The Carrero Contract - Selling Your Soul (Mafia Romance)

Chapter 72

‘‘I came to talk to you,’’ I mumble out through garbled sobs and stutters and watch as his jaw tightens and his brows furrow devilishly. He looks anything but happy to see me and now I know what severe foolishness feels like as it floods through me at speed.

‘’There’s nothing to say. Look at the state of you … what the hell, Cam?’’ Alexi stalks towards me at speed and I instinctively skate back on my arse and raise the bottle defensively. All he does is swipe it out of my hand and slam it on the counter over my head as he stands over me, ignoring the fact I am curling into a little ball as he leans back to look at me.

‘’How much have you had to drink? Drunk and soaked … Do you want to get sick again?’’ He demands, sounding like an angry dad, and leans down to scrutinise me by grabbing my chin with two fingers, so he can angle my face and get a proper look at me. He pulls my face from side to side while he scrutinises me and I slap his hand away, abhorring his touch and hating him for everything, shoving him in the shoulder to get my space back, but he doesn’t move.

It never dawned on me that maybe I got this horrendously drunk because I was still sick, and it could account for how weak and weird I feel on top of plain pissed.

‘’What does that matter? I’m a grown up, I can do what I want!’’ It’s a childish slurring mess and barely coherent as it falls out of my mouth thoughtlessly. I’m digging in my heels because he is being his boorish cold self and he snarls at me with distaste.

‘’Sloppy drunk and irresponsible added to your list of assets. Well done, Cam.’’ He sounds like the bastarding sarcastic prick he always is, and I wonder why I even thought I could have this out with him and get any attitude other than this. I try and ignore his insult even though it bites and suddenly makes me ashamed of being this drunk.

It was stupid and not me, but isn’t this what he has done? Ground me down and made me become someone I never thought I would be. I don’t even know who I am anymore!

the couch. Like a good little puppy, she obediently trots over and sits down while eyeing him up adoringly. Brainless, submissive, awaiting his every command with pathetic enthusiasm. I cannot even look at her as Alexi looks out of his apartment door to check if we are alone, before shutting

I was a fool for this man and he just

attention back to him. I gaze at that enquiring, angry frown for a moment and then sigh heavily and relent. I wanted to talk so I may as well grasp at his olive branch to do so, seeing

vodka bottle. I feel knocked by his appearance and reverting to my plan of staying sloshed to get through this. I need something to give me the strength to deal with him and his fuckbuddy. I pull it over and lift it to take another drink. Right now death by booze sounds like a great way to go and it

on my upper arm pulls me back and away from the counter top, so I sway badly and almost

to him as he throws the bottle into the sink with a clattering smash, shards and liquid spraying everywhere,

to face him, so my hands meet his hard chest automatically to

no idea why this sudden declaration is what I choose to answer with, but he freezes and looks at me with a completely deadpan expression that pretty much kills all weird hopes that maybe, just maybe, he

loosen his grip on my arm and just stands looking at me

more class than that … Is this the level of skill you have? A love declaration, drunken tears

bitch, sadistic and cruel all in one venomous sentence as he lets go of me to stumble on my own jelly legs. As though I am something disgusting to the touch. He steps back and just glares at me as I sway on my feet, tears hitting harder than before and that aching spiking pain in

lie, why do you think I am this drunk and this upset? You keep pushing me out of your life.’’ I sound desperate and I sound pathetic—even I can hear it, and I cannot stop the torrent of tears rolling down my cheeks. I have never allowed myself

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