BAD APPLE: The Complete Series (Parts 1-5) (20 page)

Misha

I stand in the same spot for what feels like hours as the pain and guilt rip though me, making breathing a labor of necessity rather than an instinctive function.

The memories are torture, shredding me, opening wounds that have only just scabbed over, even after all this time. I remember my daughter, my golden-haired angel with her deep blue eyes and quirky grin, as if I held her giggling form in my arms just seconds ago.

It never heals. Never fades. Never gets better to the point that thinking of Minka is a happy moment. I just hurt, and now that Irina has laid me bare, I feel as if my heart is still bleeding me to death inside my chest.

How do I explain to her that I haven’t withheld it as a form of punishment or in an effort to distance myself? How to tell her that it’s just too raw for me to even mention?

I can’t even think Minka’s name without wanting to tear my hair out in grief, so just sitting down and speaking about what I once held so dear and lost so cruelly isn’t possible.

Most days I pretend the last decade never even happened. It’s easier, and Goddammit, all I wanted was to let it go so that the pure joy Irina brings into my life can permeate my cells.

She makes everything so light and happy. I’ve focused myself on her and only her, and I’m so fucking grateful to have her that sometimes I want to weep for burdening her with me.

The pain is there now, though, and it’s not lessening as I force myself to move and stumble to my office, desperately grabbing a bottle and falling into sofa as the cap comes off and I chug it neat.

The burn is welcome, and I revel in the lethargy that grips me minutes later after swallowing a three-quarter bottle like water. I don’t drink to excess anymore, not after almost killing myself with the stuff after putting my daughter’s ashes in the ground.

I was on a fast track to killing myself back then, and if not for Vadim, I wouldn’t be here right now. That last time…

I shake that shame away and keep drinking, wanting to go upstairs to Irina so badly it’s a physical ache.

Not yet, Mish
, I warn, taking another swig. Give her time and then…then you can explain it.

Yeah, maybe with a bellyful of liquor and the dulling of pain, I can tell her why I feel like I failed my daughter and why Mina is not quite so wrong to blame me.

I never saw the need to take her from Mina in those early days because stupidly I still loved Mina enough not to want to do that to her.

She put up a front to me and I believed she was a good, loving mother to my baby. So yeah, I left it alone and appreciated every visit, not caring one wit about the way Mina demanded more money, more everything.

I didn’t even mind that she used Minka to hurt me, as long as my baby was happy and healthy.

And then I got the call from Mina’s mother. The old woman was crying, whispering the truth to me as I yelled for Leo and Vadi and went screaming into the night.

Minka had been ailing for a week, coughing, running fevers, and crying as Mina steadily ignored it, putting it down to her being spoiled and fussy. The mother finally lost it and called an ambulance on the sly, desperate to get my baby medical attention.

By that time she was deathly ill. The doctors tried. They fought just as hard as I did trying to help her, and…and I thought they had till that day I left her and came back to an empty bed and the knowledge that the only thing I loved had been stolen from me.

She was gone and so was I. I cried at first. I was so broken that it took Leo and Vadim both to get me home as the grief tore me apart. I cried like a baby, my heart dead, though it ached with a vengeance.

After that came the fury. The hatred. The yearning for death.

I hated Mina. Myself. God.

He took her from me and I no longer had faith. I wanted death, and not because I believed I would ever see my baby again, but because I wanted it all to just end.

I craved the void, the numbness.

So I drank. I left my business to Vadim and steadily made the pain stop by being so shitfaced I felt absolutely nothing, my only goal to end myself without the shame of putting a gun to my head.

That would have killed Mama, so I just stopped fighting and let go.

I almost succeeded in my wish. I drank till my body started shutting down. I ate nothing, did not bathe, and just kept going till I ended up in a puddle of my own blood, my stomach giving up the ghost.

That’s how Leo and Vadim found me, and to this day I owe them everything for getting me to the hospital and saving me.

Then Papa came.

