BAD APPLE: The Complete Series (Parts 1-5) Page 7

  “Oh my.”

  It’s the Reaper, a ghastly, deadly looking visage all in black staring back at me, but somehow I don’t feel disgusted or threatened by the thing. Instead I feel rampant for the feel of that chest and his strength over me again.

  But first I want to see it all. So I do. I lean down and take in his ink and shake my head at the lettering beneath the scythe, the words written in Russian.

  “What does it say?”

  “The dead don’t lie,” he says heavily, his chest rising and falling heavily as I trail my fingers up and around his shoulder, my body going around his back.

  This one is a beauty, something I didn’t even note before in the kitchen thanks to his ass. It’s a portrait stretching from his shoulder blades to just above his hips.

  What shocks me about it is not the detail, though God knows whoever did this tattoo is a true artist, and I’m also not shocked that the face staring back at me is of a hauntingly beautiful woman. I am shocked to see a name and two dates printed beneath.

  Jesus.

  “Who’s Mina?” I ask even though I know the answer is not going to be good.

  His back is tense, the muscles jerking away when I raise a hand to touch them, wanting for some morbid reason to lay my hands on something I shouldn’t.

  This space, this part of him, belongs to her. I know it like I know that I am his now, no matter what I say or do or feel.

  The rejection of my touch hurts, and I pull my hand back quickly, swallowing the tears I feel rushing forth.

  “The past,” he says stonily before whipping the water off and facing me. “Come, Irina. I need to care for you or you will hurt later.”

  Hurt? I think I hurt now and I can’t even say why.

  The sheet comes loose with one tug of his hands and I’m turned towards the bath without a word before I hear his gasp and those hands clamp down on my hips to keep me still.

  “What the fuck is this?!”

  I twist uncomfortably and wince at the black bruise riding low on my ribs and I tear up just remembering how it got there. It hurts that Luka would have pushed me away, and hurts even more that I don’t think he’d even care at this point that it left a mark.

  He’d probably take satisfaction from knowing that he avenged Mama’s tears.

  “Angel, Jesus, what the hell happened here?” he asks again between clenched teeth, his fingers tenderly probing at the bruise with a frown.

  “I, uh, I fell?”

  His head comes up swiftly and I meet the terrifyingly intense blue eyes I stared into as I climaxed.

  “Never lie to me, Irina. I do not like it. Now get into that bath and tell me what happened to your back or I will not be very nice.”

  “Chill out, Misha. I fell. I’m a klutz and accidents happen to me all the freaking time. Stop being such an asshole,” I mutter, grabbing my hair into a bun as he scoots me forward and slides in behind me.

  I feel like a freaking whale and more exposed than I have ever been in my life, but the man reacts strongly to all attempts I make to curl into myself and hide my body, instead pulling me back into his chest and resting his hands over my belly.

  His sigh of bliss wafts over my ear, even as I giggle at the way he has to bend his knees just to fit.

  “I like all this softness, Irina. It’s a huge turn-on to have no bones poking into me, and your ass is perfect for cradling my cock. Now stop squirming around and trying to hide what is mine before he takes the hint and you’re walking bowlegged for a week. Now about that bruise…”

  “Drop it.”

  “I will. If you agree to move into the store I have bought and paid for,” he demands.

  He paid…

  “No! I don’t want or need you throwing money around to fix my life. I made my business a success and—”

  “And now it is on the verge of ruin unless you do something about it, Irina. I have already paid for the building and started Vadi and Nikita on the path to setting it up for you. It will be ready tomorrow.”

  “But, but I can’t afford it, Misha. I put everything into the other shop and I have no collateral for a loan now that it’s closed and—”

  “Woman, I am your husband. I can buy you a shop without explaining—”

  “No, you can’t. You can’t because I refuse to have my business overtaken by anyone, Misha. I love that shop, but I can’t afford it, and I won’t have you paying for all of my stuff. I want one thing that belongs only to me. Not my family. Not you. Nobody. It’s mine. My accomplishment,” I hiss, pulling up and struggling out of the bath to grab a towel.

  It’s not that I mind his sweetness, but I’ve fought my whole life to be out from under my family’s money. You think I couldn’t have skipped the fifteen-hour workdays and the Ramen noodles for two years? That shit sucked, but I relished very single minute of it because when Sweetness started doing good business, I had only myself to pat on the back for it.

  Misha comes out of the bath with a snarl, his body sending my wits scattering as he gets out and stalks my way, pinning me to the wall with a frown and ticking jaw.

  “Then sell the old shop to me. It will be a trade of sorts, and I’ll recoup my outlay.”

  He’s being reasonable…and he just came up with the perfect way for me to get what I need.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Irina

  “This place is great, Ri! Don’t get me wrong, I loved the other shop so much with its quaintness and the way it was just tucked in between the bigger buildings like the Stewart Little house, but this is so much bigger,” Mrs. Pots coos when I hand her her change and the massive box of goodies she’s been coming in for twice a week, every week, for two years.

  “Thanks, Pots, we likes it too.” I wink before giving the register over to Nik and heading to the back to collect another tray of just cooled croissants.

