Chapter 16David
16
David
I step out of the bathroom. A thunderous boom vibrates through the walls. I stop in my tracks in the middle of the hallway just outside the bathroom door.
“What the hell was that?” My voice is raspy from lack of sleep and too much vodka.
Vlad emerges from the living room, shuffling on socked feet, his hair sticking up at the top. His eyes are bloodshot, and his face is pale.
He blinks at me through glossy eyes. “I thought it was you.”
“I thought it was you ,” I say. “Did something fall out there?”
Before Vlad can answer, another loud thud comes from the front of the condo. Vlad and I freeze, staring at each other. My heart crashes against my ribcage.
“Police!” a male voice pierces through the momentary silence.
Vlad instinctively spins on a heel toward the sliding glass doors in the living room, but he’s too groggy with sleep and still too drunk. His motor skills fail him, and he trips over the rug, tumbling over the coffee table, glass shards spraying as he slams into it. He rolls off the side and hits the ground with a heavy thud.
“Goddamn it!” I roar.
The front door crashes open, splinters of wood flying everywhere from the broken door frame.
I try to scream, but the sound gets strangled at the base of my throat.
A sea of black and metal swarms inside my apartment. In my drunken stupor, instead of bolting like Vlad just tried to do, a surge of anger sends adrenaline swirling through my veins. I leap forward, throwing myself to the middle of the circling men in uniform.
“Where’s your warrant?” I snarl, my fists raised, ready to defend myself and protect my home.
“Right here,” one of the officer’s snarls right back, his smile without humor. His eyes are glaring slits.
He holds up a piece of paper and shoves it at my chest. I take it and squeeze it in my fist, throwing the crumpled ball to the floor without bothering to read it.
I send a glacial glare right back to him. “What grounds do you have storming into my home in the middle of the night like this?”
The scathing smirk grows on the officer’s face, and I have to use all my willpower not to pummel his face with my knuckles. But I relish the way the crunch of cheekbone would sound.
Alcohol and fury send me spiraling into this urgent need to become violent.
However, now that the police are in my house, Vlad gets a second wind himself and rushes up behind me. He tries to rein me in, grabbing my wrists and yanking me backward.
“Let go of me,” I spit through clenched teeth.
My fists fly, punching nothing but air. I’m clumsy and slurring. The alcohol sloshes through my brain, giving me a drowning sensation.
My arms and legs won’t cooperate and do what I want them to do. I curse myself for drinking so much. I know better.
My job is too important, and I should never allow myself these mental slips. That’s how much of a chokehold Hazel has over me, and I need to get myself under control. Forgetting her is in my best interest.
“I’m trying to help you.” Vlad’s voice is a low rumble, and his breath is hot on the back of my neck.
“David Petrov, you’re under arrest for the illegal possession of a murder weapon used in the recent shooting of a judge…” the rest of the officer’s words fade out and I hear nothing but a severe buzzing in my ears.
In that moment, I see red. I charge forward, veins in my neck and temples straining under my skin.
“David!” Vlad’s warning voice shouts, but it’s too late. I’m lumbering toward the arresting officers.
One of them slams me so hard into the wall, an explosion of white stars bursts in my vision.
Pain zaps through my head and I groan against it. “Fuck you!”
“Just comply.” Vlad’s urging voice rings through again.
“I didn’t do anything,” I shout.
“That’s what all criminals say,” a tubby officer with frizzy, carrot colored hair laughs as if he loves bursting into people’s homes unannounced. “Stay still, or I’ll tact on a resisting charge,” he adds as I squirm in his grasp.
A desperate fight or flight response barrels through my system. I snatch my hands away from him. The next several seconds are hands and fists and arms slapping, punching and legs kicking.
I hear the officers breathing coming out sharp and rushed. The crackle of his radio hisses near my ear.
“Stand back!” one of the officer’s yells.
“You need to calm down or I’m spraying you,” another warns.
But I’m too far gone, like a bucking bronco just released from his cage. My head hits the wall again and I see stars.
“I can’t get him to settle down,” one of the officers tells another in a frantic, breathless voice.
“Leave him alone!” Vlad urges.
“I can fight my own battles,” I growl.
“You shouldn’t be fighting at all,” the officer threatens. “Congratulations, you’re getting a resisting charge tacked on. I warned you.”
“You think I give a shit?” I bark out.
“Your lawyer’s going to have a field day with you,” the officer cackles. “Or an ulcer. Either way, hope you saved up enough of your blood money for that.”
Anger sends me leaping, but I don’t get very far. A spray of something hot and spicy hits my face.
Instant pain evaporates the air in my lungs. My face is melting off. My eyes incinerate into the back of my skull.
I scream in agony and collapse to my knees, which sends another throbbing pain pulsing through my legs.
I can’t breathe. My throat is on fire and tears sting my eyes. Everyone is coughing and choking. The air is thick with the toxic fumes of pepper spray.
The fight leaves my body. All I can focus on is the pain.
The blurry form of a cop takes shape in front of my puffy eyes. He wastes no time while I’m in my pepper spray daze.
He yanks my hands behind my back. Pain rips through my arm muscles and I wince, grinding my teeth. My nose smashes into the wall, my chin grinding into it so hard it starts rubbing off a small circle of paint.
Cold metal pinches against my wrists and I hear the click of the handcuffs.
An officer hauls my kneeling body to a standing position. “Let’s move,” he barks.
