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)
“Ok-okay,” she parrots, making me smile when I recall how often people do that around me. “I ca-can pay your fare. They didn’t take this.”
It isn’t the right time for either of us to laugh, but it can’t be helped when she wiggles her bus card.
Not even criminals unwilling to work for what they want are desperate enough to use public transport.
20
ZOYA
Mara and I live on the same block. She doesn’t normally catch the late bus home, but her boss, who owns an apartment in Nikita’s building, was hosting a late-evening event. Mara altered her roster, hopeful the two-hundred-dollar cash payment she’d receive would keep her fed for a month.
The perp stole it along with a necklace she’d inherited from her mother and a fake tennis bracelet her boss had gifted her last Christmas.
Helping Mara kept my veins flooded with adrenaline for the past forty minutes. Now that they’ve simmered, I realize there are a handful of calls I need to make on a phone I no longer have.
That’s what led to me standing outside my building supervisor’s apartment, praying he is an early riser.
I’m about to knock for the second time when Mr. Fakher’s door slowly inches open. Except it’s not Mr. Fakher answering. It is a man who has a far slimmer stomach and a headful of hair.
I inch back to check I’m at the fourth door from the stairwell. Mr. Fakher gave me directions plenty of times to make sure it stuck, but it’s early and I’m tired, so I could have miscounted.
Once I’m certain I have the right apartment, I turn my eyes back to the man who has to be in his early fifties. “I was seeking the building sup?”
He flashes his pearly white teeth before replying, “You’ve found him.” He fans his hand across his chest. “Luka Traite. What can I do for you, sweetheart?”
His sleezy rake of my body during what is meant to be a term of endearment assures me I have the right property. All building supervisors are the same—one immoral gesture from criminal charges.
Although I’d rather brush off his eagerness in the same manner I do Mr. Fakher, I can’t. He is my only lifeline to the world outside my apartment walls.
“Mr. Fakher was meant to fix my landline last month.”
Luka’s brow arches as high as his voice. “You still have a landline?”
“Yes.” I don’t mention it is because its previous tenant was on life support that required constant connectivity in the event of a cell service failure. The particulars don’t matter, and I’m too tired to pretend they do. “But it isn’t working, and I don’t have access to a phone, so I was wondering if I could use the landline in the security office.”
He waits a beat before asking, “What happened to your phone?”
His question exposes he was born in at least the last five decades.
Even Gigi knows no one over the age of ten gets around without a phone these days.
“It was stolen—”
“You got jumped?” He pulls me into his apartment before scanning the hallway like the perp is standing behind me, digging his gun into my ribs. “Where?”
I wiggle out of his hold before answering, “At the Myasnikov Private Hospital bus stop.”
“Why the fuck were you at a bus stop?”
I glare at him like he’s stupid. “To catch a bus.”
His expression matches the one I’m hitting him with. “You’d rather catch the bus than get around in that sweet-ass ride parked in your parking bay?”
I’m lost, and mercifully, I don’t need to announce that.
“There’s a brand-new Audi in your bay. It was delivered last week.” His tone gets more and more suspicious the longer he talks. “I thought it was yours?”
Assuming he’s one of those goody two shoes who bring in the police for a minor incident, I say, “I no longer need a parking spot, so I let another tenant use it.” He doesn’t believe my lie. I don’t blame him. It was a doozie. “Anyway, back to the reason for my early-morning visit. I need to borrow a phone so I can tell my friend that I arrived home safely.”
“Oh… yep… right. Checking in is good.” He coughs to clear the rattle in his throat before gesturing me to take a right at the end of the entryway hall. “You can use mine. It’ll be easier than trudging back down the stairs to the security office. The elevator is out.”
His mention of the defunct elevator exposes he hasn’t worked here for long. It’s been out of operation for over eighteen months.
When we arrive in the living area, I scan my eyes over the apartment that is meant to be the pick of the bunch. It isn’t. There are no good apartments in this part of Myasnikov. They’re all dumps.
No wonder he didn’t believe my lie. No one in this part of Myasnikov can afford a secondhand foreign car, much less a new one.