled. I hope you’re happy with what you’ve done,” he hisses before turning on his heel to stalk out.

‘No! Luka, please,” I beg, grabbing at his arm.

“Don’t!” he grates, flinging me off in distaste, his face a mask of fury even as the force of his push sends me crashing back into the corner of the table with a gasp.

My knees buckle beneath me and I fall to my knees, the breath completely knocked out of me as the door slams open and shut rhythmically.

My back hurts where I hit the metal corner of the table, and my ankle isn’t that happy with me, either, as I take in huge breaths of air and fight the need to cry.

It hurts so much, everything all at once, that I don’t notice the first intruder, or the second or third until they’re right on top of me.

And then my shitty morning turns to hell as I scream my head off and crumple to the floor in defeat.

***

I stand with the fumigators going over costs and estimates as Nik and the rest of the girls turn customers away from the door, the arguing and downright unpleasantness taking over and causing the throbbing in my head to go postal on me.

It’s been four hours since I found those first rats in my bakery. If anyone finds out about this, I’ll be ruined and I’ll have no hope of ever getting back in business.

My skin crawls again and I drop my head into my hands at the monumental mess my life has become. My family hates me, not one of them will answer my calls, and my business is closed for the next week, at least, as they tear the kitchen apart trying to clean it all up.

“Fuck my life!” I yell at the top of my lungs, causing both exterminators to jump back and watch me wearily as the tears start flowing.

I want to crawl home and eat a gallon of ice cream even as the lure of booze starts calling my name.

“Ma’am?” one of them asks hesitantly, laying a hand on my quaking shoulders to pat me softly. “It’s not all that bad.”

Not bad? This guy just told me my entire shop is infested with a species of rat notoriously difficult to get rid of, and I have one of their vans parked in front of my window, loudly declaring their purpose for all to see, and he wants to tell me it’s not that bad?

I’ve slaved myself to the bone for this business, sweated and cried many nights to get myself to a place where I can finally buy a freaking gallon of ice cream and a bottle of wine without worrying about my rent, and now this…

To top it all off, the last time I drove by my parents’ house and my dad saw me, he just turned and walked away.

Everything in my life is falling apart, but instead of getting back up and fighting like I usually do, I feel myself slipping into a void.

“Irina! What’s wrong, angel?” I hear from somewhere far off as the mumbling around me fades and the bell above the door tinkles again.

“Angel?”

“My life is ruined.”

“Angel…”

“No,” I say, lifting my head with a scowl. “Don’t ruin my pity party for at least another two minutes, okay? I need a good cry and then I’m going home to get dressed so I can go dancing. Now go away with your weird friendship and leave me be. I’ll call you tomorrow when I don’t feel like I’m having a nervous breakdown.”

He laughs and pries my head up again, his blue eyes concerned as he stares at me.

“What’s happened?”

“Well, to start off the best of best days,” I say sarcastically, “Luka rocked up here and yelled at me, my family hates me, and now I have a huge rat infestation that’s closing my business down. In a nutshell, my life is screwed, and I have to pay the exterminators six grand I’ll have to earn on my freaking back or by selling an organ.”

He laughs again and I raise my head to glare at him.

“Oh come now, my little actress, surely things aren’t so dire?”

“Not dire? I woke up this morning thinking maybe I’d change things up and eat cream cheese on my bagel, and now…everything has changed.”

I hear a throat being cleared and look up to see Vadim standing to my left, laughing silently.

Misha pulls me to my feet and checks me over.

“You will come home with us and have dinner while Vadim sorts this mess out,” he says confidently, silencing his brother’s protests with a growl.

“Fine! But I get Nikita in the mix or no deal.”

I hope he knows what she’s like when she’s annoyed.

“Deal.”

Misha

The feel of a drunk and legless Irina splayed over my chest is heavenly, and I grin at her off-key rendition of Sinatra as I tip my beer back and enjoy the feel of her breasts caressing my chest.

I want to say I got her all to myself, but after managing to drag her to the door I was bombarded by a pack of screaming females, claiming they were hitting the town. So much for dinner at my place.