“I’m innocent.” I’m out of breath. My cheeks are burning. My eyes are on fire and my face is so swollen it’s like I’ve just been stung by a dozen hornets.
I’m stumbling over my own feet, losing my balance from my pinned arms and the alcohol coursing through my veins.
The carrot head wrinkles his nose, his expression repulsed. “You smell like a bourbon factory.”
“This one reeks too,” one of the officers declares, pointing a thumb in Vlad’s direction.
I scowl at Vlad over my shoulder as the officers try to hustle me through the door.
“I’ll call our lawyer,” Vlad calls out, still coughing and hacking from the pepper spray. He’s bending forward, his palms on his knees, drool falling from his mouth.
“Do it quickly,” I pant as I’m dragged out into the parking lot.
The officer who had shown me the warrant for my arrest opens the back of the police car. The lights are on, illuminating the windows with a flickering blue light.
The night is balmy. I’m sweating buckets, my shirt like a second skin.
The cop pushes my head down and shoves me forward. “Get in.”
“Aren’t you going to take me to dinner first?” I growl.
He digs his fingers into my skull. “Stop making jokes and move .”
My knees buckle and I fall ungracefully into the back of the seat. I slide across the leather. It smells like sweat and stale cigarettes and armpits.
A sudden and very urgent nausea makes my eyes water and sends bile crawling up my throat. I breathe in through my nose, swallowing it back down.
“Been having fun back here? Smells like it,” I grin with no amusement at the officer, slumping forward in an awkward position with my knees sprawled. I’m too tall to fit in the cramped quarters of this backseat.
The officer glowers at me and slams the door in my face.
His radio clicks on, static and voices coming through the speaker. He clicks it off and grips the steering wheel until his knuckles stretch white over his skin.
He switches on the siren, and it blares through my eardrums, causing a shrieking headache to pulse through my temples. I squeeze my eyes shut and take a deep breath to calm my rolling stomach.
“Headed somewhere in a hurry?” I smirk, but my lips sizzle with tingling pain.
The officer’s eyes slide to mine through the rearview mirror. His are red too, from the pepper spray. His face reflects squares of light through the metal bars of the cage that separates us. Like I’m an untamed animal and he’s my keeper.
“You’ve got a mouth on you,” he grumbles, adjusting himself in the seat.
I do the same, and the leather makes a squeaking sound under my weight, sticking to my sweaty thighs.
At the station, they send me through the booking process. I continue my sarcastic rows with them and watch with satisfaction as their jaws twitch and their eyes dart, avoiding making direct contact with me.
“You should give me a penthouse suite. Or better yet, can I fix myself up? I don’t think I’ll like how my picture looks since you guys’ blasted pepper spray all over me.” I croon as they shove my fingers into their print ink and direct me to the wall to capture my mugshot. “You know, since I’ve been here before and all, I might as well take advantage and ask for some perks.”
“Fresh out of penthouse suites and perks, I’m afraid,” an officer declares. He wasn’t one of the arresting officers who was at my condo. His uniform is crumpled, and his eyes are rimmed with exhaustion.
“No VIP treatment?” I click my tongue. “A shame. I can pay, too.”
“I’m sure all you thugs have plenty of dirty money,” he mutters.
“Don’t be jealous,” I quip.
“I’m not the one who’s going to be sleeping in a cell tonight,” he quips right back.
“At the end of your shift?” I ask. “Tired from getting all the bad guys all day? Worn out? Going home to take it out on your wife?”
He stops dead in his tracks and for a moment, I fear I’ve taken it too far. But instead, he keeps walking, escorting me down the hallway to the holding cells.
“Just shut your mouth,” he orders. “I know you’re smarter than you look.” He throws me into a cell as if it takes the rest of his depleted energy to do it.
He unclasps my handcuffs, and I rub the aching, raw skin, smirking at him. “You guys offer room service? I’ll take a cold beer and an oozy, cheesy slice of peperoni pizza. The greasier, the better.”
The officer rolls his eyes. “Save the requests for someone who cares.”
He exits the cell, and the door slams shut with a click of finality. I swallow hard and stumble backward, trying to stop the room from spinning.
I’m grateful for the miracle that I’m placed in a holding cell with no other people, but who knows how long I’ll stay that lucky.
I decide to take advantage and sprawl out on the metal cot on the wall in the corner, face down, my head splitting open.
“If this is rock bottom, I’m neck deep,” I mumble to myself.
I think about my father. He must be looking at me from the grave and shaking his head in disappointment. An intense wave of shame surges through me, boiling the blood in my veins.
I take a deep breath, convincing myself to calm down. Vlad will be contacting the lawyer, and I’ll be out of here by morning. I just have to hold on a little while longer.
It’s in my best interest to try to sleep it off, praying that I can burn off the alcohol quickly and won’t have a searing hangover, come morning.
The image of Oleg and his gang of thugs thrusts itself through the front of my brain. It feels like someone rubbed a Brillo pad underneath my skin. I can’t let him get away with this.
Revenge is like a blaring alarm inside my head, keeping me going.
Oleg will pay for what he’s done to me, one way or another. Revenge is a dish best served cold, and I’ll make sure he never sees it coming. In the end, he’ll never forget what happens to people who cross me.
I’m too tired and too drunk to form a solid plan right now, but I vow to get ahead of the game the second this haze of alcohol clears. I promise myself to never let my bratva business spiral out of control this badly ever again.
I have a reputation, and a legacy to uphold. A thug like Oleg isn’t going to send my castles crumbling.