Page 3 of Trapped By the Bratva
It wasn’t there. The Tupperware wasn’t chilling in the fridge like I expected it to be. As I stood up and slammed the door shut, I debated, not for the first time, how to hurt her. “Where is it?”
“Devin ate it earlier.” She shrugged.
“You gave your boyfriendallof it?”
“He has quite the appetite.”
Eww.She was trying to be funny, making a joke about what else he wanted from her. I knew too well. They weren’t quiet about it no matter how often I said I was trying to sleep.
“And he’s not my boyfriend,” she corrected. “We sort of broke up before you came home.”
“I don’t—” I growled, pushing past her to go to my room. “I don’t fucking care.”
“Hey! Where are you going?”
I flipped her off, not turning to face her.
“I’m hungry.”
“Then make some fucking food yourself.” I stopped short. “Figure it out on your own.” I grabbed my phone out of my purse and unlocked it to lock the card she had access to. “All on your own.”
“Hannah! You can’t do that!”
I glowered at her. “Done.” I lifted my phone to show her the screen, and she lunged at me.
“You bitch! You ungrateful bitch!”
I hurried into my room and slammed the door shut as she tried to reach me. I had just enough time to flick the lock.
“Hannah! You fucking bitch! Open the door!” Her fists pounded on the panel, and her feet kicked even lower. The flimsy wooden slab wouldn’t last. This wasn’t her first time lashing out like this.
Sticking my fingers in my ears, I paced in the small space and wondered if this hellish existence would always be my life. I couldn’t possibly deserve this, but I didn’t know how to escape it, to get away from her.
“Unlock that card. Right now. If you know what’s good for you, you'd better give me some money. Now.”
I closed my eyes as I slumped onto my bed. Even though I was seated, I couldn’t really relax and enjoy the fact that I was no longer rushing at work.
My feet ached. Angry grumbles sounded in my stomach, and I winced at the cramps of hunger. As I kept my hands lifted up, myfingers in my ears to block out the sound of my sister, I tried my hardest to zone out and think of a happier time, a happier place.
Throbbing aches intensified in my head, but it wasn’t just because of my sister’s horrible screams and shouts or her furious kicks on my door because I’d cut her off from helping herself to my money.
She had zero reason not to have a job. She had no feasible excuse for not making her own money and taking care of her own meals. None at all.
I was hungry. Overworked. Dehydrated. Stressed. And sleep deprived. All of the above resulted in this nasty headache.
I’d just gotten over a spell of suffering from debilitating headaches from a head injury, too.
Months ago, when I was babysitting a precious infant named Emily, someone had snuck inside their home and kidnapped the baby on my watch. I was hit from behind and fell to the floor. When I woke up, a man helped me sit up.
That stranger was patient, kind, and generous with his help. Even though he had an unspeakable and undeniable dark edge to him, he had shown me so much care and concern that he’d been etched into my mind ever since.
No one had ever worried about me like that before. He was gruff, so tall and hard, with the leanest jaw and darkest eyes, but he’d acted like my freaking hero.
He’d rushed after Emily, and when he ensured that she was recovered and taken care of, he’d immediately helped me to the hospital and warded off all the cops who wanted to investigate.
So much of that incident was a blur. With the head injury, worries about a concussion, and bleeding, I hadn’t been feeling stable to inquire about it all.
I was told that Emily was with her mother again, and that was it.
