Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 83195 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83195 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Anya rolls her eyes because, to her, it’s nothing. But River will kill tonight for her.
Things have changed since I’ve returned from Russia. Whereas it was once my role to kill for her, she now has a husband who is just as crazy as us.
I turn to take my leave, and my sister follows me. Harold’s screaming begins behind us. I know it’ll be quick, though. Unlike Anya and me, who have taken pleasure in torture, River just likes to get the job done.
“Do you want to tell me why you’re breaking a random man’s hand at a bar and calling me for cleanup duty in some shitty apartment block?” Anya asks as she walks beside me.
I’d rather not.
She steps in front of me, and I feel my jaw clench. “Alek, you don’t even go to bars. What the fuck is happening? Does this involve Cinita? Because I swear to God, I will hunt her down myself and slit her throat to end this shit.”
I clench my gloved fists. I love my sister. But her threats are as valid as mine. She will do it. “It’s not Cinita. I owe…” I don’t know how to finish that sentence.
“Owe? We don’t owe anyone shit,” she defiantly says.
“I misspoke.”
She pops her hip with her hand on it. “Oh no, you’re very intentional with your words, Alek. Who do you owe?”
I shake my head. “It’s not like that. But I do need you to do something for me.”
Her eyebrows raise in surprise.
I rarely ask my sister for anything, but even I know when I’m out of my depth.
CHAPTER 16
Lena
Ihonestly thought I wouldn’t be able to sleep, but as soon as I stepped into the oversized hotel suite that’s two times the size of my apartment and found the bed, I passed out. The sheets and blankets are divine and probably cost the same amount as all the furniture destroyed in my apartment.
I ordered room service twice. Because why the fuck not. This shit didn’t start happening until Alek rocked up in my life, so why not take advantage of this moment? I’m searching through the multiple outfits that were delivered. Apparently, I can choose any of them I want, as they’re mine now.
Whatever the fuck that means.
My mouth gaped at the expensive price tags, but the one I was most inclined toward was a loose yellow dress. I’m under no illusion that Alek picked these out himself, because if he had, they’d all only come in one color. Black.
Whoever chose them has some serious style.
Looking at all this nice stuff, I contemplate setting my apartment on fire.
But then I remember I don’t have insurance.
This is the lifestyle I’ve dreamed of. Well, sort of.
I want to see how far I can make it with my singing. I want to make it to Broadway and thrive there until I settle down and have a family.
A knock on the door rattles me, and I whip my head in its direction.
My heart is pounding. I know it’s probably Alek, but I can’t help the paranoia that causes me to hesitate. I know it’s Cinita they’re all after. Whoever “they” are.
If it was someone else, surely they wouldn’t knock, right? I grab a glass vase just in case, and pull the door open. Standing there is the redheaded lady from the auction. What was her name again? Anya? I think so. She has on a tight black dress, with red heels to match her fiery red hair that’s pulled back in a ponytail. Her emerald-green eyes look me up and down.
“Why is my brother wanting to help you?” Those are the first words to leave her mouth.
“Umm.”
“Umm is not a word,” she snaps. Fuck, she’s brutal.
“Your brother, Alek?” She looks at me like I’ve grown a second head. “He didn’t help me. In fact, he kidnapped me, tried to make me get out of the car under a scary bridge, then made me stay at his house,” I tell her. Her gaze falls to the vase in my hand.
“Do you plan to hit me with it?” she asks.
“Do you plan to hit me?” I ask back. “Because if so, then, yes, I will hit you with it.”
“And are you on drugs or potentially have a complex where you have to please men?”
“A complex?” I ask, then it dawns on me. “Oh, you mean like Cinita.” That makes sense. She does have that.
“Do you know Cinita well?” she questions as her gaze narrows, and I can tell she is not very well-liked.
“Not well enough for our association to be the reason my apartment looks like a bomb hit it,” I mumble, feeling deflated. “Maybe I should’ve just accepted a loan from my parents to get my own place in the first place,” I say as I place the vase back on the stand near the door. She makes no move to step inside.