Total pages in book: 187
Estimated words: 177397 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 887(@200wpm)___ 710(@250wpm)___ 591(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 177397 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 887(@200wpm)___ 710(@250wpm)___ 591(@300wpm)
“It doesn’t matter,” I interrupt, too confused to add more to the over-stacked plate. “I’ll pay you back.” I split the bundle he handed me in half and return the bigger half to him. “So I guess you better give me your number so I have a way of contacting you for your bank details.”
You’d swear I invited him into my bed. That’s how big his smile is when he plucks a bill from his stack and scribbles his phone number across it.
I roll my eyes when he hands it to me.
Of course, it is the biggest denomination available in Russia.
“What?” Mikhail’s grin is brighter than the high-hanging sun. “It’s not like you’ll spend it.” He pops the cap onto the marker he summoned from nowhere before smacking his lips together with a similar noise. “Your eyes didn’t get the slightest sugar-baby gleam when I mentioned Andrik’s wealth earlier.”
“Well-rehearsed on the traits of sugar babies, are we, Marshmallow Man?” I ask, hating his dour tone.
I’m reminded that he’s been the most honest of the bunch when he quotes, “Will you call me a hussy if I say yes?” When I smile, he nudges his head to his ride before opening the passenger side door in offering. “My coffin has already been chosen, so why not add an extra few nails for sturdiness.”
If I truly believed he was in danger, I wouldn’t accept his offer.
But since I know the depths one sibling will go for another, I push the button on the dirtbox before sliding onto the passenger’s seat of Mikhail’s fancy ride.
19
ZOYA
“Hey.”
I lift my chin from my chest before slowly pointing it in the direction of the groggy voice. My lips curl into a grin when I spot Nikita sauntering across the miniscule living room of her grandparents’ rent-controlled basement apartment. She looks zonked but works what should be a negative like a model does a catwalk. Her voluptuous dark locks, her soul-searing eyes, and a body that exposes she rarely sits still ensures she will never be classified as ugly.
I bury my face in her scrubs-covered stomach when she wraps her arm around my shoulders and hugs me hello. “Have you been here all night?”
Since I don’t want to portray the loser I’ve been for the past two weeks, I conspicuously peer at my watch before making out I have more of a life than I do. “I popped in on my way home from a night out to check on Gigi and Grampies.”
Nikita arches a brow in surprise but doesn’t call me out on my lie.
Since I took Mikhail’s warning that Andrik would track me down as literal, I haven’t been out since I returned home from Chelabini.
I’m a fool.
The only honest thing Andrik said last month were the words he spoke while endeavoring to buy my silence.
The public transport I took home crisscrossed the country, and I utilized the dirtbox discreetly as suggested, but I’m still surprised Mikhail’s plan worked.
I’m also disappointed, but since I’ve lectured myself enough about my stupidity, I’ll keep that to myself.
Furthermore, no matter how beaten down someone’s ego is, they should never seek a solution for its brokenness with a taken man. I know that better than anyone. The sparks just blind me anytime Andrik is in the same realm as me.
I don’t need to worry about that now since I’ve not seen hide nor hair of him in the past two weeks.
When the whistle of a sneaky breath sounds through my ears, I peer up at the only true friend I have. “Did you just sniff my hair?”
“No,” Nikita immediately denies, pulling away. “It’s dusty down here. My allergies are suffering.”
“Suffering from filling the lungs of a liar.”
She rolls her eyes but remains quiet, announcing I’m on the money.
When I follow her into the kitchen for a bottle of the vitamin water she mixes herself from out of date vitamins and a protein powder an over-muscled freak left at my gym six months ago, her inability to be deceitful weighs down her shoulders until she can no longer ignore its heaviness.
“When you go out dancing, your hair usually smells like cigarettes and sweat.” Gulps of gross water slide down her throat before she wipes away the remnants from her lips with the back of her hand. “This morning, it smells nothing close to gross.”
“That’s because your schnozz was shoved too close to vomit bags and poopy bed pans all night. With how many gastro outbreaks you’ve been handling the past few months, you’d think a colostomy bag smells like roses.”
Since she can’t deny the truth, she doesn’t.
Instead, she shifts her focus to a downfall as deficient as my love life—my employment status.
“How did your interview go today?” Her sympathetic look when I shake my head I can handle. It’s her offer after my short announcement of rejection that scorches my throat with bile. “I can lend you—”