The Player (Chicago Bratva #8) Read Online Renee Rose

Categories Genre: Contemporary, Erotic, Mafia, Romance Tags Authors: Series: Chicago Bratva Series by Renee Rose
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Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 63758 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
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Nadia

I manage to get in my apartment and lean against the door before I start crying.

Adrian and Kat are on the sofa watching television, Kat on his lap. They both look up in alarm when they hear my strangled wail.

I hold up a hand. “It's okay. I broke up with Flynn. I don't want to talk about it.” I force my leaden feet to move toward the bedroom.

“Okay,” Kat says.

Adrian hits pause on the movie they’re watching. “Am I going to kill him?”

I stop in my bedroom doorway and give him a hard look. A hard look tempered by a stream of tears. “It’s not funny. I’m tired of your violence. No. You are not going to kill him. You're going to be very nice to him. Because he's the nicest guy I've ever known.” With that, I burst into full-on sobs. I shut my door and throw myself on my bed.

I did the right thing. I know I did.

I don't want to be the girl Flynn has to rescue. I don't need a knight in white armor. I mean a white knight in shiny armor. Whatever. I don't need him.

I need to be my own knight. To find my own strength. To build my own life.

This past month with Flynn has been amazing, but it was never meant to last.

I asked him to be the guy to help me find my way back into life and living. Back into my body. Back into sex. He did all of that for me. But to ask him any more isn't fair. Especially when he has other people relying on him.

He already has to take care of his mom. And now Cadence and her baby. There is no way I will suck his attention from that. It wouldn't be fair. He deserves someone who can give to him. Not just take. And I am a total drain on his energy.

I give myself thirty minutes to cry, and then I wipe my tears and get off the bed.

I sit at my sewing table and pick up one of the hand-dyed skirts I’m making. It’s time to finish the costumes for Black Velvet Burlesque.

Flynn showed me how to live.

I’m going to keep on living.

CHAPTER 15

Flynn

In the most fucked up scene ever, Lake and I sit in Cadence’s living room with her to try to figure shit out. They’re both hitting the weed to get through this.

I’m stone sober.

I know better than to turn to a substance when I’m in this dark of a place. I’ve been around drugs and alcohol my whole life. I know how bad it can turn when you don’t have your shit together. And I am about as far from having my shit together as I could possibly get.

I’ve been mostly catatonic on my couch for the past six days trying not to think about how much I miss Nadia. I played the shows we had booked, but it was just going through the motions and as soon as we finished our sets, I bailed.

I actually spent a lot of the time this week not thinking at all. Just blank as fuck.

The lights are on, but no one’s home, as they say.

Now I sit with elbows on my knees, my head low, trying to parse all the wild energy in the room.

Apparently, Lake still wants to be with Cadence, so I guess we’re pre-negotiating how this is going to work or something. He’s pissed as hell at me, as if me hooking up with her before he did was some kind of violation.

I literally played wingman for him to get with her. Maybe he’s just pissed it’s not his. I still think it could be.

I’m the kind of guy who plays guitar–and life–by feel. And everything about this feels off.

But I’m gonna do all the things I’m supposed to do.

I rub my palms together trying to remember the last time I showered or ate. I honestly can’t recall.

“So, obviously I support you whatever you want to do, Cadence.” The words sound rehearsed because I’m having an out-of-body experience, like this isn’t actually my life. I’m playing a part I just got handed a script for, and I don’t actually relate to any of the characters in the scene.

I’m supposed to be in a different play altogether.

One that’s happening across town, on Lake Shore Drive, at the Kremlin. That’s where I’m supposed to be.

“What do you think you want to do, Cadence?” Lake sits beside her and takes her hand, but she pulls it away.

“I don’t know.” She scrapes the fingers of both hands through her thick brown hair. She’s going full drama with this although I don’t see any actual tears.

“Well, we should at least get to the doctor for a real test.” I don’t know what made me say that, but when I do, I realize I’ve hit on something because she kind of freaks out.


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