BAD APPLE: The Complete Series (Parts 1-5) (15 page)

Irina

Two weeks of “healing” is the opposite of the luxury it sounds like, I think as I pace the confines of Misha’s penthouse and grate my teeth against the frustration beating at my senses.

I’ve been locked up and made a prisoner ever since the Royal Highness of Assholeville declared me a security risk till such a time as he nails the “fucks” who dared to touch his woman.

I’ve been fed. Well, he’s been trying to tube-feed me since they took my stitches out and I slimmed down.

I look fabulous, almost sexy without my old muffin top, but the brute seems to be going nuts the more weight I lose. Last night I woke up to him pulling at his hair and staring at my ass in horror, his snarls of rage the most amusing thing I have ever heard in my life.

Who would have ever thought my husband would balk at me getting beach ready, going absolutely crazy with every millimeter my ass keeps shrinking?

As I keep pacing and viciously eye the gym door, plotting my next revenge move, I hear the sound of the doorbell and roll my eyes in frustration. Tony always freaking rings the thing no matter how many times I’ve told him not to bother since no one, not even the freaking president, can get up here without approval.

“I told you not to bother, Tony,” I growl playfully, my breath stalling as I yank the door open and come face to face with my worst nightmare.

“Hello, Irina. May I come in?”

My jaw is somewhere near the floor as I look up straight into the eyes of the woman who holds more of my husband than I do.

Mina.

“What do you want?”

Her mocking smile is cruel and knowing as she shrugs her shoulders and pouts her botoxed lips.

I am definitely never kissing Misha again.

“I thought you and I could finally talk, Irina, woman to woman. We both love the same man, after all,” she drawls, her perfume and that false smirk making my eyes water as I grind my teeth together and shake my head.

“I have nothing to say to you and nothing I want to hear from you, either, lady. Stay away from my husband, Mina. Stay away from me. Or I will call your parents and let them know you’re consorting with the enemy again,” I snarl, smiling now and relishing the pure fear and loathing in her eyes at the threat.

In my community, everyone knows someone and someone knows everyone. While I may not be directly connected to this woman and her bastard family, I can guarantee my brothers or one of their friends would know a cousin or relative.

We’re Russian. That’s the way shit works, especially in this city that’s bigger and smaller than one would assume.

“You could. You could do that and I would leave, Irina. But then you will never learn anything about your husband and why he can never love you,” she says through gritted teeth, her smile returning when my face pales noticeably.

“There’s nothing you could say to me that would make a difference, Mina. I love Misha and I will wait till he is ready to tell me everything.”

“Truly? But then you will never know, Irina. Aren’t you curious about the dates on his back? Haven’t you wondered about those little numbers by now?”

I have. I’d assumed at first it was her birthdate and date of death. Then I’d assumed it was the duration of their relationship. Then, early one morning while he slept, I saw that the dates are in the same year and month, just six days apart.

Of course I’m curious. I mean, I am the Sherlock Holmes of my family.

Dammit
.

“I don’t care what you—”

“Oh? Then I suppose you will never know why Misha wants children just as badly as he doesn’t,” she says, making my eyes narrow even as I feel chills race down my spine.

It hasn’t escaped me. I mean the man even spoke to me about renewing my contraceptive just two days ago, almost making me cry at this new rejection.

He didn’t say it, but I got the message loud and clear, even though I could have sworn he was thrilled when he thought I was pregnant with his kid.

“Look, Mina, just go away. This is just you trying to fuck up my marriage because you have some sick obsession with Misha, even though you don’t really want him.”

“Okay. I’ll go. I won’t say another word. Ask him about our Minka, though. Ask him about his daughter and how he killed her.”

Irina

Minka. Minka. Killed her. Ask him.

After Mina leaves, her smirk still burning through my gut, all I can do is stumble toward the kitchen and fall into one of the stools at the breakfast bar—my lungs, my heart, and my mind all frozen.

Misha had a child. He was a father.

God help me. I can’t form a coherent thought as the words keep slamming into my brain, causing question upon question to flood me. Where is she? Dead? How? Why did Mina say he killed her? How old was she?

Everything is scattered and disjointed, confusing as I sit and think for what feels like hours. The phone rings but I ignore it. Again and again till eventually the pounding of the door pulls me out of my funk and I trudge over to the door.

“Dammit, Ri, you can’t just not answer your phone! Novac is going nuts with worry and those damn brothers of his are on the way here as we speak,” Tony yells, his handsome face and light brown eyes shooting sparks at me as he pushes into the penthouse and firmly locks the door.

His scowl is nothing new, seeing as I take delight in driving the man nuts every chance I get, but right now it affects me in a way that makes the last shred of nerve I have left desert me.

“Oh shit. Oh damn. Uh, Ri, honey…please don’t cry. Shit, don’t…they’ll kill me if they get up here and find you bawling.”

I’m laughing as hard as I’m crying by this point.

His face is freaking hilarious as I gasp in another breath, my stupid mind choosing to focus on the stupidity of men.

My brother once told me that female emotions are a mystery to most men—that men are more straight forward. Get them angry and they’ll come up swinging. Give them food and sex and they’re happy. Make them sad, and, well, chances are they’ll start talking about football to get over shit.

I laughed my ass off when he told me that, and laughed harder when he informed me that a crying woman was akin to stepping in a pile of dog crap. According to Luka, it’s awkward and makes them panicky.

The same panic I now see on Tony’s face. He has no clue what to do with me, and if the awkward way he keeps patting my back is anything to go by, I need to suck it up and put on my big girl bloomers before the guy has a meltdown.