  It’s been a week since I found out I was married and that I had a new shop. Since then, time has moved a mile a minute. I’m doing so much business that I’ve had to accept that bitchy chef as my assistant just to keep the place stocked for the day.

  I moved in with Misha that same day without argument when he laid down the law and told me he refused to drive across the city to have sex with his own wife.

  I needed time, I told him that a million times, but the man is unstoppable when he wants something. I get it, though. He turns to me at least three times during the night and does me so hard, I can’t move a limb after. He also likes to snuggle.

  My family still hasn’t spoken to me and I miss having my three overprotective brothers at my back and my parents calling me twice a day, but I’m okay.

  I have Misha now. He’s insatiable and keeps me completely occupied whenever I’m burned out from work. He feeds me three times a day without fail whether I’m hungry or not, makes love to me whenever and wherever he can find a hard surface and privacy, and calls me so much that my friends tease me about overprotective megalomaniacs and their obsessive behavior.

  It’s all going so well that by the time I get into Delilah for the trek home, I’m feeling great and ready to make love to my man, with the lights on even!

  It’s still surreal to walk through the doors of his building, greet the concierge, and take his private elevator all the way up to the penthouse, but eh, a girl can deal, I think as I skip into the foyer with a smile.

  A smile that falls instantly when I come face to face with my husband kissing another woman. A woman I know. The woman who takes up almost his entire back and should be dead.

  My heart stops and then starts thumping weakly as I take it all in and gasp.

  I want to run. I should run. Instead I’m rooted to the spot and bloodless as he pulls away and whips his head up, his eyes meeting mine with shock.

  “Angel.”

  PART II

  Chapter One

  Irina

  The blood pounding in my head is a sure sign of an oncoming migraine.

  I feel my heart breaking as I stand still a
nd watch the man I married one week ago.

  I never wanted marriage and commitment and the risk of getting hurt, and I told him so. I told him I only wanted to be friends. I warned him that this wasn’t a good idea, yet he still pursued me with a single-minded determination that still has me reeling.

  I didn’t want any of this shit—not the chance to care or force myself to trust another person with my feelings, not this happiness that’s been bubbling inside me since the morning I woke up and he laid down the law, insisting that I take possession of the new shop for my bakery and sign my old location over to him.

  He also insisted that I move into his penthouse and sleep in his bed while he taught me that my body is so much more than I ever thought it could be. He brought me out of myself and showed me that I can be beautiful and free with my sexuality, that I have nothing to be embarrassed about.

  I was happy for the first time in days because even though my family shunned me, I wasn’t alone. I had him.

  Now I’m staring at my husband of a week while a woman whose face is tattooed on his back smiles serenely at me, letting me know that she knows what I’m feeling and doesn’t care.

  They were kissing passionately, as if they couldn’t live without touching one another.

  “Irina.”

  That one word seizes my attention and I drag my eyes away from Mina and look over at Misha, hating the look of horror and guilt on his handsome face.

  He’s my husband, and he’s just kissed another woman, one who is important to him if that fucking memorial on his back is anything to go by.

  I want to cry. And the only reason I don’t allow myself that release is the fierce pride running through my blood at this very moment.

  I turn my eyes back to the woman and acknowledge her smug look and the puffy, kiss-swollen state of her lips.

  I don’t know what the hell is going on, why a woman I assumed was dead is sitting on my sofa with my guilty husband, giving me a look of malicious triumph.

  “Angel, I—”

  He makes as if to stand and come nearer, and I finally snap out of it and shake my head, digging deep for a composure I neither feel nor claim to know anything about.

  I just know that if I break down and cry in front of these two, I will hate myself forever. And I’m already running on a heap of self-recrimination at the moment as I think about how fucking stupid I’ve been lately.

  Everything that’s happened the last few days has been all him taking over, becoming the central force and focus in my life. I work less, something that would have been anathema to me weeks ago, and rush home to his place because I’m excited about seeing him.

  He’s steadily and ruthlessly made me fall for him, and all the while…

  “I, uh…I’m just gonna go upstairs,” I manage to say, mentally high-fiving myself when it comes out steady and strong.

  Misha goes to stand again, but I’m no fool. I’m not waiting around here for my crying to start.

  I manage to make it all the way to the bedroom without bawling like a loser, and I even get half my clothes shoved into two bags before the first tear makes an appearance.

  I’m cursing silently and stuffing the bag, my knees cushioned by the carpet in the room-sized closet when I feel him behind me. He’s like a physical force, something that I feel before he even gets close, and I shiver, purposely ignoring him as I zip up the last bag and lean to the right to grab the neon-pink kitten slippers that Feliks gave me last year for my birthday.

  The reminder makes me want to cry all the harder, and I have to physically stop myself from doing just that when I feel the air stir and the woodsy scent of my husband gets stronger.

  I’m prepared for words, apologies—anything, really, to let me know that he’s still a good guy feeling guilt. Instead, I feel his arms wrapping around me from behind.

  “No!”

  “Shh, let me explain,” he croons, his arms tightening when I begin to struggle, desperate to get out of his grasp before the dam breaks.

