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)
I’m pissed about how things ended last week, but I also feel like there’s more going on than she’s telling me.
I’d have a better idea if I read the texts she sent me the past week.
I had no clue grief made you an insensitive ass to other people’s issues until now.
My assumption that I’m missing something gets a boost of actuality when Polina murmurs, “I’m sorry, Vas. I don’t want to ruin your birthday.” She’s a shit liar. Always has been. “But I really think it is best if I go home alone. I don’t want you to catch whatever I have.” Her sneeze is as fake as her pout. “I think the baker who made your cake had a cold. She sneezed on me.” The moon’s rays bounce off my teeth when I grin after she shoves a cake box into Vasily’s chest. “I better not eat it. It could be riddled with germs.” Most devoted spouses toss a potential hazard into the trash. They don’t hand it to their supposed better half to consume.
My brow quirks when Polina farewells a man I didn’t notice hiding in the shadow of the restaurant’s awning with a peck on the cheek. I swear I’ve seen him before, but he has a face that doesn’t stand out in a crowd, so I could be wrong.
Since the man with a ring of salt-and-pepper hair is distracting Polina, she misses Vasily’s head bob to a prostitute across the street. It could have been construed as a greeting if he didn’t place a business card between the folded-up bills he hands the valet. I guarantee it has the address of a seedy motel scribbled across the back, and within seconds of Vasily leaving with Polina, the woman across the street will be bundled into a cab and delivered to the address stipulated on the card.
How do I know this?
I worked valet on these blocks for years. It gave me access to the who’s who of Kronstadt and saw me spending my evenings driving the luxury vehicles the Bobrovs stole, stripped, and sold for parts the following month.
Second to grand theft, the prostitution trade is a big part of a valet’s job. It earns more than tips and ensures workers arrive for every shift.
I drift my focus from the blonde across the street to Polina when she says, “No, it’s fine. Truly. I can take myself home.” She flattens her hand on Vasily’s chest, then pushes him back from the cab idling at the curb. “Enjoy the rest of your birthday.”
I can’t hear what he replies, but a second after farewelling him in the same manner she did the elderly gentleman, Polina slips into the back of the cab, then signals for the driver to go, leaving Vasily red-faced and angry near the valet.
My watch gets busted seconds after Polina’s taxi merges into traffic. Vasily looks pissed, but his bandaged hand keeps the arrogance in his tone at a manageable level. “The restaurant’s skips are around back. You’ll find something more enticing than scraps there.”
I stand to my full height, ready and willing to bounce, but before I can, the older man behind him doubles my assurance that we’ve met before by jerking up his chin in greeting. “You’re that fighter guy. Um… what’s your fight name again? Fie… Tye… Lie…” I’m about to put him out of his misery when he does what many other spectators did the years Feo and I worked the circuit side by side. He mistakes me for my brother. “Feo the Flatliner.” He steps out of the shadows, moving closer to me. “I haven’t seen you fight for well over six months. You’ve been missed.” His comment fills me with pride that I got to call Feodor my brother. It pisses Vasily off. “Will you be participating in this weekend’s event? I hear some big money is on the line.”
I hadn’t considered getting back into fighting until now. It isn’t like I couldn’t use the money. Partying like you only have six months to live is expensive. I’m one deal away from bankruptcy.
“Where is it being held?” I ask.
The man digs a business card out of his pocket. “Same location as your last fight.” He scribbles something onto the card before handing it to me. “Tell them it’s a rematch, and you won’t be required to pay a buy-in.” When my brows furrow, I almost give away that I’m not my brother until he murmurs, “I take it your last fight was the first one interrupted by the authorities?”
“Yeah.” I wet my dry lips. “Usually the events are hosted by them, not raided by them.”
He laughs as if I said something funny. “That is true.” After storing his wallet in his breast pocket, he says, “Hopefully I’ll see you there.”
“Maybe.”
His smile announces he took my response as a promise. He practically skips away, leaving me standing at the side of the restaurant with a man with similar looks but a ton more attitude and nowhere near as many wrinkles.