Vasily the Nail: A Forced Proximity Bratva Romance (Baranov Duet Book 1) by C. B. Alice

Author:C. B. Alice [Alice, C. B.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2025-01-14T00:00:00+00:00

Vasily

Tapping on my cheek has me grumbling, “Not yet, zvyozdochka,” and reaching for Ana, but what my hand hits is a man’s leg. I pry one extremely gunky eye open to see my brother standing next to me. “Oh, fuck off and die,” I groan, expecting a lecture from him as I roll away from him. I know I’m in trouble, I get it. But I’m twenty-six years old, not a child. I don’t need him chewing me out about my choices any more than I need him apparently telling the goddamn cartel to call him if I show up looking for heroin.

“You gotta get up, Vasya. This is important.”

I hear the urgency in his voice. The fact that he calls me Vasya has me tweaking slightly. Something is wrong.

I’m not ready for an emergency. I’m feeling about ready to die right now. Whatever the crisis is, I don’t need to be involved for at least another hour.

“Let me sleep.”

“Vasya, listen to me.”

“Noooo,” I groan, not caring that I sound every bit as petulant as Ana.

She’s probably worried about me. Fuck, she was confronting me about the exact fucking thing I ended up doing. She was probably trying to be nice about it. And I lost my cool immediately because once a junkie, always a junkie.

The bed dips under Artyom’s weight as he sits down next to me and sighs heavily. “What happened last night, we’ll talk about that later. But we need to go to the hospital. Now.”

Ah, shit. That’s rehab talk. I’m in my old bedroom at his house. That single glance out of one eye was enough to confirm that, as well as the fact that it’s daytime. So they’re not going to try to pump my stomach this time, at least. No Narcan. I’m pretty sure I was roofied last night. I don’t need to be dragged out of bed for rehab. “We’ll go when I wake up,” I grumble.

“Listen to me, Vasya,” he says, and God, I loathe the sympathetic tone in his voice every bit as much as I hate the way he’s currently squeezing my arm. This is the shit he does when he knows I’m about to get pissed about what he’s going to tell me to do. This is the tone he used last Friday, when he was scheduling me to rape an innocent virgin — not that it matters that she was a virgin — the next day.

My chest hurts at the expansion of my lungs filling on my next breath as I think he’s about to tell me that he’s got a room booked for me at Placid Meadow and has already sent Ana home. It would be for the best, but I wince at the thought.

“It’s Analiese,” he says. “She was taken to the hospital.”

I’m already on my feet before he can start explaining what happened.

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