Page 11 of Bratva Bastard

“Fuck…Sorokin…” I said, barely able to form the sentence.

“Misha’s right. You need to get the fuck out of Moscow. You can’t go back to St. Petersburg. Son of a bitch will look for you there, too.”

“Then he can stay with you,” Misha said to Dimitry. “In Brazil. It’s far enough that I doubt Sorokin would think to look there. At least not if you stay hidden and keep to yourself,” he added as he glanced at me through the rearview mirror.

“Whatever,” I mumbled, not giving a shit either way. Because I knew they were right. Staying in Russia was a death sentence, so what other option did I have? “I’ll go to Brazil.”

Dimitry patted the top of my head, avoiding my shoulder. “You can stay with me and Gemma until things blow over. We’ll fly you back tomorrow, assuming your wounds allow you to. It’ll be a long flight taking commercial, but it’s too risky to fly private. I’ll hang around here for a few days longer to help Misha smooth shit over with Sorokin. But don’t worry, Gemma will make you feel welcome until I get there.”

Fucking great.Just what I wanted—to be trapped in fucking Brazil.

5

Crissy

Where’s my Xanax?

It was gone—nowhere to be found. If only Fernanda were here, I would feel much more relaxed—or at least less anxious. But she stayed behind for a few more days, until her sister went on her honeymoon. As much as Gabby would’ve loved having me there, too, she understood my responsibilities at home. I’d been gone for two days, it was long enough. A nice break from reality for a bit.

I boarded the plane, shoved into the aisle seat, which didnothelp my anxiety.Shit! The middle aisle seat was the absolute worst to be sitting in the event of a plane crash.

My heartbeat quickened, sending me straight into panic mode. I gripped the armrests, my breathing so fast and erratic it got the attention of the flight attendant.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” she said in a cheery tone. “Is everything alright?”

Between breaths, I huffed, “Is there…uh…an empty…window seat? I feel really nervous in the aisle.”

With her smile intact, the flight attendant tilted her head, her tone stern and harsh. “If you wanted a window seat, you should’ve spent the extra money to ensure you’d get one. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have other passengers to assist.”

She turned away, taking her snooty-ass attitude with her, but leaving me in the middle aisle seat. The plane took off not long after, and the panic attack settled in, making itself at home in my chest.

I couldn’t breathe. Hell, I didn’t even try after a while because it came out short and choppy, each breath more unstable than the last. My heart palpitated so fast, I couldn’t seem to bring it down enough to calm myself down. And because I couldn’t get any air, my panicking increased.

Not only did I dread the experience of flying, I was also concerned that I wouldn’t be able to breathe or even catch my breath throughout the flight. I was concerned that other people on the flight would find my behavior to be distracting or bothersome.

As she passed, I grabbed her arm, unable to speak. “Please,” I choked out. I begged her once more topleasegive me a window seat, but she refused again, jerking her arm from my grasp and staring at it with disgust.

“I told you, you should have paid more if you wanted a window seat. You get what you bargain for. You’ll just have to put up with it because I’m not going to relocate another passenger because you’re being too melodramatic.”

She turned away, flipping her golden-hair in the process, but was stopped by a man.

“Excuse me, ma’am. She can have my seat in first class. I’ll take her aisle seat.” The tall man flashed me a smile, his cap shadowing his eyes. His body was in great shape, covered by a T-shirt that hugged his arms and upper body, tattoos wrapped around his biceps and peeked through the collar of his shirt. Let’s not forget his loose jeans that hugged his hips in the right places.

Not that I was in the habit of looking at other men, but this guy was the perfect eye candy, though I denied any desire of tasting that candy, no matter how sweet it looked to taste.

And for a brief moment, I’d forgotten I was even on a plane, having a panic attack.

“Sir, that’s economy,” the flight attendant said, baffled by his proposal. Her scowl had morphed into a concerned expression.

He sighed, crossing his arms, his tone was tinged with displeasure. “I’m well aware.”

“Are you sure?” I asked, uncertain what else I could say. I didn’t want to take his seat—especially infirst class—but I was so relieved to be away from the aisle. “I really appreciate it. Thank you so much, really. Thank you.” Despite profusely showing him gratitude, it still felt like it wasn’t enough.

He chuckled, offering me a hand to help me up. “Think nothing of it. Come on, I’ll walk you to it.”

I took his hand—firm, yet gentle—his palm calloused, the exact opposite of Luiz’s daintier hands. He escorted me to his seat in first class.

My first time flying first class. Not that I’d flown before this trip to Russia, but still—first class! I marveled in awe, realizing how out of my league such a lifestyle was. No way could I ever afford this.

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