Page 1 of Trapped By the Bratva
1
HANNAH
Islipped inside my apartment and closed the door behind me as quietly as I could. The lock clicked, and I winced at even that much noise.
This wasmyhome. I paid the rent and managed all the bills for the utilities to keep this crappy place livable. Yet, I was forced to sneak in like a trespasser.
Waiting at the door, I stalled. With this headache, I just could not deal with her. I didn’t have the energy to put up with whatever my sister was pissed about today. All I wanted was to shower and drop into bed.
“Hannah?” Melissa called out from her room. The bigger of the two, with an attached bathroom. I usually didn’t mind my smaller space, but it was getting cooler at night and the window had such a bad draft.
I cringed, leaning back against the door at the sound of her footsteps through the apartment. She heard me come in. Maybe she’d been watching out the window to spy when I was done working.
This is wrong. She can’t keep doing this to me.
“What thehelltook you so long?” she demanded as she exited her bedroom. Dressed in loungewear, her makeup on point, her hair styled to perfection, she looked pampered to the caliber of high maintenance she deemed herself worthy of.
She sneered at me at the entrance, looking me over with disgust. I couldn’t look pretty. After a twelve-hour shift at the hospital, I was ragged. Stains dotted my scrubs. My hair was knotted in a messy disarray of a bun. And if I glanced in the mirror, I’d see for myself how vacant and exhausted I was with bags under my eyes.
“Well?” She popped a fist on her hip, looking like a parent demanding answers. Technically, she used to be my guardian. I was fifteen to her nineteen when our parents overdosed six years ago, and since that day, she'd acted like my legal guardian.
Now that I was twenty-one, she had no right to lord over me like this. But she did.
“Ijustgot off work,” I replied dryly, in no mood for her whining.
“Like”—she scowled at her phone, checking the time—“an hour ago.”
“That’s when my shift wassupposedto be done.” I pushed off the door and headed toward the kitchen. “I couldn’t get out of there.”
“Is thatmyproblem?” She trailed after me, stabbing a finger at her chest as though I could misunderstand who she was talking about.
“No. I didn’t say it was.”I’m only explaining why I was late because you asked.
“I ordered food to be picked up fifty-five minutes ago!” She glared at me, watching me set my purse and water bottle on the counter. “And you couldn’t even pick it up? How ungrateful can you be?”
I narrowed my eyes. “What food?”
“Dinner, you dumbass. My dinner.” She crossed her arms and tipped her chin up. “I texted you the pickup number for you to pick it up. Do I have to spell out everything for you?”
I sighed, only now grabbing my older model phone from my pocket. “I didn’t have a chance to look at it.”
“Oh, sure. Because work was so ‘busy’.”
“It was. We were short-staffed already, and a huge car accident meant we had seven patients come in at once.” Most days, my work as an LPN was mild in the emergency room, but today was one of those awful exceptions.
“Again. Not my problem,” she yelled.
I lifted my face from my phone, pausing in seeing her messages to grab her dinner on my way home. I couldn’t help the grimace from showing on my face. I felt my skin pulling taut around my eyes. I ran out of my moisturizer a week ago, and I was feeling it.
“What?” She scowled. “Don’t look at me like that.”
Like you’re the worst human on earth?
“You hear me?”
“Do you even hear yourself? Ever?”
She rolled her eyes. “Don’t start with me.”