Page 117 of Nikola
Her eyes locked on my wheelchair in answer. Fuck this bitch.
“Bad men are selfish and think only of themselves,” she continued in a taunting voice. “Are you a bad man, Mr. Nikolaev?”
“I sure fucking am,” I stated matter-of-factly, meeting her gaze head-on with cold indifference while my insides shredded to pieces.
But I’d be damned if I let her—or anyone—see that.
47
NIKOLA
The days came and went. It was February, and guess what… my legs were still just as useless, and my wheelchair was my best fucking friend. Reconstructive surgery, rehab, physical therapy… all for naught. The doctors insisted it would take time, yet I’d seen no improvements with the weeks and months that had passed.
My father claimed that when he helped me in and out of the wheelchair, I used my legs more. My mother had insisted on the therapist, clinging to it like a life raft. In her mind, it was the only thing she could contribute to myhealingprocess.
I would have argued, but I couldn’t find the will or strength to fight against it, because I’d lost the most important person in my life. The essence of my being.
In fact, nothing seemed to matter anymore. My life was filled with sorrowful and pitiful looks. With meaningless, needless conversations.
Like the one I was having now with Gabriel Santos. Putting up with constant visits from Uncle Sasha and Alexei and enduring their enlightening conversations was bad enough, now I had to put up with Gabriel’s annoying ass.
While he yapped about one thing or another, I focused on the numbers on the laptop screen. I did some quick mental math, then leaned back in my wheelchair while Gabriel stared at me from the opposite side of the desk.
“Arrange one more drug shipment, Gabriel.”
“Another one? But we’ve already done two more than usual.”
I sighed. “What’s your point?”
“You take the concept of killing yourself with work quite literally, Nikola. We have big fish to fry. Organ trafficking isn’t slowing down, and we need to focus all our efforts on that.”
“Can you do it or not?” I snapped. The whole organ trafficking was everyone’s priority, including mine, but there was little I could do from here.
“I’ll get it done. Whatever you want, buddy.”
Gabriel shook his head disapprovingly and pinned me with a stare I didn’t like. Not at all. “What? Why are you looking at me all weird?”
“I’m your uncle and friend. Listen to me when I tell you that you have to give it a rest.”
“I agreed to see you so we could talk business, not so you could start on the personal shit.” Work talk I could handle, but life lessons not so much.
“Nikola, you need a distraction, maybe a quick fuck, and?—”
The thought of touching anyone but Skye had bile rising in my throat. There was no fucking way I would ever touch another woman.
“Gabriel, if you speak again, I swear to God, I will kill you.”
He rolled his eyes.
“Fine, fine. I won’t go there.” He shifted uncomfortably, then looked somewhere behind me. “Skye is doing well,” he continued to blab, his white three-piece suit half blinding me. “Apparently she’s finishing up her exams early.”
“Don’t start with the Skye updates,” I grumbled. I got plenty of those from Dante. The man messaged me every fucking day. He even sent me photos of floral arrangements. The crazy motherfucker had taken it upon himself to head up the wedding plans and was driving his wife and my parents crazy in the process.
Dante Leone. A wedding planner.
I scoffed. If someone would have suggested that mere months ago, I would have laughed my ass off.
“Are you feeling lonely?” Gabriel asked off-handedly.
