Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 126003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 630(@200wpm)___ 504(@250wpm)___ 420(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 630(@200wpm)___ 504(@250wpm)___ 420(@300wpm)
“You’re crazy.” She mumbles this and turns her head away, looking out the port side.
“I might be. But at least I’m not attached.”
She turns back to me, and when I glance at her, she’s got her eyes narrowed. “Attached to what?”
“Any of it. Life, mostly. But all of it. The money, the condo, the beach, the boat. I don’t care about any of it.”
She and I lock eyes for a moment. Then she puckers her lips—which are plump and smooth, a contrast to her almost sharp cheekbones. I can see why they wanted to take pictures of her. She’s… very unusual. And it kinda surprises me that she was given to the fights in the first place. With those blue eyes and that blonde hair, she would’ve been a very attractive child.
I have an urge to ask her about this, but I can’t. If I do, and she answers me, then I’ll owe her an answer of my own.
That’s not gonna happen.
She gets tired of our silence and starts in again. “Then why bother? Why bother with any of it?”
“You mean, why not give up? Why don’t you give up?”
“I never said I wasn’t attached. I’m attached to everything.”
I laugh. Loudly. “Are ya now?”
“All of it.” She nods her head, confirming her answer. “I love it. Even back in the fights, I loved it. My village, Cort, Maart, Rainer, and the kids. It sucked, ya know? I’m not gonna deny that. The way they all disappeared, one by one, and no one talked about them ever again. But those of us who didn’t disappear—me, and Paulo, and Maeko—” She stops here, like she’s thinking. “And Peng. Before.”
“Before what?”
“He died that last day at the village. Didn’t make it out.” She shakes her head and grunts. “He made it through all those fights and then gets shot in the end by a fuckin’ bodyguard. What a waste. But anyway. I want more life, not less.”
“Irina. That makes no sense.”
“Why not?”
“If you love life, then why are you asking me to train you to kill people?”
“Because I’m good at it, Eason. And it feels good.”
She says this like someone might ask for milk in their tea. Unaffected and distant. Like she’s got a million other things on her mind.
“Ya lied, then.”
She squints her eyes at me. “What did I lie about?”
“Revenge. You want it too.”
“No.” She denies it again. “It’s not revenge. It’s… karma.”
I sigh out a chuckle. “Whatever you say.”
CHAPTER 9
Eason is mostly quiet after I deny his accusation. He can have his revenge. That’s not what I’m doing. I’m just a killer, that’s all. It’s something I’m good at.
He’s no different. Obviously, since he’s still alive and he’s… I dunno. In his twenties, at least. I’m a bad judge of age. My whole life revolved around children. Up until we broke away, I saw very few adults. And that continued for a while since we were on the supply ship and then in the jungle. So maybe he’s twenty-two or maybe he’s twenty-six. Doesn’t matter, really. He’s alive and that means he’s a killer.
When we finally arrive at the Miami Beach Marina it’s nearly noon. He has to go into the office to sort some things out, and that takes another thirty minutes. So by the time the boat is docked and we’re making our way back onto the streets, it’s almost one.
My condo is just a few blocks away. Almost literally next door. We cross Alton Road and I stop on the corner of Fourth Street, ready to ditch him. “Well… what time tomorrow?”
“Ya think you’re done for the day?”
“Oh.” I had assumed. Incorrectly, I guess.
“Come on.” He takes off jogging down Fourth.
I reluctantly follow. But it soon becomes apparent that he’s jogging me home. A few minutes later, I’m opening my gate and turning to him. Again. “So—”
He pushes past me and walks up to my door.
“Oooo-kay.” I let the gate close. “I guess you’re inviting yourself over.” I punch the code to open my door and enter. Eason follows.
“Pack up your things.”
“What?” I turn to look at him. “Why?”
“You want to kill people? That means you’re in training. And if you’re in training, you live with me.”
I make a face, which apparently delights him, because he grins. “Why would I have to live with you to be in training?”
“Because, Irina, training for a death fight is a twenty-four-seven job. Even if you are plannin’ on killin’ billionaires.”
“I… but… I have a job.”
“You’re a waitress. Ya work like one day a week.”
“Like I said, a job.”
“You will quit that job. From now on, your life is the gym. And me. You’re gonna to move into my condo, take one of the spare bedrooms, and we will train like our lives depend on it.”
“But… I don’t want to live with you. I like my place.”