Sinful Blaze (Chekhov Bratva Book 1)

I’m not drunk. There’s no way. I have absorbed exactly zero percent of alcohol this whole evening.

So why is my door blurry?

Damn, girl. You are tired.

It takes a few moments of blankly staring at the door to my new penthouse to process the fact that it’s not blurry at all—it’s covered in plastic sheeting.

And also, locked.

The fuck?

“Hi, Mr. Marquette?” I’m super glad I put him on speed dial for things like this. It’s way later than I intended to be out with Hazel, and being overly tired is pretty damn close to being drunk. “Sorry to bother you so late. What’s, ah… what’s up with my door?”

“Oh my God! My apologies!” Mr. Marquette sounds like he’s scrambling out of bed as he wakes up more to talk to me. “I completely forgot to call you. I feel terrible, really.”

“It’s totally fine.” I force the smile into my voice. Unlike my mother, I don’t turn into a raging bitch when things inconvenience me. “I’m just trying to get in and my key isn’t working.”

“Right, right. We had a huge water leak earlier today, damn near exploded through the whole ceiling. I had to change the locks and put plastic sheeting everywhere just to minimize the damage. And, you know, theft and all that.”

Odd. And a bit frustrating. But I refuse to take it out on him. It’s not like he cut open my new ceiling and punched a hole through the pipes just to spite me. “Oh, no! I mean, thank you for moving so quickly. Just… How do I… Where am I supposed to go?”

“I actually swapped the locks to the penthouse next door. You’re free to go in and use that place from now on.”

I frown. “I thought there was someone already living there.”

“There was!” He hesitates, then sighs. “There was. Right. He ended up moving out yesterday. Perfect timing, right?”

“Right. Yeah,” I add with what I hope sounds like a laugh. I’m so tired and I’m kind of tired of all these sudden issues. “So, ah…”

“I’ll have your things recovered and moved over first thing in the morning. And I’ll talk to the new landlord about bumping up that stipend so you’re compensated for the trouble.”

“That’s not necessary, really. Thank you.” But if he insists, I won’t stop him. This isn’t a slum house; I paid good money for a nice, safe home to start raising my baby in. The fact that it’s getting infested with bugs and now exploding with water just has me wondering if I picked the right building.

Or maybe this is my life now. Shitty events paving the way for mega-upgrades.

Just like how Hazel described Pasha…

I shake my head and suddenly remember I’m still on the phone with my super. “Hey, I should be okay. Sorry again for calling so late.”

“Not at all! It’s my job. Let me know if you need anything.”

“Know a good burger place still open?” I joke as I shuffle my way down the hall to the only other door in sight.

Marquette’s smile is audible. “Actually, I do! Double or single? On the house.”

I’m about to shake off his offer when I realize nah, this is a win. Take the damn win, Daph. “You won’t judge me if I said double? With cheese. And all the fixings.”

“You’re pregnant. I remember how my wife was for all three kids. Steak fries?”

“God, yes. Thank you.”

He hangs up right as I start fumbling with the new door; it opens on the first try. Nice. I don’t know why he wouldn’t just give me new keys, but whatever. I’m tired, I’m hungry, and I’m kinda butt-hurt that I can’t drink anything until after this baby is born. Burst pipes are a hard liquor situation.

Call me crazy, but this place looks even bigger than the last one. All the lights are recessed, casting a soft glow through a large foyer and into a huge front living room decorated with chocolate woods and gold detailing.

A suede wraparound couch calls my name. I’m tempted to answer it, but I know the second I sit down, I won’t be getting back up.

I wince as I kick off my shoes. Pride said, “Wear the kitten heels,” but pregnancy is saying, “Haha, stupid bitch.” Gotta love water retention. My feet aren’t at Cabbage Patch Kids level yet, but that’s the keyword: “yet.”

Things are all gonna start changing pretty soon.

One mouth-watering double cheeseburger later, I’m finally able to shuffle myself into the master bedroom. Just like everywhere else in this penthouse, it’s all dark wood and gold hardware softened with pastel velvets. Whoever lived here, if this used to all be theirs…? Damn.

Just as Marquette promised, a lot of my new things have been transferred over here—mainly my new clothes that I just bought after the last fiasco.

There are a few pieces I don’t remember buying, but whatever. I’m too tired to care. The tags are still on so I’ll check sometime later. Way later. Whenever my feet don’t feel like lead weights I’d rather cut off.

I sweep the clothes up off the bed with every intention of hanging them up in the walk-in closet… but then I don’t. Too tired. Bed beckons. Instead, I drop them unceremoniously into a pile on the side chair and faceplant onto the super soft, warm, luxurious bed.

Smells so good. I know that scent from somewhere, but I can’t put a finger on it. It’s warm, kind of spicy, but with this comforting blend of leather and wood and something else I am just… Ugh, I want to swim in it. I already kind of am, what with the way I’m writhing my tired ass onto the mattress.

Somehow, I manage to kick off most of my clothing, save for my layering tank top and panties. I throw my bra across the room and vow to clean up before work in the morning. Right now, I just need sleep.

Even the pillows smell good. Spicier. Warmer. Like I’ve come home with some gorgeous guy from the bar and can just bury my face in his chest and breathe this in. I do just that, hugging the biggest pillow to myself and sinking into the best sleep I’ve had in weeks.

My eyes fly open.

Someone’s at the door.

At first, I think I’m dreaming. It’s way too late at night for Mr. Marquette to come by, and I already got my burger and fries. Who the hell would be coming by now?

A key slides into the lock.

Shit. Shit shit shit!

I still can’t think of who would reasonably be here. Maybe it’s not a key; maybe they’ve worked the lock and are breaking in.

I don’t know what to do. Maybe it’s Marquette after all, come back to tell me there’s a bear chomping through the wiring—because at this point, what else could go wrong?

But the footsteps are wrong. Heavier. Slower.

And the intruder doesn’t call out like Mr. Marquette would.

My heart hammers in my ears as I fumble around as quietly as I can for something heavy. I don’t care about myself as much as I’m ready to protect my baby, and dammit, I’ll go down clawing the bastard’s eyes out if I have to.

My fingers wrap around the heavy lamp of my nightstand and I yank it from the wall.

The lights are still off. Maybe whoever it is will just grab my wallet from the coffee table and get the hell out.

He doesn’t. He comes closer to the bedroom.

I quietly step to the other side of the door, forcing myself to take slow, silent breaths.

The door opens…

And I swing.

Not today, fucker!