Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 70263 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 351(@200wpm)___ 281(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70263 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 351(@200wpm)___ 281(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
It was that thought, and the memory that followed, that caused a rush of all the feelings he evoked inside of me, which in turn had my body heating. I glanced up at Arlo and saw the way his eyes became hooded, as if he knew exactly where my mind had gone. Then again, my body betrayed me and how he made me feel at every turn.
And then the time flowed so seamlessly, so easily, that I let myself fall into just enjoying myself. The hours passed as we ate all the Russian foods and talked about all the wonderful things.
We didn’t order from menus in the traditional sense, but instead the chef created dishes for us, and everything I tried was delicious and totally new to me. I sampled pelmeni—flavorful Russian dumplings. Then there was borscht—beet soup. I had a special fondness for the pirozhki, which was baked bread stuffed with meat, mushrooms, rice, and onions. This was all eaten between sips of vodka and incredible conversation with the only person who had ever made me feel comfortable. I forgot all about the weirdness that had come from Arlo all day. I forgot about all my problems and the shit that followed closely at my heels… the things I was running from.
It all felt so… normal.
By the time we had desserts—yes, plural—I was satiated and full and didn’t think I’d ever smiled as much. My cheeks hurt, and my face felt hot from the vodka and smiling. I glanced around and realized we’d been here for so long, lost in just enjoying each other’s company, that the restaurant had pretty much emptied. Meaning it was literally Arlo and me.
I leaned back in the booth and just stared at him, feeling my heart flutter strangely in my chest. I could have blamed the alcohol for the heat in me, or the way I couldn't stop blushing and grinning. But that wasn’t the truth.
I was falling for my Russian, and I didn't want to stop, not even if the ground rushed up to greet me painfully. Not even if it killed me in the end.
“Tonight was wonderful. Thank you.” His smile was slow and very satisfied. “I have never had such a great time.” It was the sad truth, but one I owned.
“I’ll have to make sure you experience so many wonderful times that it’ll take away all the bad ones.”
My throat tightened with emotions I didn’t—shouldn't—think too hard on.
I didn’t know what to say, but even if I found words to convey how he made me feel, the sound of the front door opening and the gust of chilled air rushing into the restaurant that made its way to our table would’ve cut me off.
I lazily glanced toward it, wondering who was coming to eat so late. It had to be going on midnight by now. My heart lodged in my throat, and I straightened, sensing Arlo taking full attention of my sudden shift in demeanor.
I glanced over at him to see this hardness come into his eyes as he glanced at who’d just entered. Leonid.
He had two barely legal women on either side of him, and when he noticed us, my breathing became shallow. It was the familiar dread I felt when I knew I was in the company of someone truly evil. His cold, dead eyes slid over to me, and he grinned slowly. I’d barely had any interaction with this man, only the small “interview” we’d done before I waitressed at his bar. But as I looked into the visage of evil itself, I knew without a doubt Arlo had been right.
This man was bad and dark to his very soul, and he’d do anything to get his way.
The next few minutes happened in slow motion. I could see the way Arlo’s entire body grew taut when Leonid walked past our table, but his expression was surprisingly stoic, as if he was masking his true feelings even if his body reacted on its own. Leonid only gave Arlo a moment's glance before his focus was right back on me. I didn’t miss how he curled his hands around the women's waists even harder, so hard I didn't miss the slight winces that covered their perfectly made-up faces.
The way he raked his gaze up and down my body made me feel dirty, like a barrel of oil had been spilled on me and I’d never get it off. My skin felt itchy, prickly, the urge to scratch, to tear it off almost too strong to ignore. And just before he walked out of our sight, he winked at me as if it was a promise of what was to come.
“I think I want to go now,” I said softly as soon as we were alone again.
Arlo said nothing as he paid our bill and helped me into my coat before leading me outside. His big palm was warm and steady against the small of my back. Once I was seated in the passenger seat, he crouched on his haunches, surprising me. His hand on my thigh was hot and heavy, and it gave me the sense of being safe. Because I knew these hands had killed so many.