Bratva Boss’s Secret Triplets by Bella King

Chapter 15

Rebel

My arm is throbbing like…

…Like I just got shot. That fucker Dean is going to have something else coming when I catch up to him. I’m going to kill him, but I’m going to do it slowly. That greasy bastard will suffer more in my hands than the devil will put him through when he finally arrives in hell.

I can’t believe he actually got a shot off at me, much less two of them that hit my arm and shoulder. I could’ve died back there, and I’m not entirely certain that I won’t, considering the amount of blood I’ve already lost. I can still feel the clouds floating through my head, tempting me to pass out in traffic.

I resist the urge to finally get some rest in an early grave. Perhaps it’s too early for me, or maybe I’m just too spiteful to die without taking more people with me. Whatever the case, I’m driving my ass to my headquarters so that my private doctor can put a proper bandage on these wounds.

Unfortunately for April, she’s stuck with me until I figure out what to do next. I don’t think I’m finished questioning her about the clinic. The ties are too tight, and not everything makes sense just yet.

Like that woman, Maria Addison. Something isn’t quite right about her or that story. I’m not certain she even exists. I didn’t have time to look her up yesterday, but today I’ll be sure to do it. I’ll find out the truth soon enough.

“This is ludicrous,” April says from beside me, folding her arms tightly over her chest and letting out a long sigh after several minutes of seething in silence. “I mean, where are we even going?”

“You ask too many questions,” I reply, shaking my head slowly. I lean forward, brushing my arm across April’s thigh as I reach for the glove compartment. I have a couple of cigars in there that would be rather nice right about now.

April slaps my arm as though that would stop me were I up to no good. In reality, I get whatever I want, whenever I want. If a bullet won’t stop me, then the hand of a small woman definitely won’t.

But today, I’m only feigning for a nicotine fix, not a woman. I’ll save the fun for after I get myself properly stitched up. I doubt I’d even have enough blood left in me to fill up a boner, anyway, and I’m in too much pain to enjoy myself fully. April merits my full attention.

“Chill out, sweetheart,” I say as my fingers close around the familiar papery dryness of a tightly-rolled cigar. I slide it out of the glove compartment and hold it up in front of her for a moment, as though to show her how wrong her assumptions were.

She turns her head away, like the brat that she is. She should be on her knees thanking me, and instead she’s acting like I’m the one who tied her up in the bathroom. If I had been the one tying her up, she would be moaning my name instead of complaining.

The cigar lights in a sea of grey smoke, wafting around the cabin like a storm cloud as April pretends to be bothered by it. She keeps waving her hand in the air, letting out pathetic little fake coughs.

“April, please shut your mouth,” I grumble as she coughs for the dozenth time.

“You’re suffocating me in here,” she replies, but makes no attempt to roll down the window. That’s how I know she’s faking. She just wants to complain about me, to emotionally distance herself from the man who saved her.

Why? I don’t know.

“You aren’t going to suffocate,” I say, but I begin to feel lightheaded myself. I opt to roll down the window, quietly giving in to April’s complaints while not forfeiting entirely. I keep the cigar clenched between my teeth as we roll up to my headquarters.

“Do you live in a prison?” she asks dryly as I roll up to a gate and lean out the window toward a speaker.

I ignore her, pressing the talk button and being prompted with an immediate response from one of the guards. “Password,” he says gruffly, his voice turned into a tinny rendition of it’s true self by the speaker.

The password changes everyday, but it isn’t the only security measure we have in place. It makes me wonder just how strong the drugs that the Saint Gray Mafia are manufacturing are. If our prisoner could scale the gate and escape like a psychotic zombie, we might need more barbed wire up there to prevent anyone from coming in.

I recite today’s password and the buzzer goes off, followed by the noisy roll of the gate as it opens. I drive through, only to stop just a few yards away at the next security measure. This one requires that I scan my iris. God help me if anyone from a warring mafia discovers that’s what they need to enter. The first thing they’d do is carve my eyeballs out of my skull if I was ever captured.

The scanner goes green as it gets a reading, and the next gate opens, allowing me to drive into he parking lot in from of the building where two armed guards wait at the door. They’re going to be concerned about the woman with me, so I have to inform them even before she steps out of the car that’s she’s not a threat.

I turn to April once we’re parked, taking the cigar out of my mouth to speak. “Wait here for a second. The guards will blow you head off the second you poke it out of the car if I don’t tell them that you’re with me first.”

She wrinkles her small nose. “Lovely.”

I feel as though I’m going to collapse the second my feet hit the ground outside, but I steady myself on the frame of the car, taking a deep breath before looking up at the guards. “I have a passenger. She’s fine,” I say to a particularly buff guard.

He tips his chin down a quarter of an inch in a nod and stiffens his stance.

“Oh, also call my doctor. I need a little medical attention,” I say, motioning to my bloodied arm.

He nods again, twirling around on his heel and marching into the house.

I move around to April’s side of the car and open the door for her, my hand tingling as it grips the handle. I can barely feel the heat of the metal on my skin, and as April steps out, I can tell my her facial expressions that I’m not looking so hot.

“Are you okay?” she asks, showing genuine concern.

I take a labored breath. “Should be… soon.”

“Let me help you,” she says, bending down and offer her shoulder my me to lean on.

I push her away gently, hobbling toward the building. “I’ll be fine,” I say, more to myself than to her. My pulse is pounding in my ears again, making it nearly impossible to hear. Maybe that cigar wasn’t the best idea I’ve had today.