Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 65593 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 328(@200wpm)___ 262(@250wpm)___ 219(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65593 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 328(@200wpm)___ 262(@250wpm)___ 219(@300wpm)
I smile. I am open to negotiation. You can earn privileges.
She writes back, Does that include going to the Red Room Wednesdays to see my BFF?
The memory of her getting hit on by that mudak makes me grind my teeth. No fucking chance. Not without me, anyway.
Are you buying?
Now she’s flirting. My smile returns. If I take you out, I’m buying. But you haven’t earned it yet.
Sasha snatches my phone from my hand.
“Hey!”
“You’re texting a woman!” she declares. “Is she the one from Rue’s last night?”
I hold my hand out. “Give me the phone, Sasha. It’s none of your fucking business.”
“Watch your mouth with my wife,” Maxim growls at me.
I ignore him because we both know she’s being a pain. Brat is Sasha’s middle name, but she’s hot as fuck and came with oil wells worth sixty million dollars, so Maxim doesn’t mind their arranged marriage thing.
She tries unsuccessfully to unlock my phone. “I saw, If I take you out, I’m buying,” she announces triumphantly. “So what’s the deal? Are you dating this woman? Hmm?”
“Yes, what is the deal?” Story appears from Oleg’s bedroom with my giant bratva brother behind her. “Last night was a strange scene. How did that even happen?”
I shake my head. I’m not as tempted to tell Story to mind her own fucking business because she’s too kind and also because Oleg would legit kill me.
Oleg outs me, though, signing, She is the sister of a guy who owes us money. Story interprets out loud because she knows sign language best although the rest of us get the jist of it now without her interpretation.
Sasha, who majored in theatre, gives an exaggerated gasp and claps a hand over her mouth. “Nikolai! Gospodi, did you take his sister as payment?”
Maxim grunts, and I realize they’re all staring at me waiting for my answer. Like they think it’s true.
The fact that it is pretty close to the truth burns me.
“Shut up. All of you. My arrangement with Chelle is none of your business.”
“Oh. My. God.” Sasha sounds delighted. “I can’t believe it. You did!”
“I thought we had a no sex as currency rule,” Maxim says mildly. Like he’s not going to sweat me for it, but he’s curious why I broke the rules. He’s right, of course. The thirty grand Zane owes isn’t mine to fuck with. It belongs to the bratva. I pay Adrian and Oleg out of it and a percentage always goes to Ravil.
“Stop.” I make my voice as cutting as I can.
It only works because I’m the guy who never raises his voice. It’s hard to get a rise out of me over much of anything.
But Chelle will be here, in this building, for the next thirty days. I can’t keep any secrets from the bratva. Not without shit blowing up in my face.
“I made a deal,” I admit. “But if one of you mudaks says one word to her about it, I will kill you. Understand?”
Sasha smiles but makes a show out of zipping her lips, locking them and throwing the key over her shoulder.
Story’s brows are down, like she doesn’t like it, and I suddenly feel like the worst kind of bastard.
I scrub a hand over my face. “Don’t judge, please. I like this girl.”
Story’s face clears. All of them soften, in fact. Like I suddenly became the subject of their empathy, rather than the criminal who took someone’s sister as payment for a debt to the mob.
“We’ll be nice,” Sasha promises. “I didn’t talk to her much last night, but she seemed cool. Maybe I can hire her publicity firm for the theatre’s next show.”
A thread of relief flows through me. They’re dropping the inquisition and accepting Chelle into the fold, just like that.
It’s one of the many miracles of my life in Ravil’s cell. They are family in the best sense of the word. I don’t know why I was feeling like I didn’t belong lately.
“Yeah, and what’s the deal with Skate 32?” Story pipes in. “Do you think they’ll really use our music in their videos?”
I shrug. “I don’t know, but I’m sure Chelle would try to make it happen if you’re into it.”
I think that’s true. I hope so, anyway.
I catch Oleg’s eye. “You ready to do some enforcing?” I ask. It’s Friday, which means we make the rounds to collect money we’re owed.
I don’t think Oleg loves his job, but he’s stoic as ever. He nods, then signs to Story and gives her a kiss.
For the first time since Dima left, I don’t feel the sharp stab of jealousy at witnessing that intimacy. The sense of being left out.
Because tonight, I won’t be sleeping alone.
10
Chelle
As promised, a very tattooed courier with a thick Russian accent showed up at my work to deliver an envelope for me this afternoon. Inside was a keycard and a note written in Nikolai’s neat, square letters.