  Emotions have never been easy for me. Mamen’ka once told me that the source of my greatest sorrow and joy would be my ability to love intensely. I never believed her, but laughed and asked her how loving too much could be destructive.

  Now I know.

  I’ve somehow managed to fall for the man in a matter of weeks. I let myself begin to love him, and now I’m hurting.

  And I want him to hurt, too.

  “Explain?” I spit out, feeling as limp as a deflated balloon. “What’s to explain? You’re obviously not satisfied with what we have.”

  “No!”

  “Oh, come on!” I yell, using his shock to wrench away and scuttle forward, turning back to him with a scowl.

  I want to cry, damn these useless tears, and slap his stupidly handsome face hard enough to mark him. I want to make him feel what I feel and shove the shame he’s brought on me right up his smug, overbearing ass.

  But most of all, I want to preserve what little pride I have left and let him know that this is nothing, just a little blip in my road—a trivial setback that I’ll recover from in a few days.

  Even though I already feel like my chest has been ripped open, exposing my insides.

  “We’ve been together for like five freaking seconds and you’ve got your tongue tasting your ex’s tonsils? This is why I didn’t…” I stop talking, unwilling to subject myself to the humiliation of a long, protracted argument. All I want right now is to go home to the apartment I haven’t yet gotten rid of, and lie under the covers for hours.

  “Irina…please, angel, just listen to me.”

  Chapter Two

  Misha

  The early dawn light peeks just over the horizon as I stretch my aching legs out in front of me and down the last drops of vodka in my glass before hurling the crystal at the nearest wall.

  My head’s fuzzy and my thoughts disjointed for the first time in a long time—all except one that is as clear now as it was hours ago when my wife walked out on me.

  I just fucked up the best thing I’ve ever had.

  For a brief, stupid second I felt everything I had once felt for Mina roar to life. I remembered the good times. The laughter. The passion. The joy we once shared.

  I also remembered, too late, the pain that came along with this woman, and by then she was kissing me, taking something that belongs to my wife.

  “Jesus!”

  I kissed her back. It lasted all of two freaking seconds. I remember feeling soiled, and yet I did it. Long enough for my wife to walk in and see me responding to another.

  I feel worse than shit. Lower than the lowest form of life. And so angry with myself and that momentary lapse that even now I can’t form a good enough reason for Irina to forgive me.

  Which explains why I let her go instead of forcing her to stay and listen to me. What would I have said? Oh, sorry, angel, I gave in for the briefest moment because I was so taken with the memories of another time?

  “Yo! If you’re naked or screwing and you don’t wanna give us a show, you should stop now ‘cause we’re coming in!”

  I don’t need my brothers making me feel worse than I already do. They love Irina like a sister, and I know that I’m in for an ass kicking the minute I tell them that she’s left me.

  I sit in silence and feel my spine lock when the two simpletons come barreling in, laughing at some wise-ass crack Vadim makes. The laughter stops abruptly when they spot me sitting by the window, and I can practically feel their confusion when they come closer while glancing at the bed.

  This is a morning ritual. Vadi and Leo are always here before dawn to enjoy breakfast and shoot the breeze with Irina before we all drive her to work and then go to the office together.

  Since marrying, I’ve kept the same schedule as my wife, wanting to spend as much time with her as possible. I accomplished that easily by getting my work done in the early morning and opening up the latter half of my day.

  Most days I spend time in her bakery watching he
r perform magic and create things that tempt even me, even though I’ve never had much of a sweet tooth.

  My life has become…more in the short time I’ve known my angel, and I can honestly say I haven’t been this happy in a long time. I need that woman. I crave her touch, her laughter, her sweet smiles.

  I need Irina Novac, my wife, at my side, but I may have done the one thing that she will never forgive.

  “Um, not to sound like a bonehead or nothin’, but where’s Ri? She promised to make those apple fritter pancakes this morning and I smelled zero goodness coming from the kitchen, Mish.”

  Fucking Vadim. Leave it to the little shit to focus on food when I feel like my stomach’s been ripped out clean.

  I’m about to answer him when I see Leo’s eyes narrow a fraction before he growls and closes his eyes impatiently.

  “You’ve been drinking. What the fuck did you do, Misha?”

  “Mina.”

  That one word is all the explanation they need, and I feel their anger before Vadim is in my face, his blue eyes challenging me.

  “Please tell me you didn’t talk to Ri about Mina. Tell me you did not bring that taint into your lives.”

  “I…she showed up here yesterday and…”

  Leo’s eyes are hard, and Vadim’s are deadly as I sigh deeply and look back out at the park, the view doing nothing to dispel that gloom that’s hit me.

  Irina is gone.

  And God help me, the look in her eyes when she saw us… I will never forget that look or the effort it took her to walk away.

  To witness her pain while that bitch Mina sat smirking beside me was agonizing. If not for my upbringing, I would have slapped that look right off her face and let her know how disgusted I was by us both.

  Instead I threw her out and threatened to ruin her financially if she ever set foot near me or my wife again—what I should have done the minute I laid eyes on her.

  “What did you do, Misha?” Vadim growls, stalking to the opposite window as Leo takes a seat across from me and leans back, grabbing the bottle before I can.