Why women require hours to style their hair and put on makeup is not something I want to know, but by eight I was desperate to see my angel. I almost ripped through my jeans when she exited the cab in front of Vadi’s night club and stood in the dim streetlight, revealing a black dress that hugs every single one of her curves and showcases her breasts and ass in a way that’s had me fighting off men all night.

And she’s drunk too, which makes her overly friendly. With everyone.

“Do you know I almost creamed my jeans the first time I saw ya, pal?” she asks suddenly, making the conversation around our private table halt immediately. “But I controlled it, and now I get to have you forever instead of putting flowers on your grave,” she trills, making the table howl, though I feel like chewing nails.

Damn woman.

“You could have me anyway,” I mutter, throwing back a shot and relishing the burn.

I’m well on my way to drunk, a state I haven’t been in in years thanks to my control and the plain unwillingness to lose control. Tonight I need it, though, because I feel like shit.

“No way! I like friends more. I can cuddle on your lap and not worry about anything.”

Oh Christ.

The others are laughing so hard I can hear them over the pumping music surrounding us.

“Angel, shh.”

“Hmmm, I’m gonna go dance with the girls. Save my seat!”

Off she goes then, weaving drunkenly with an equally toasted Liza as my brothers keep laughing and then stop abruptly, looking over at me with remorse.

“We hurt her today, Misha. I do not like it,” Leo grates, shooting his own drink as he keeps Tatiana in his sights.

I don’t like it either, but my deadline is looming and with Irina’s insistence that we remain just friends, I do not have the luxury of time. I need her to need another location, and I need it soon before things become dire.

“She will be fine, Leo. The shop down the block is bigger and more suited to the amount of people who traipse in and out of her place all day. She’ll be happy and we’ll be okay.”

“And her family, Misha? That was harsh,” Vadim seethes, lifting a hand to order another round.

I feel terrible about that, but I need her to need me, and right now that’s all I’m going for. A happy Irina is my only goal, but to get her there fully I need her to be vulnerable. I need her to want me in her life.

She does now, and for that I am grateful, something I never thought I would be when considering a woman and my money. Stranger still is the feelings of remorse I have.

You see, I’m a mafioso’s son. I’ve dragged my way to the top of the heap using nothing but my wits, determination, and start-up capital I borrowed from my father—with a hefty interest rate, of course.

I never hesitate on a deal, and I never let guilt eat me alive after I’ve trampled my way over all obstacles.

I know that what I am doing is necessary, not only for my company or my family but for her, yet I still feel terrible.

“You’re digging yourself a hole,” Leo says again as we watch the mess that is our women dancing down below.

Irina can’t dance for shit, and her idea of rhythm makes a broomstick look loose. Nik is too uptight to be any more graceful, and Tatiana makes a stripper look tame, but they’re having such a blast that I can’t deny my amusement even as the music changes and they start going nuts.

“It will be fine, Vadi. I just need to get this first hurdle cleared and we’ll be okay.”

***

Irina

“I wan’t your…body!  Want it hot. I want your…loving! I want a shot.”

The feel of the showerheads pulsing over my aching muscles is heavenly as I try to sing my way through a raging hangover early the next morning. I am the worst example of hungover. I don’t lie in bed all day bemoaning my fate or even whine when my head feels like a bus ran over it.

I laugh in the face of a little liver damage and fake my way through the pain, choosing instead to focus on what I can do to get over the hurdle.

“Oh God, Irina, stop that caterwauling!” Misha groans again, for like the millionth time, his lazy ass probably still splayed out on my sofa.

I giggle again, wincing with a pout as my head throbs, reminding me of my overindulgence and my own stupidity in not hydrating like I usually do.

“No! You shut up.”

It was a little awkward when I woke this morning and stumbled into the living room to find the man passed out cold, wearing only black cotton briefs and a messy hairdo that made my nipples say a quick hello.

I’m feeling closer to human a few minutes later when I shut off the water and pull the curtain back, only to see Misha as he leans over the toilet and lets himself go, groaning out loud as his bladder releases and lets off a stream.

“You are a wicked woman, Irina, my angel. You got me drunk and now you’re standing there staring at my cock,” he mumbles grouchily, not bothering to look at me.

Thank God because my mouth is hanging open and I’m pretty sure there’s drool hanging out when he flicks his shaft and unhurriedly pushes it back into his briefs before washing his hands and sauntering back out.

