Bratva Boss’s Secret Triplets by Bella King

Chapter 17

Dean

That goddamn bitch gets away with everything. She gets away with betraying me with a fucking criminal, and then she gets away from the opportunity to atone herself for what she’s done. All she needed to do was cooperate and I wouldn’t have killed her.

I storm back up the stairs to the apartment, the effects of this drug powering through even the most unreasonably painful circumstances. Once this shit hits the streets, it’ll be pure chaos. At least I can say I got to try it first.

Dr. Ryan was clear about his instructions for me tonight. Come here, steal April, return her to him for questioning and leverage. He’s already paid me, and the money is gone. I don’t know if that makes him an idiot or me. The idea of having to explain myself to him with nothing to show for my time makes my guts hurt.

When I get back up to the apartment, I leap up the stairs, feeling hot blood pumping into my arms and legs at the thought of destroying that bitch once and for all. I want to tear her to shreds, to pull the hair from her head strand by strand before I dig my fingertips into her pupils.

All this time that I’ve spent trying to get her back, and she goes and lets some muscly bastard stick his dick in her. Jesus, is this the type of woman she’s become?

The door isn’t locked when I arrive, and I’m not surprised to find that nobody is home, but just seeing April’s stuff sends me back to the top of the wave of my righteous anger. Seeing the remnants of the life she’s made without me is too much for me, especially now that she’s fucking some goddamn gangster.

My rage overtakes me, and I swing my arm across the countertop, knocking a series of dirty glasses and dishes to the floor. The sound of April’s belongings breaking is effervescent to me, potentially another effect of the drug.

I need more to be broken.

If I can’t break her, I’ll break her things.

I migrate to the living room, first grabbing a potted plant from the coffee table and flinging it into the wall. The sheer force of the pot leaving my hands and flying into the drywall excites me like nothing ever has. I feel alive for the first time since April left. I need more of this until I’ve had enough.

The coffee table itself is light enough for me to pick up, but heavy enough to splinter and crash through the drywall with a satisfying series of snaps and cracks. If I were sober, I wouldn’t be able to hear the individual noises emanating from all the shit I’m breaking. It’s almost ethereal, each note of destruction resonating like nothing I've ever heard.

With the coffee table gone, I move on to the couch.

Another cheap piece of IKEA furniture, the couch is easy to displace. A bit heavier, sure, but not by much. When I flip it over, I see a magazine tossed haphazardly into the corner behind it. Who the fuck reads magazines anymore?

Then I notice something that stops me in my tracks.

It’s a pregnancy magazine.

Realization washes over me like mercury in my veins as I figure out the timeline of a possible pregnancy. April couldn’t possibly be pregnant with my baby, it’s been too long and she’s not showing yet. Could it be that gangster asshole’s?! What kind of woman would bring a baby into the world knowing the father is a goddamn criminal? She’s even more stupid than I thought.

This kind of information might absolve me to Dr. Ryan though.

I begin to rampage through the apartment again, not entirely sure what I’m looking for but with more intent than I’ve done anything in my entire life. I tear photos off the walls and make my way into April’s bedroom to search for more possible information regarding her pregnancy and her ties to that mafia asshole.

After tearing her bedroom apart, I don’t find anything worth mentioning to Dr. Ryan, and I grow more agitated as my emotions fight with the drug in my system. Nobody told me that this substance would make me so fucking angry so easily.

Leaving here without April has me nervous still, even with this newfound information. I doubt she’s caught on that I’m involved with him, or that he’d be anything other than a doctor. But that doesn’t stop me from feeling sick with anxiety and uncertainty.

I storm out of the apartment as blue flashing lights appear outside. The police are already getting out of their cars, and one of them waves a hand at me.

I laugh to myself. If they think I’m coming down and talking to them, they’re shit out of luck. They’ll have to catch me, and I’m too fast of a runner for someone paid so little. They won’t even chase me, I bet.

I turn around, dashing toward the balcony and jumping off as though it was the first floor. My shins ache as I hit the grass in the backyard of the complex, but I’m quickly able to shrug it off and keep going. This is almost too easy.

I’m going to get April, and when I do, I’m going to teach her a lesson she’ll never forget.