He yelled till the nurses threatened to kick me out. And then he cried.

It hit me then that I may have found peace in an early death, but those who loved me most would have felt the same grief I did on top of what they suffered while grieving Minkie.

It was a humbling, shattering experience to hear my father beg me not to subject him to that kind of pain. So I did what I had to. I pushed it all down, so deep I convinced myself it had never happened.

And I moved on.

Women. Work. The promise that I would never trust another or risk loving another again.

That’s what has kept me going till I walked into a bakery, arrogant and so coldly determined to not only save my company but swindle a woman to save my family and right the wrong that my sister had done to us all.

I met my match, though, I think, chuckling drunkenly.

I took one look at that ass and those sweet golden eyes and found the light I didn’t know could exist for me ever again. She made me laugh inside with those blushes and the way she kept blurting her thoughts out, never knowing that she was doing it.

She captivated me. Sucked up all the darkness and made me want again. I wanted to bend her over and fuck her till my legs gave out and my balls were empty. Who can blame me when the woman is pure sex and sweet temptation?

What sealed my fate, though, were her eyes. All that happiness and love I couldn’t miss. Love for life, for laughter, for the sake of making others smile.

That was the real draw and what has driven me since that very first moment.

I need Irina. It’s so much more than want or control, though I admit those play a big part in my actions. The need is stronger because, though I haven’t wanted to admit it, I need that glow she has—to feel joy.

To
live
.

I need to keep her alive, and that’s where Mina comes in. She holds all the answers—ones I can only get if the fucking simpleton believes that I would willingly betray Irina and the vows I made.

I would rather fuck a venomous snake than breathe near that woman, but I can’t afford to let that be known. I need an in with her to get to the Chenkos and to establish without a doubt that they and Mina are plotting an unsanctioned hit on my wife.

I could kill them all, it’s true, but then my own family and the Velnicovas would have to answer for my actions. Now that I have the chance at a happy existence with Irina, I won’t risk the families retaliating against me for stepping over a line.

So now I plot.

And I lead Mina on because she’s a pawn I need.

When the bottle is just about done and my limbs are jelly, I can breathe again, my emotions firmly back under control just the way I like them.

I’m unable to move, though, my body slipping towards a stupor I need. So instead of making an ass of myself and stumbling upstairs to sleep beside Irina like I crave, I let sleep take me, knowing that in the morning I will have to tell her everything and pray she will understand.

Irina

“Do you want a cracker?”

I cringe and shudder when the sound of Tatiana’s puking hits my ears, shrugging and dropping the box of saltines back on the counter. The poor girl has been retching for a good three minutes since I rolled out of bed and heard her dash for the bathroom.

My bladder is fit to burst with my first morning wee, but I keep that shit clenched and sip at a cup of black coffee, my mind numb to everything but the most basic functions.

Wake. Dress. Brush teeth and hair. Drink coffee. Pretend I don’t want to die.

The basics.

Tat finally comes stumbling into the kitchen and grabs a can of lemonade from the refrigerator, her skin a deathly shade of pale green as she pops the top and chugs before falling against me and moaning.

“Your brother has Satan sperm. It’s poisoning me from the inside.”

My giggle is genuine as I put an arm around her and pull her closer, the smell of puke a little nauseating but bearable as I try to comfort her.

“He’s a pig.”

“An ugly, shit-eating pig.”

“An ugly, shit-eating, not-good-enough-to-make-bacon pig,” I confirm, smiling tenderly at her groaning giggle.

“He won’t leave me alone, Ri. He keeps calling and showing up and it’s starting to wear me down.”

This is the part where I should talk him up and tell her all the reasons she needs to forgive him, but family loyalty does not extend to me being a big fat liar.

Telling Tat that Luka is a good guy wouldn’t be a lie, but telling her that he’s the guy for
her
would be. He loves her in his own way, I know, but it’s not enough.

