Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 85156 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85156 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
“It’s my brother, Jordan. He’s in trouble again, and he’s barely been home. My father keeps calling, asking me to find him and drag him back to take care of whatever trouble he’s in, and Marco told me Jordan stole money out of his wallet the other day. Marco is also having trouble with a professor who isn’t treating him fairly, and even complaining to the dean hasn’t fixed anything. Even worse, tuition is going up next semester, Katie is crying about missing me, and my father barely made any money this month.”
The truth comes out in a tumbled rush, each word bumping into the next. By the end of it, I can hear the tears in her voice again, though she swallows hard to keep them back. But the lines at the corners of her eyes have deepened, and from how red and puffy her eyes are, Eva was crying more than she’s let on.
Alona catches my eye again and nods, letting me know I have the story now and understand the unspoken.
Eva is right. None of this is my problem. She’s not with her family because she fucked with the Kucherov Bratva, and this is her punishment.
Even if she had done it to save her father’s bookstore. To keep her family together.
“Vasya will take you to them today. You can visit, but you will return at the end of the day. Vasya will make sure of it, so don’t try anything. My warnings still stand. Is that understood?”
I skewer her not just with a promise but with a warning in my glare. Eva doesn’t seem to notice.
“What?” she finally chokes out.
“I said you can visit your family, take care of things. But open your mouth about the reality of your situation, try to get away, and Vasya will tell me. You will come back.”
“I—”
I don’t give her time to finish her thought or express her disbelief. Instead, I turn on my heel and flee, wondering what the hell has gotten into me.
15
EVA
Something is burning in the kitchen. Marco is yelling from the dining room about the smell without going to check because he’s working on a paper. Jordan is on the couch with his big headphones over his ears, and his hood pulled over his head, forgetting he has something cooking, now burning, in the kitchen. The TV is on full blast for my dad, whose hearing has been going for years, although he refuses to admit it. And Katie is upstairs, calling for me because she needs help with her homework.
I nearly burst out laughing at the look on Vasya’s face. I doubt this was what he had imagined when Evgeny ordered him to accompany me home.
“And I thought a room full of Russian gangsters was bad,” he whispered when we first arrived, taking in what passed for a typical day for me.
I flash him a grin before calling up the stairs, “Get started, Katie, and I’ll be there in a few minutes. Keep trying by yourself until I get there, okay? That’s how you learn.”
Her answer is a groan and the stomp of footsteps overhead.
“You can go hide in the car if you want,” I tell Vasya as I slip the TV remote from my dad’s hand, gone slack now that he’s fallen asleep in his favorite chair with one of his true-crime shows on. I turn the volume down with one hand and crank open the living room windows with the other. It doesn’t do much for the house’s stifling summer heat, but at least it won’t smell like a burned burrito.
The way Vasya watches me, one eyebrow raised, says he can tell I’m practiced in this particular art of chaos.
But even this chaos can’t hold off the inevitable anymore. It’s time to confront the real reason I’m here. The reason I didn’t share with Evgeny, burying it among all the other people and needs pulling me back to this house.
Taking a deep breath, I yank Jordan’s hood and headphones off as I pass, his outraged “Hey!” following me into the kitchen.
“You forgot your food again,” I call back in the singsong voice I know he hates. It’s petty, but it also makes me feel better.
“Shut up, Eva.” He grabs the half-burned frozen burrito as I take it out of the old toaster oven. Tendrils of white smoke follow, and Jordan curses, dropping the pan and burrito on the counter because he doesn’t have the oven mitts. They’re on my hands.
His hood is back over his head, and he’s sucking on his burned fingers. I yank it down again.
“Eva!” My brother jerks away, glaring daggers at me.
“Is that what you used the money I sent you for?”
It’s a new, vibrant tattoo on his neck. But it’s not the colors I’m looking at, it’s the part of the design I can see above his collar. I reach forward to see more, but he smacks my hand away.