Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 69662 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 348(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69662 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 348(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
I’d then sent a quick text to Katarina saying the same thing.
We’d driven farther and farther away from the city, away from Desolation. I hadn’t asked any questions, knowing that maybe I was still in shock over everything.
I stared out the passenger side window as we passed towns, intimate communities with tiny populations. Civilization became thinner, sparser, the longer we drove and I started to feel that anxiety fade out.
Being around anyone right now seemed like absolute hell, and maybe that was why Kostya was taking us so far away. Because he knew.
We’d stopped off nightly at little hole-in-the-wall motels off the beaten path, which was where we currently were and had been for the past two days.
I couldn’t say the motel was the most comfortable place to stay, what with the outdated interior, the water-stained ceiling, the ancient television that only picked up three channels, or the fact we’d been living off vending machines or fast food, but I was with Kostya and it was pretty perfect.
I hadn’t really slept much after we moved from motel to motel, but when I did manage to fall asleep, it was with Kostya’s big body curled around mine and the feel of his fingers skating up and down my arm before I finally drifted off.
I ran my hand over the mirror above the bathroom sink, the glass cracked in the corner, gold veins spidering across the length.
I stared at my reflection—my long dark hair was damp and hung in loose waves over my shoulders. I straightened and tightened the too-thin towel around me, the material feeling like sandpaper.
At least I had some decent toiletries, thanks to Kostya stopping at a drugstore to grab some essentials.
I closed my eyes and braced my hands on the edge of the bathroom sink. I hated how things were between us right now.
He was distant, and aside from holding me at night, he hadn’t touched me. And I ached for him. Especially now, with our futures uncertain, with the fact I killed the man I thought was my father, the man I loved and had looked up to… I missed Kostya.
A part of me knew he had a lot on his mind, a lot of things that were in play regarding both of our safeties and making sure the chess pieces were lined up just right before any new moves could be played.
But, God, it was hard.
I opened my eyes and stared at the closed toilet seat lid, at the sweats and plain white T-shirt that lay atop it. Another quick purchase at a cheap convenience store we had passed.
I should put them on. I really should, but instead I turned and opened the bathroom door, shut off the light, and then stood there and stared at Kostya. I glanced down at my ankle, the skin mottled in shades of purple and blue, any little pressure put on it enough to suck the air from my lungs. I tried to hide the pain as much as possible because I saw the tightening on Kostya’s face when he saw my discomfort.
We had enough to worry about rather than issues with my ankle.
He sat at the small circular table that was positioned in front of the single window in the room. He was cleaning his guns, something he did every night before bed, I took a note of. Since my time with him, I noticed Kostya stuck to routines, regimes, and rituals, and it didn’t take much for me to realize it stemmed from his abuse.
That was why I never said anything. I kept my mouth shut, and I sat on the edge of the bed and watched him until he finished up, undressed, then took me down to the bed with him and held me until I fell asleep.
I knew he did that for me just as much as he did it for him.
That was the only controlled moment we had anymore, it seemed.
“Is that how you earned money?” I asked softly.
“Is what how I earned money, baby?” He didn’t look at me as he finished cleaning his gun and putting it back together.
“Being forced to fight for the Bratva. Being forced to kill for them.”
It took him so long to respond, I was sure he wouldn’t. Then he set his gun aside and leaned back in the tattered tweed chair, his huge body seeming relaxed even though I knew he was anything but.
“That’s how I made money, malishka.”
He stayed silent for long seconds, and I couldn’t look away. I didn’t want to let my emotions consume me over the fact that the Bratva had used him the way they had, or that he probably never thought he had any other choice in the matter.
Sure, he was powerful and deadly, could kill with his bare hands, but when you were conditioned to do something over and over again for nearly as long as you’d been alive, it just became your normal.