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)
He continues. “I’m going to ask you a question, and I expect the truth. I’ll know if you’re lying.”
“Okay…” I manage to say. He sits back, eyes locked on me. The longer I’m with him, the more I feel like I’m potentially sitting with a sociopath.
“Where is Cinita?” he asks. My eyebrows furrow. Cinita? How would he know anything about her? “She’s your roommate, is she not?” Then he adds, “Remember, I expect the truth.”
“How do you know Cinita?” I ask. I haven’t actually seen her for months. And she owes me rent.
An exasperated sigh escapes him. “You have no idea where she is either,” he says. Damn, how did he do that? Was my facial expression that obvious? “When was the last time you saw her?”
“Months ago,” I answer. “Remind me how you two are acquainted again?” I press. He stands as if to leave, but I do the same and face him. “So you’re only good at asking questions, not answering them?”
His expression doesn’t change as his gaze roams me from head to toe. “I don’t have to answer any questions from someone who still dresses like a teenager.”
My jaw drops. Did he seriously just say that? “Is it the smiley face that pisses you off? You don’t exactly seem like a happy chap.”
His jaw tics, almost as if surprised that I bit back.
“If she contacts you, I suggest you call me.” He pulls a business card out of his jacket pocket and hands it to me.
I stare at it. Why the fuck would I want anything from this man?
“I suggest you take it if you want your next paycheck,” he says.
My jaw drops again. “Are you threatening me?”
With a lack of expression, he says, “You would know if I was. Take the card.”
This asshole.
When I reach for it, he makes sure our hands don’t touch. As soon as I grasp it, his hand disappears. I look at it in confusion until I see his name and number on the card.
“Is she in trouble?” I ask quietly. I don’t like this guy, but if he knows anything about her disappearance, then I want to know as well.
“Yes. A fucking lot, so call me if you want her to live.” His words hit me: if I want her to live. Shit, is she involved in some dangerous shit? Surely, she couldn’t be that stupid. But then again, I think she may be. I don’t really know her all that well. She kept a lot hidden. But we both started here around the same time, and both were looking for somewhere to live. It worked out well for maybe a month or so, until she disappeared, and I had to call my parents for money to help me cover the rent. That was not fun.
They always thought my singing was a waste of time and that I should have gone to college for something more stable, but I love to sing. I will sing until I can no longer breathe. It’s a part of me, and no one can take that away, no matter what.
Rent be short or not.
He doesn’t wait for me to respond, moving past me and through the crowd, making sure not to brush anyone as he leaves.
Who the hell is Alek? And how much trouble is Cinita in?
CHAPTER 3
Aleksandr
“Will you stop?” Anya snaps as I take a seat in my office. It’s in one of the many mansions we own—each of which has a particular purpose and auction associated with it. Tonight’s auction is to sell the guns that her husband, River, provides. The moment she raises her tone, he walks out of the room, knowing better than to get between us when she’s in one of her moods.
“Stop what?” I ask, going through the paperwork on my desk.
“You know what. She doesn’t want to be found, Alek. She’s running for a reason. And you will look at me when we’re speaking,” she defiantly bites out.
I sigh. I’d much rather handle my paperwork than have this discussion with Anya. Again.
I promised Cinita I wouldn’t chase her again, but I can’t turn a blind eye to the fact that she’s back on my turf either.
“I found her once before, and I can find her again,” I point out.
“Yeah, and last time, you fucking left me high and dry to manage all of this, and you ended up coming back empty-handed.”
A muscle tics in my jaw because Anya isn’t the type to let go of a grudge. Neither am I. We’ve always been inseparable, and although I know she has my back no matter what, I don’t want her getting involved with the Bratva, which is where I know Cinita was last.
“You came out of it with a husband, didn’t you?” I ask pointedly, already tired of how long this discussion has lasted. Anya is one of the few who can pull a conversation from me, but I would rather keep it short and simple. And when she’s in a rage like this, I let her do all the talking because there’s no reasoning with her.