Page 80 of Bought By the Ruthless Pakhan

In all my years, I'd never been this pathetic, this out of control.

I'd survived gunfights and bloodbaths for decades. I'd seen betrayal, walked through hell, kept everything under my thumb. Even my closest associates wouldn't dare cross me.

But with Anna, I was like a kid learning to walk, afraid to even breathe wrong.

I slowly lowered my hands, staring at the silent phone on the passenger seat for a long time.

The screen was dark, reflecting the dim yellow interior light.

Finally, I grabbed the keys and fired up the engine. The tires screeched against the pavement as I tore out of the parking spot.

I couldn't hurt her. Five years ago I'd already broken her. I couldn't push her further away.

Like a coward, I fled the street.

The car drove aimlessly until it stopped outside a bar in the old district.

I knew the owner. Strong liquor, no questions asked.

I needed a drink. Needed alcohol to drown this goddamn feeling.

Outside the bar, two young guys in black jackets straightened up when I stepped out of the car.

I ignored them and pushed through the heavy door curtain.

Inside, dim yellow light filled the space. The air smelled of tobacco and old wood. A few regulars sat scattered at the bar. No one looked up.

The bartender recognized me and set down the glass he was polishing. "Sir, what'll it be?"

"Whiskey."

He poured it neat. Deep amber liquid shimmered in the glass.

Condensation beaded on the sides. I grabbed it and drained it in one go. The burn carved down my throat and into my stomach, cutting through the pressure in my chest. The pounding in my temples eased slightly. I exhaled and set the empty glass back on the bar.

"Not bad." I tapped the rim. "Another."

I threw them back one after another. The whiskey burned, but not as hot as the jealous rage in my chest.

All I could see was Anna standing next to Chris.

Her eyes crinkled at the corners, a soft smile on her lips—a relaxed, gentle expression I'd never seen before. Around me, she was always tense, like a wire pulled taut, ready to snap or run at any moment.

After about half a bottle, my head felt heavy, eyelids drooping. But I was still alert. In my line of work, staying sharp kept you alive. No matter how much you drank, that wire at the back of your neck never loosened completely.

I knew I should leave.

The bartender slid over one last glass. "Sir, need to talk about it?"

I glanced at him and let out a low laugh. "You offer therapy now?"

The bartender kept polishing glasses. "Not therapy. Just noticed you're sitting here alone, drinking hard. Looked like something's eating at you. Boss says if a customer's hurting, we can lend an ear."

Ridiculous.

I held the glass without drinking, tapping the rim with one finger.

Outside, footsteps echoed down the empty street, then faded.