Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 89090 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89090 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
“We were due for stock take,” I deny, loving that my ploy to shift the focus off me worked. “And you shouldn’t have been looking. You were a taken woman back then.”
“Have you ever seen a ring on this finger?”
When she holds up her empty ring hand, her attitude high, I shake my head. “No.”
“Exactly. I can look all I want.” She leans in so close her hot breaths bead condensation on my neck. “I can probably touch now too.” Her groan is throaty and long, and she looks upset. “But please remind me of the consequences of that before I stupidly do something I’ll later regret.”
“Single forever. I get it.”
Looping my arm around hers, I drag her down the street, hopeful my fast pace will stop her from announcing it is my volatile relationship with Vasily that has her trigger-shy.
5
YEV
The drumming of my heart in my ears dulls after a line of coke, but I do a second line just in case. I don’t want my head in the clouds, but I don’t want it in reality, either. The world is a cruel fucking place, and it took me being dragged down a long hard road to learn that.
I’m still hitting the occasional speed bump now. Take my shit performance last week as an example. I should have been stoked someone as glamorous as Polina Kotova rolled up her sleeves and got her hands dirty for a man as undeserving as me, but since I was riddled with guilt about how alive Polina’s kiss made me feel, I took out my remorse on the wrong person.
I fucked up, but instead of manning up and admitting that, I continue reaching for a crutch that will kill me long before it will ever save me.
What can I say? Grief makes you a fucking imbecile.
After a third and final line of cocaine, I kick away the table that wasn’t clean enough to snort snow off only a week ago, before slouching low in my chair.
My designer leather sofa could fuck any man’s back. It is hard and lumpy and has me feeling sorry for any woman who attempts to snuggle with a man with washboard abs.
Why the fuck would anyone want to lie against something so rigid and uncomfortable?
As I drag my hand under my nose to make sure I didn’t miss any of the white powder I can no longer afford but can’t seem to live without, I stray my eyes around my apartment.
It’s packed with people. Some I know, but most are strangers.
The latter are the fuckers who trample mud across the floorboards with no concern that they cost me an arm and a leg to have installed. They don’t know me or understand my grief. They’re here for the free liquor and drugs that depleted my bank account of over a million dollars in under a year.
I’m tempted to kick them out, but the last time that happened, I ended up on Novaya Avenue, seeking the woman I swore I wouldn’t track down until I had my shit together.
Bringing Feo home was meant to be step one of my recovery process, but since it took so long to initiate, I now have a list an arm’s length long to battle through.
Henry Gottle, the boss of all bosses, backtracked quick smart on any orders associated with Kirill when he found out he’d been played, but his pardon didn’t stretch to Ghost, Alek, and their crew. If Kirill hadn’t admitted to Feo’s murder with the hope his confession would show remorse for his crimes, my little brother’s body would still be stored in the freezer of the Bobrov containership.
Kirill isn’t remorseful.
That fucker doesn’t know the meaning of the word, but I trusted Ghost and Alek when they said they’ll make him pay, so I crossed off the first item on my list by bringing Feo home and laying him to rest next to his father.
I would have pissed on Diego’s grave if I hadn’t finally understood why he fucking loathed me.
He didn’t try to keep Feo and me apart to get back at our mother for gatekeeping years of his son’s life. He knew I was bad news and that I’d drag Feo into a mess he couldn’t get out of unscathed.
He was right.
One hundred fucking percent.
I asked Feo to go to the docks.
I asked him to watch out for Ana until Alek or I got there.
And he took a bullet through the skull because Kirill thought he was me.
He’s dead because of me, so aren’t I meant to be dead without him?
I truly believed I was until Polina’s kiss told me otherwise.
She made me believe I have something to live for, that my life didn’t end with Feo’s.
I don’t know whether to be angry or happy about that fact.
The decision would be nowhere near as hard if Polina were here.