“I’m okay. Don’t worry, Tone, just…are they all really coming here? Because I am so not ready to deal with three Novacs right now,” I say, wiping my eyes and nose against my sleeve.

The sight is so gross that I see him grin, relieved at my “return to sanity,” and nod once.

“Why didn’t you answer the phone, gumdrop? You gotta know that crazy bastard would go nuts when you didn’t answer one of his three hundred daily calls.”

That makes me laugh again, because it’s become a sort of betting pool lately. Of my three guards and me, I’ve lost about forty bucks betting on when my stalker husband would finally stop calling me twice every hour.

I assumed the guy would finally chill out, but apparently the longer it takes to hunt down the man responsible for almost killing me, the crazier he gets.

“I had a really shitty conversation with a really shitty person, Tone,” I say after a while, waving him along as I stalk to the kitchen and go for a bottle of water, my mind once again firmly fixed on my earlier visitor.

The bottle I toss his way is an indication of my need to talk, and I smile slightly when he sighs deeply and sits down, his full attention focused on me.

“Talk to me, gumdrop.”

“Why did you let Mina in earlier?”

The water bottle gets halfway to his mouth before he slams it down and comes out of his chair so fast, the stool goes toppling, the crash echoing through the room.

“What are you talking about?”

“Mina. The small little bimbo in the green dress who came up earlier,” I press, my own anger rising.

I hate that she almost got into my home again, that she has free and easy access to my husband. Most of all, I hate that she’s gotten to me when things had just started going well.

Just the reminder of that woman…

“She was up here?”

              “Yeah, she was up here. Don’t give me those innocent eyes, Antonio. The woman couldn’t have so much as sniffed at the private elevator without one of you yahoos body-slamming her.”

“Ri, I swear to you she was not cleared to get up here. I don’t know how she did, but I will find out,” he says harshly, his face drawn and tense.

“Okay,” I mutter, drawing a harsh breath and swallowing. “I can’t have her up here, Tony. I just…she’s Misha’s ex.”

It’s humiliating to admit that I’m not confident enough in my relationship with my husband to have an ex around, but it’s the truth.

The last time I laid eyes her, she had her tongue in his mouth and her hand close enough to his dick to make me see red.

I detest her. Part of me still hates Misha a little for putting me through that, and I hate myself almost as much for feeling this insecure about her. But I do. Add the fact that Misha is keeping a shitload of secrets from me and I feel red-hot rage.

His family is obviously lying to me.

How did my life become this freak show? How am I married to a man who’s turning out to be a big fat liar? How the hell am I this in love with a guy who has turned out to be a complete Neanderthal?

He watches my every move, made worse since the stabbing I suffered in my bakery, one I barely survived. He makes me eat and gets sulky and moody when I refuse to be force-fed. He hates me wearing clothes that are revealing anywhere but the bedroom, and even then, he’s a total maniac about me wearing clothes when we’re alone.

Even Leo and Vadi got their keys confiscated since the man likes me naked, and the last time we decided to play kitchen christenings, one of them walked in and almost saw my ass.

That did not go down well.

“I’m sorry, Ri. I won’t let her up here again, even if I have to kick her ass out myself,” he says, pulling me out of my head with the sympathy evident in his tone.

The look on his face is worse and I scowl.

“Don’t tell Misha.”

“Ri—”

“Please. We just got to a good place after everything we’ve been through, and I don’t want it messed up because of her. Please, Tony. I’ll tell him about it, I swear. I just need some time to process everything without him breathing down my neck twenty-four seven.”

The sigh comes again before he nods and stalks for the door, stopping to turn back and give me a pointed look.

“I’ll give you two weeks, but in exchange I want you to agree to take it easy in that time. No going back to work at the crack of dawn. And I’ve heard you arguing the poor guy to death about keeping your security detail when you’re cleared for work. Promise me you’ll agree to it and my lips are sealed, kid.”

Blackmail?

My lips twitch despite the blatant extortion tactics, and I narrow my eyes and shake my head.

“All you need to qualify to be a pure-born Russian is the guilt trip, Tone. You sure both your parents are Italian?” I ask, my disgust warring with the look of horror on his face.

“Jesus. Don’t say shit like that to an Italian, gumdrop. We take our heritage really seriously. Although, you wanna know what a real guilt trip is, go visit my ma. We, Catholics, have that shit encoded in our DNA. Just ask Ma. The woman made me sweat for two weeks when Lynn let it slip we don’t wanna buy a holiday home with her and Pop. Made my life a living hell for that shit.”

My mouth quirks before I can stop it because I can relate. My own parents have that stuff down to an art and have even started harassing me about grandchildren.

I want to laugh. I probably would have any other time when recalling her guilty drama till the thought of kids hits me. Misha had a daughter, and I know nothing about it.

“I’ll keep the security, but you guys will have to learn to blend in when Shawshank lets me outta here. Deal?”

“Deal. Now go splash some cold water on your face. Your guys are headed up and I’m not getting blamed for you crying. Your husband does mixed martial arts as a hobby. I have a wife I wanna live to see later.”

When the door clicks shut I run for the bathroom and practically dive into the shower, my mind spinning with everything. I don’t know what’s going on, what to do…

But I do know that with everything that’s happened, I can ill afford to be at odds with Misha right now, and that’s exactly what will happen if I allow Mina and her troublemaking to turn me into a nagging shrew.

I won’t ask Misha a thing.

But Mama Novac and that sister of his are definitely on my hit list. I need answers. I just hope I can get through whatever they tell me.