When I can move again I scamper to my room, throw on some old jeans and a tank, and rush back out, needing to say something, anything, to get over my shock.

The man has a huge dick. Easily double the size of my pink nemesis.

“You don’t have milk.”

I pause in the kitchen doorway to see him leaning into my fridge, still in those boxers, only now I have an unobstructed view of his ass and his toned, muscular thighs. Jesus save my hymen, the man makes my vagina tremble with need with nothing more than a look and that damned ass of his.

When I drag my eyes up it’s to see him grinning at me with a smug look that makes me blush.

“What are you having with milk? You take your coffee black and sugarless like the ‘real man’ you are,” I gripe, studiously avoiding his eyes as I walk in and grab a pan from the cupboard.

“Milk helps with a hangover, angel. I need milk.”

What a load of crap.

I snort and lean into the fridge, rummaging right into the back to grab the small carton of milk and a pack of bacon.

“Here, ya big baby. Don’t cry to me when your stomach curdles and you’re rushing to the bathroom to puke.”

He just grins and keeps watching me as I putter around getting a big, greasy breakfast ready.

“Mama would whip you right now if she witnessed this Western travesty.” He murmurs when I plonk a plate down in front of him and sit across from him, digging in with gusto.

“Your mama uses tongue to kiss perfect strangers, boy. She’s got no leg to stand on,” I retort, enjoying his snorting laugh as he spears his eggs and eats with a groan.

“She likes you and that’s the family way. Why do you think I won’t let my brothers kiss you, angel?” He chuckles, snarling when I narrow my eyes and tap my chin contemplatively.

“I wouldn’t mind, I think. Your brothers are hot. Especially Vadim and those wandering hands of his,” I joke, loving his filthy look and not too complimentary comments about his own flesh and blood.

“I’d kill him if tried anything with you, angel, and the little shit knows it. Let’s hope he stays smart or Mama will be a kid light.”

“You’re a hoot, Misha Novac. A freakin’ hoot, ya know that? So tell me, tough guy, what’s a guy like you doing wearing suits all day and making mergers?”

Not that I don’t see him that way, but the man is an enigma. I could just as easily see him as a thrill freak, adrenaline junky. Here’s the thing about Misha that I have a hard time getting over, the thing that makes me very aware of his unsuitability as a boyfriend or even as a friend.

He’s closed off.

One minute he’s smiling at me, and the next I see something in him that chills my core. I like him, but he’s too much for me.

He shrugs and continues eating as I sip my water.

“I like money, Irina, and I always have. It’s easier to live when you don’t have to think of such trivialities, and I like winning too. My sole focus has always been my family and success, and that will never change, angel,” he says seriously.

I take the words as a warning and shiver lightly when his eyes hit mine and I’m instantly trapped in the blue depths.

“You know we cannot be friends.”

I can see him overtaking me so easily, with so little effort that I’m breathless at the thought.

“You want to know why we cannot be friends, angel?” he asks softly, bringing my eyes back to his.

“Because you want to have sex with me?” I ask cheekily, trying to lighten the mood that’s suddenly fallen around us.

Those blue eyes meet mine and I freeze, suddenly uncomfortable and even more afraid of his answer. Gone is the kind, funny, amused Misha, and in his place is a man I have never met before.

His face is devoid of all expression and closed off in a way that frankly makes me itch to run. He’s looking at me in the most possessive way.

“Most certainly yes, I want to spread you out on my bed and eat you to my heart’s content before I fuck you into the mattress,” he says quietly.

“Oh.”

“Yes, oh.” He smirks, leaning back in his chair with a relaxed sigh that sets my alarm bells ringing. “But mostly we cannot be friends because I refuse to be just friends with my own wife, angel.”

I choke on my first sip of coffee and spray a dark stain all over the wooden table, coughing fitfully as I try to dispel the liquid from my lungs. Did I just hear him correctly? And why the hell am I not laughing my ass off like I should be?

“What?”

Misha just smiles triumphantly and raises his hand where a platinum band rests on his left finger.

“We were married last night, angel. You are mine.”

I don’t question him. For some reason, I know he would never lie about something this important. Instead, I let my eyes roll back as my faculties leave me.

Oh hell, I hope when I wake up this has all been a bad dream.