Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 92254 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92254 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
“I’ll ask nicely one more time,” I say, glaring death down at him, shoving my knee harder into his face. “When does Saro come into the club? What door does he use?”
“It’s fucking random,” Erik groans. I start to push on his arm again and he starts sobbing. “Tuesdays! Okay, fucking Tuesdays! That’s when his favorite girl’s working.”
“What door?”
“The back door. The fucking back one! He doesn’t use the main street though. He parks a couple blocks away and heads in through the back alley.”
Clever little Saro. Didn’t think he had it in him. That explains why we never see the prick even though we’ve been watching. “Who’s his favorite girl?”
“I don’t know. Some fucking random bitch.”
“Give me a name.”
“Kathleen! Fuck, her name’s Kathleen. Just some girl!”
I clench my jaw. What’s wrong with me? Some ugly voice worried it might be Lena, and the relief I’m feeling is palpable. I shouldn’t care like this.
“We should go,” Tigran says from my back. “Piggy’s being too loud.”
“You’re squealing too much,” I say, whispering at Erik. “That’s a problem.”
“Please. I don’t care about the war. I’m just his friend.”
I wrench his arm hard and his shoulder cracks. His back arches and he thrashes in agony like a dying fish. I step back and look down at him, feeling absolutely nothing.
Erik can pretend like he’s a nobody, but we both know he’s one of Saro’s inner circle. Which makes him fair game.
“Tigran,” I say, turning away.
My brother pulls the trigger three times, and we leave the body to cool in the alley.
Chapter 5
Lena
One Month Later
I puke my guts out so hard I feel like my back’s going to break.
“Fuck,” I groan when I’m done.
Lately, I’m like one of those freaking vomit dinosaurs from Jurassic Park just spewing my guts up.
Every morning like clockwork for the last week it’s like this.
But as quickly as the nausea hits, it’s gone. I clean myself up and head into the kitchen where Mom’s waiting with coffee. “Got sick again?” she asks.
“I’m fine.” I kiss her cheek. “How are you feeling?”
“Good as always.” She smiles at me and pats my hand. “You should see a doctor.”
“Can’t do it.”
“We have insurance.”
“There are copays. We can’t afford copays.”
“Baby—”
“No, Momma, I’m fine.” I kiss her again. “Want something to eat?”
She shakes her head and we bicker a little about that. She’s so darn thin lately and I know her latest round of treatment has been really rough, but she needs to keep her strength up.
“You two hens clucking at each other again?” Vadim strolls into the room and kisses Mom’s cheek. “When will you give it a rest?”
“Someone’s got to look out for her.”
“I’m fine,” Mom says, waving me off. “How are you today, big baby?”
“I wish you’d stop calling me that,” Vadim mumbles. He fusses with his dark hair in a mirror and rubs at his beard. My brother’s a lot of things, but at least he takes pride in his appearance. Two gold chains glitter over a dark t-shirt, and I can’t help but wonder where he gets the money to afford this stuff, considering how much he doesn’t contribute to the family.
“You’ll always be my big baby and you are my little one.” She rubs my arm. “Now, I’ll have toast, but only if you promise to see a doctor.”
I grind my teeth. “Really, Mom—”
“You still puking?” Vadim snorts and shakes his head as he makes himself a protein shake. “I bet you’re fucking pregnant.”
“God forbid,” Mom says, glaring at him. “Don’t even say something like that.”
“I’m just kidding.” He grins at me. “Gotta find a guy willing to kiss your ugly mug to get pregnant first.”
I throw a coaster at him, which he dodges gracefully, and throws it right back. It smacks me in the face. “Funny coming from the guy still living with his parents.”
“You live here too.”
“But you’re five years older than me.”
“I’m helping out around here.”
“Really? Could’ve fooled me.”
“I do more for this family every single day—”
“Enough,” Mom says, throwing up her hands. “Do you two need to bicker all the time?”
We both glare at each other, but we shut our mouths. I head into the kitchen and start making her toast as she puts on glasses and reads the paper on her tablet.
“She’s thin,” I tell him quietly. “I don’t like it.”
Vadim’s face goes serious. “I know. I hate it too.”
“Help me make her eat, okay?”
“You know she feels terrible.”
“But she needs to anyway. Help me, please? She listens to you.”
My brother leans back against the counter and nods slowly. “I’ll try, but you know her. The second I say something, she’ll have a dozen excuses and suddenly she’s trying to cook for me.”
“Yeah, I know. She wants to feel useful.”
We lapse into silence as the toast cooks. Mom’s silently reading, her lips tugged down into a frown. I’m not sure why she still looks at the paper—it always just makes her upset. But she insists on being a knowledgeable member of society no matter what. Too many immigrants exist in their own little bubbles, she always says. Too many ignore the world and focus on their homelands.