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)
Leon looks pleased by his son’s praise. “I’ll always have your back, Vasily. It’s a father’s job.”
Uncaring that he has the eyes of notorious gangsters on him, Leon stores his gun into a holster at his waist before he slings his arm around his son’s shoulders and guides him out of the warehouse.
Even with shock making my legs feel the weight of concrete, I sprint for Yev just as fast.
He’s on the mat, covered with blood. His leg is contorted at a weird angle, and his eyes are closed. Nothing will stop me from reaching him.
Not even spotting my father slipping out the back entrance of the warehouse behind Vasily and Leon.
31
YEV
If I ever complain about the shudders of withdrawals, remind me of today. My head is pounding, my throat feels like I swallowed razor blades, and there isn’t a single part of my body that isn’t aching.
What the fuck did I take to knock me on my ass so well? And where the hell was Polina when temptation proved too much?
I don’t care how good they claim the smack is, I’d never pick it over her.
Not in a hundred years.
As faint memories creep into my head of Polina slipping my hand between her legs, I fight my eyes to open. They weigh as much as my left leg, which feels strangely suspended in the air.
I learn the cause of my leg’s odd angle when my eyes finally answer the numerous pleas of my head. It’s being held in the air by a stirrup I’m tempted to have permanently installed in my room and is covered with plaster.
My confusion deepens when the walls surrounding me register as familiar. I’m in my room. The familiar scent assures me of this, not to mention my belt dangling off the headboard.
A second after the vanity sink faucet switching off sounds through my ears, the bathroom door cracks open, and Polina walks in.
She looks tired.
Real fucking tired.
“Hey,” I murmur through the cotton mouth keeping my throat as dry as a desert.
Polina’s eyes snap to me so quickly, the strain they undertake adds to their glossy appearance. “Yev. Finally.” Instead of running for me, she bolts for my bedroom door. “He’s awake.”
My room floods with guests who steal Polina from my eyesight. She’s tall for a girl, but the men surrounding her are much taller. Micah is here, and the guy who delivered my cocaine twice a week before I kicked the habit. Annika and her bump. Even Kliment is here.
What the fuck?
“I knew something was up when you stopped responding,” Kliment says before propping his ass on the edge of my bedside table like he’s accustomed to the rough edges. “I can work anywhere, so Ghost sent me here.” I get the feels like a schmuck with a peanut for a cock when he mutters, “You are family. We don’t leave family in the lurch.”
Before I can respond, the doctor who drilled out part of Alek’s skull months ago grips my chin and slants my head to the side. I assume he is checking my vitals but am proven otherwise when he murmurs, “The injection sites have healed nicely overnight. The needles were most likely new, but I ran bloods just in case. They came back clear of any nasties.” He steps back like my screwed-up face has more to do with the churns of my empty stomach than a worry I could have caught an STI from a dirty needle. “Your leg will be in a cast for a couple of weeks. The pins will hold it in place, but you shouldn’t put any pressure on it for two to three weeks.” He looks as exhausted as Polina when he scrubs the back of his hand across his eyes while saying through a yawn, “If that’s all, I might head out and catch up on some sleep.”
He's not one of those old geezer doctors with a hairy gray chin. He’s only a couple years older than Alek. So his tiredness has nothing to do with age and everything to do with looking like he hasn’t slept in over twenty-four hours.
“How long was I out?”
Since most of the people surrounding me appear as if they arrived in dribs and drabs, only one person can answer correctly. “Thirty-seven hours.” Polina breaks through the crowd, her smile tiny in comparison to the relief in her eyes. “Thirty-four of them were because of the sedative Dustin gave you.” I’m assuming Dustin is the doctor when she squeezes his arm before offering to show him the way out.
“I know the way,” he replies before straying his eyes around the room. “As I’m sure most of you do as well.” I want to kiss him when he nudges his head to the door, giving everyone but Polina their marching orders. “He needs rest. Not a bunch of rubberneckers.”