Page 48 of The Bratva's Auctioned Bride
“You have to wait for your turn! Angel and I haven’t had any yet!” she complains.
“If you’re too slow, you lose out,” Evengil laughs.
I stand quietly to the side, listening to their banter, trying to join in, but inside I’m dying. All I want is to hear his response to my message. Will he help me?
What will he say?
I can’t stop thinking about those girls.
I can’t stop thinking about those disgusting men who were crowded around the stage watching me.
Sneaking my phone out of my pocket, I turn the screen on to check. No reply. I slip it back in. My siblings continue to taunt each other.
Stef hands me a plate with a fresh, crispy, and hot grilled cheese toasty on it.
Zakhar grabs one half of it and grins at me. “I’ll give you the other half of mine when it’s ready,” he says.
I laugh, shaking my head. “No, you won’t. Don’t make promises you don’t intend to keep.”
He chuckles and takes a bite of the half, which is almost the entire thing.
I take a bite of my half, a small one, chewing slowly, begging my stomach to calm down so I can at least finish this piece without attracting any attention to myself.
Two o’clock arrives, and I haven’t heard from Diomid.
My tension is getting worse.
I’m checking the phone more frequently and driving myself crazy.
Three o’clock.
Five.
Six.
Dinner, where I can hardly eat anything at all, and have to make an excuse that I ate too much during the day. I still sitwith everyone else at the table, though, trying to be normal in my haze of panic.
Eight and I head upstairs to shower.
Nine and I’m lying in bed staring at my phone, wondering why he doesn’t even have the decency to reply to me.
Three in the morning and I’m tossing and turning, unable to sleep.
The next day is even worse.
I got a few hours of broken sleep last night, just enough that I don’t look like total shit, but not enough to make me feel like myself.
I’m tired, grumpy, agitated, and angry with Diomid for ignoring me.
The auction is tonight.
Maybe he will still reply.
Maybe he’s just waiting it out.
Maybe I’m just making excuses for him, and he’s happy to be rid of me and has no intention of letting me slip back into his life, especially for something as dangerous as this.
In the afternoon, just after two, I’m relieved to pass out for a few hours. Thank goodness, because it is the only moment of peace I feel, until I wake up at five thirty and the anxiety kicks right back in. At least I’m not tired on top of everything else now.
