Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 86238 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86238 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
I shouldn’t have taken her as hard as I did, but Ghost wasn’t the only one dabbling in recreational drugs back then. I tried to make it up to her over the next three years and thought I was on the money until the day our lives changed forever. It doused the fire in Ana’s eyes and left her as a shell of the woman she was.
Our relationship crumbled not long after that.
Last I heard, she was shacked up with some rich fuck on an Italian island, but I stopped keeping daily tabs on her over two years ago. It isn’t that I didn’t care anymore. I just finally realized she was right. I’ll most likely die at the hands of a Bobrov or because of them.
I’m fine with that as long as it doesn’t take people like Anastasia down with me.
Once my taillights are nothing but a blur in the distance, I yank my cell phone out of my pocket to dial a familiar number. Considering the hour, I leave Ghost to his hair twirling and call Yev instead.
“Want me to get Kliment to activate the LoJack?” he asks, not bothering to issue a greeting.
He can’t see me, but I shake my head. “Let her have it.”
“Have? That’s a three hundred K ride.” He sounds like he’s asking a question, but his chuckles don’t announce that. He’s stirring.
Fucking prick.
“Can you send someone to pick me up?” Forgetting he is aware of my location since he just witnessed my car being stolen, I mutter out Anastasia’s address. “And keep this on the down-low. I’ll tell Ghost about her return when I’m ready.”
My lips quirk when his voice echoes in my ear. “I won’t say anything.”
When a flashy sports car with its top down pulls up in front of me, I end our call, then slide my phone into my pocket. “We need to stop paying you so much.”
“This ain’t the Bobrovs,” Yev replies, his grin as big as the moon. “But we can pretend it is if it’ll make you feel better.”
When I slip into the passenger seat, I ask, “What are you doing around these parts?” This area of Kronstadt is nothing but the projects—low-income housing for people who struggle to afford the pittance they demand each month.
“I could ask you the same thing,” Yev replies before checking for an opening.
He zips through traffic like a race car driver when he finds one. His daring maneuvers take care of some of the adrenaline thickening my blood, but only a tiny portion of it. I still have a ton to disperse.
“Want me to flag her down?” Yev nudges his head to the silver Aurus Senat that stands out amongst the rusted, less-valuable vehicles surrounding us when I stare at him in confusion.
Anastasia is idling next to us at the traffic lights. I know she’s aware I caught up to her because she’s gripping the steering wheel for near death, and a tiny vein in her neck is fluttering out of control, but she keeps her gaze front and center like someone as beautiful as her will blend into any group.
She can’t.
“Nah. I’m not up for a fight tonight.” Tomorrow, though. That’s a completely different story.
Yev smiles, throws the gearstick into first, then ignores the red signal by weaving us through the traffic and zipping through the busy intersection. “Then I guess I better get this old man home to bed before the nurse leaves without inserting his nightly enema.”
His grin grows when I sock him in the arm. He’s one of the youngest members of the Bobrov crew. I trust him solely because he came from the same boys’ home as Ghost and me. He was late to the party, only rocking up at the same time Anastasia arrived on the scene. Despite him having nothing but the clothes on his back, he looked out for Ana, so I’ve done the same for him for the past several years.
The reminder shifts my focus from Ana’s shocked face to Yev. “How long have you known she’s back?”
His cuss is a whisper, but I hear it. “A couple of weeks. I wanted to tell you, but you know Ana.”
“She made you pinkie promise that you wouldn’t?” When he jerks up his chin, I scrub a hand over my prickly beard, hiding the tic there. “Glad to see she hasn’t matured any the past few years.”
“Like you want her to.” He’s quick to explain when my growl rumbles louder than the wind whipping strands of my hair out of my man bun. “Age never came into it with you two. She was mature when she needed to be, and you were a childish jerk when she was. Mac and fucking cheese… perfect together, but not necessarily good for you.”
“You should be real fucking grateful you’re behind the wheel.”