Page 18 of Sexting My Bratva Boss

I lock both bolts again, slide down onto the floor, try to catch my breath.

My throat is raw.

Everything feels raw.

What the hell am I doing?

Eyes closed, I see Nana’s face?—

And it’s disapproving.

Thank God she never met Sal. When I started seeing him, he knew about Nana. He’s the one who offered me the money for her home hospice care, so she wouldn’t have to leave the house.

The house that I lost soon after she passed.

The money that he never explained was a debt, not a gift.

I still owe him thirty grand. And the interest—information from Obsidian Spire, specifically the Operations room.

Tears well out of the corners of my eyes despite how tightly they’re shut.Howdid I get here? I was happy once. I felt safe, and carefree.

My phone buzzes.

I don’t want to look at it, but I’ve been ignoring Sal’s texts all week. After this… there’s no more ignoring him.

Dumb whore, flashes across the screen, followed quickly by another message:He owns you now. And I’ll take you both down. Your debt is doubled.

The tears come harder, faster. This all feels like a pit I can’t get out of—Sal threw me into it, but Konstantin Martynov pulled me down with him.

Down to the very bottom.

Sal’s right; I’m his now.

Standing on weak legs, I manage to get to the bathroom, down some Tylenol, and clean up the scrape on my face. It’s not as bad as it looks. My scalp pulses with pain and the toes on my right foot are raw. My finger, too, is badly swollen already. Hopefully, it isn’t broken; I can’t venture out of the apartment, not tonight, so I opt instead for taping it to my middle finger and hoping for the best.

A knock on the door comes just minutes after I manage to look a bit presentable… for a woman who just got beat up. It’s a pair of cops, and they ask about Sal—his name, what happened, if I want to press charges. I can feel Bill lingering down the hall, watching incredulously as I tell them that everything’s fine. It was just a misunderstanding.

By the time I manage to struggle into pajamas, wash my face, and check the doors again, my phone lights up once more.

My chest aches. I want so badly to ignore it.

I want all of this to disappear. Crazy to think that just this morning, I was feeling so euphoric, lost to pleasure.

I tap the screen, fully expecting to see more abuse from Sal.

Instead, the text reads only:Tomorrow night. A car will pick you up at 7 p.m. Come ready.

The name of the contact: Last Resort.

Climbing into bed, I realize that the text doesn’t make me scared or exhausted or even angry.

I’m… curious.

And maybe a bit excited.

Andmaybe…just a little bit… I feel safe.

Because if Sal is right, and Konstantin Martynov owns me, then everyone knows that he doesn’t let others take what he wants.