Read Bad Apple (Part 1) for Free Online

guy, he introduces me to his mama. Unfair…cause I like them, ya know, and I like you, but you’re looking for commitment.”
    “And you’re not?”
    “Nah, I went with this guy…got no name…was so close to banging him but he dipped his wick somewhere else and…cause I’m fat.”
    Fat? She thinks she’s fat? For God’s sake I saw every inch of her when I ran into her bedroom and this woman is nowhere near fat. She’s lush and curvy with a flat stomach and hips that make me want to stroke my dick.
    “You’re perfect. And I want more than sex, angel.”
    “Can’t, every guy I go with ends up messed up. Feliks will never allow it, and I don’t wanna love anymore,” she mumbles, batting at my hand when I stroke her hair for the hundredth time.
    “Why?” I ask, desperately needing an answer.
    A project I saw as business has now become so personal as to hold the very future of my unborn children in its slippery grasp. I need to find a way to get my girl, and I need to do it before she comes back to reality.
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     

Chapter Eight
    Irina
    This shit hurts.
    And to make matters worse, I banged myself up pretty good after waking in the hospital and realizing I had one chance to get the hell out before Misha returned.
    How anyone got him to leave in the first place is beyond me, since the man was quite adamant about staying, but I am eternally grateful. I need to get the hell out of here and get to work.
    Which was painful since I hit my bandaged ankle on the cab door and almost passed out on my apartment stairs when the freaking banister hit my shoulder. Or I hit the bannister. The fact remains I almost killed myself getting up there, and if not for the cabbie I’d be in a hospital bed right now.
    But I am finally at work. Barely in one piece.
    “Ya take it easy now, sweet’eart, ya hear? Ya need to get anywhere, he’se my numba and ole Joe’ll be right ovah. Don’t go callin’ anothah cabbie. I don’t trust them assholes to help ya right.”
    “Aww, Joey, you’re such a peach. Thanks, doll,” I titter, struggling out of the cab with one crutch just before the three evils in my life come streaming out of the shop and almost kill me while looking me over.
    “Oh my God! What the hell happened?”
    “Are you okay?”
    “Is this a sex injury?!” Tat yells at the top of her lungs, causing people to turn and gawk at my ankle, wrist, and head in astonishment.
    “No! What the hell’s wrong with you?” I yell, almost falling in my haste to get inside and into the back.
    The customers there all gape and start sweating as I hop in, practically collapsing when I hit the counter near the register and bang my foot.
    “Sonofagun! Watch where you’re going!”
    “Sorry.”
    “Not you, Alfie. I was talking to myself,” I mutter, sweat pouring as I fall into the stool at the register and bite my lip to stop an anguished cry.
    I can’t do anything like this! I’m trussed up with a buggered left ankle, a buggered left shoulder, a pounding head, and an ass that’s howling for mercy.
    How am I gonna bake and mix and do my job?
    I sit for several minutes lost in self-pity and feeling sorry for myself when a brave soul finally sidles up to the counter and gives me a sad look.
    “Do we have to leave without our orders, Ri?”
    “Sorry, Alfie, so sorry,” I titter, taking his order and ringing him up as Nik starts filling boxes.
    We go this way for a good twenty minutes, making people happy, cracking jokes and smiling just for the sake of it, before I look up to see a fuming Russian standing over me, breathing fire.
    “You…you have much explaining to do, woman,” he barks, vibrating with an emotion that looks a lot like anger but also like complete panic.
    Here I am, plain little Irina Velnicova, being stalked by a god of a man who just happens to know exactly how I injured myself while a pack of cackling crones advance on us looking ready to draw blood.
    “How’d she