You Are Mine Little Sister (by Syra Tucker) novel Chapter 135

RALI

"Shit." I rolled the empty bottle over the island. When did I run out?

I hissed as I pawed for my phone, fighting to think through the throb in my head as I shot Malik a text, asking him to deliver a case to the house. Malik ran a bar just down the street. The delivery shouldn't take long.

I pushed for the living room and missed a step, caught myself with a curse and collapsed onto the couch. One leg slung over the armrest, the other dangled, my arms sprawled out like crime-scene chalk.

Everything was too bright. I checked the lamps; all off. So why did it feel like the sun was drilling my pupils from inside my skull?

I grumbled and shut my eyes, ignoring the low growl in my stomach.

The doorbell carved a line straight through my nap. Malik, finally.

I shuffled to the door, scratching my scalp, dragging my feet across the floor and opened it to… not Malik. Not even a man.

Whatever sleep clung to me evaporated.

"Hi." Her voice was cold and clipped, with that Russian bite beneath it.

"What're you doing here?" My voice was too weak to sound any more serious.

"What do you think? Don't worry, I'm not here to collect tax."

She brushed past me, shoulder grazing mine, the faint perfume of cigarette smoke lingering as she stepped inside without waiting for permission.

I stalled for a few seconds before I closed the door and turned around. She stood in the middle of the room, scanning the place as though it were a set to be critiqued. I watched disappointment flit through her coffee-dark eyes.

"You've been drinking. A lot."

I was hardly moved. "I don't need to be babysat, Katya."

Her gaze came to mine, then slowly lowered to the rest of my body. Her brows pulled together. "Lost some weight too."

I dropped onto the couch.

"It's only been five days and you're already looking like a ghost."

"You haven't answered my question." My voice was a little biting. "What're you doing here?"

"Well, I was bored and thought I'd come visit... an acquaintance." She turned toward my kitchen.

"If he sent you here, you can go back and tell him I don't want it." My molars ground on his name. I hated that he could hurt me just by existing in a sentence.

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