He’d marry her and try to be what she needs, all the while becoming more miserable as the need for freedom eats at him. That would destroy Tat, and eventually she’d be this bitter, unhappy person that is in no way the bubbly, irreverent lunatic we all know and love.

“He’s trying to do the honorable thing because that’s who he is, Tat. I don’t think he ever meant to hurt you or make you feel this way, and God knows the man is not bad, but he is an idiot. Don’t give in on this, Tat, no matter how much it hurts, because I know it would only hurt more later. Talk to him, sort out some issues for when the baby comes, but let him go. There are men out there that would be better for you.”

Tat’s shoulders quiver a little but she pulls away, taking a deep breath and nods.

“I know that. I do. I just wish it wasn’t so damn hard to remember when his hot ass is in front of me. You ready to tell me why you ran around in the dark last night to get here when it’s not safe and you have a perfectly good bed and man back home?” she asks, pointing at the table while she shoves bread in the toaster and brews herself a cup of tea.

“I caught him talking to Mina on the phone,” I say, appreciating her indrawn breath and shriek of disgust.

“Asshole.”

“You got it in one word, sister. He was all ‘sweetheart’ this and ‘sweetheart’ that in this really soft tone that made my nonexistent balls ache. I swear I got so mad I wanted to stab him with my damn fork!”

“You?”

              “Yeah. And to make things worse, he was all, ‘I need to talk to you about something’ and he hopes I can get over it or whatever. I wasn’t exactly sane at the time. But he…God, he was all sweet with her, ya know? As if he has a right to talk to his ex-slag while I can’t even talk to the guy in the coffee shop without him going all ‘my woman’ on my ass,” I snarl, accepting the toast with a frown and eating just because I know I have to.

              “What a tool.”

“What a prick.”

“Irina! Shameful.” She grins, making my own grin peek out.

I’m not a potty mouth, at least I never used to be. Ironically, the man who hates me cursing is the very reason I do it so much..

“So? You just walked? I can’t see him just letting you go, Ri. The man’s obsessed with you,” she mutters, biting into dry toast with a grimace.

“Nope. I told him a few truths about his precious Mina and then left him in the kitchen. I snuck out while he was still in a stupor about what I said.”

That has Tat raising a brow and I blow out a breath as fresh guilt assails me. Stupid Russian guilt complex.

“I told him what she said, Tat, and then I yelled at him that she doesn’t love him, that he loves a woman who wants him to die unhappy. I told him…” I pause and swallow my tears. “I said I would have loved him better, and all the while I was so stupidly hoping that he’d at least fight for me, ya know? But he didn’t. He was devastated about her, so broken. God, I…it hurt. So bad. I just couldn’t stay, no matter how creeped out I was the whole time getting here.”

Tat’s lip is curled so hard, she’s suddenly the female version of Elvis.

“We should so skin his nuts before he goes after that tramp. You hold him down and I’ll do the skinning.”

“Hold on, now. I get to do the skinning since technically those nuts legally belong to me,” I protest, giggling again when she scrunches her nose.

“Ugh, fine, but if you cry while you do it, it sorta ruins the whole effect. I won’t cry. I’ll cackle,” she says haughtily, making me laugh outright at the mental image of her puking on Misha’s crotch.

The woman is a bloodthirsty wench, but she heaves at the sight of a rare steak nowadays.

“No ball cutting, no matter how tempting it sounds. Nope, this gal’s just gonna do what I always do.”

“Cry for weeks and bake the dick a cake?”

              “Ugh, screw my kind heart and moral compass.”

“No, honey, screw love. They may take our hearts, but they will never take our freedom!” she yells in a Scottish accent, her female imitation of
Braveheart
making me wheeze.

My heart may be bloody and raw, and I may have had a really unacceptable urge to run home and prostrate myself at Misha’s feet and beg him to just try and love me, but at least I have this.

Unconditional support and love.

“Come on then, my sister from another Russian mister. Let’s blow this joint and go show the world what they’re missing.”

“Hell yeah.”