Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 92254 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92254 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
I get her sitting, put a blanket on her, and make her put her feet up.
She looks small. Her hair’s a tangled mess, and I just listened to her vomit splatter against the water. There’s nothing less sexy than the smell of puke lingering in the air.
I kneel down in front of her and put my hands on her leg.
“Go back home,” I say, but that’s not right.
I should be saying, die, bitch.
“Really?”
“Stay in your apartment tonight and tomorrow. Don’t go anywhere until I tell you.”
“What about my job?”
“You don’t work there anymore.”
She frowns, but nods. “Okay. That’s fair.”
“Spend time with your mother.”
“Why? Are these, like, my final hours?”
“If I was going to kill you, I’d do it right now.”
I stare at her. She stares right back. Her lips are parted and her nostrils are flared and she’s scared as all hell. Her chest rises and falls, and fuck, she looks beautiful in that club outfit. She’s dressed for sex, or at least for good tips.
This is wrong. It’s all fucking wrong.
“Thanks? I think?” She licks her lips. Her tongue’s small and pink. “What happens after tomorrow?”
“I’ll come find you.”
“And then what?”
“And then you’ll still be alive if you’re lucky.” I squeeze her leg, but not too hard. “I’m trying to save your life. Do what I’m asking you to do.”
“Okay,” she whispers. “I’ll stay home.”
“Good.” I stand up and stop touching her. Why am I doing this right now? She’s a liability. She’s a fucking problem. “I hope you feel better.”
“Uhm. Thanks. I’m really fine though.”
I walk away. It’s like tearing tape from my hair. I want to stay and cradle her head in my lap and kiss her until everything’s okay, but I know that’s not how tonight will go if I stick around.
There are too many voices competing for space in my head.
Arsen the patron. Arsen the brother. Arsen the cousin, nephew, man.
I can’t say for sure which of those will win if I don’t get the fuck away from her.
“Wait! How are you going to get in touch with me if I’m not leaving my apartment?”
“I have your number.”
She frowns skeptically. “Seriously? Since when? I didn’t give it to you.”
“Since the moment you broke into my apartment.”
Then I get the hell out of there.
Chapter 8
Arsen
Tigran picks me up from my main apartment early the next morning. “You look like shit,” he says and shoves a coffee at me. “Drink this. Uncle Garen’s going to rip you to shreds.”
“More like Aunt Sona.”
He snorts. “Yeah, her too.” He pulls out into traffic. The double shot of espresso helps wake me up, but not enough.
I spent the night pacing around thinking about what to do with Lena, but didn’t come up with any good options.
“You know I gotta ask,” Tigran says, watching the road as he drives. “But the girl?”
“I took care of her.” Which is technically true. I gave her water and crackers, and I put a blanket around her.
“Then we’re good?”
“We’re good.” It doesn’t feel right, lying to my brother, but there’s no way around it. If he knew Lena was still alive, he’d turn this car around, head over to her apartment, and end her life.
Tigran’s a good man. He cares about the Brotherhood as much as I do. But he’s sometimes too loyal and too strict. There are no shades of gray with him, only what’s right and what’s wrong, and his moral compass always knows the right way to aim.
In his mind, Lena’s a loose end, and our position is too precarious to fuck around.
Is that what I’m doing? Fucking around?
“Then we have something to celebrate.” He lifts his coffee. “To a successful hit, the end of a war, and the future of the Brotherhood. To a brother coming into his own and the future of our family. To strength, honor, life—”
“Tigran,” I grumble at him. Leave it to an Armenian to take a toast too far.
He grins at me. “Cheers, brother.”
We touch our coffee cups together and I take a sip.
Tigran rolls his car into Greektown, a little neighborhood in the eastern part of the city. He parks in front of a greasy diner with blue trim around the outside and peeling decals in the windows. The place is crowded, though, and we’re greeted with a blast of hot air when we step inside and the crush of people eating, laughing, and waiting to be seated.
The waitress knows me and nods with her head toward the booth in the back. It’s already occupied and I steel myself as I head over. I’ve been dreading this meeting since Saro’s death, but it’s the next step toward finishing things and driving the Brotherhood into further prosperity.
Uncle Garen stands. He’s a stocky man with thin black hair, a cropped beard, and a smile like a salesman. He claps me in a tight hug and slaps my back even though a few weeks ago he would’ve happily shot me in the head. Aunt Sona’s a bit more standoffish; she doesn’t get to her feet, only nods at me with a tight frown. She and my father were close back before things went bad, and she hasn’t forgiven me for the part I played in his overthrow.