Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84968 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84968 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
The pay was too good to turn down.
That didn't mean I had to be stupid.
The address I gave the management office was a PO Box on the other side of town.
Pavel wouldn't be able to find me that way.
But his men following me would make it all too easy.
By the time I reached my neighborhood, the sun was rising, and DC was waking up, ready for another day of greed, abuse, and power grabbing.
When I finally stepped off the platform and climbed the cracked concrete steps to my street, my nerves were frayed.
My hands were still shaking, and my legs were cramping from all the tension.
I had tucked the gun into the front of my waistband and pulled out my T-shirt to cover it. Which of course didn't really work to fully conceal it, but if I crossed my arms low over my stomach it wasn't as overt.
I wasn't about to attract police attention by being the crazy woman on the DC Metro with a gun.
That would make it far too easy for Pavel to find me.
For a moment in the middle of my travels, I had considered waving the gun around to attract attention and then allowing myself to be taken into police custody where I could explain to a detective or a police chief or whoever what had happened and turn over the weapon.
It was a nice little fantasy, pretending for a moment that I lived in a world where the good guys won.
Where someone would listen to me and take my story seriously.
Sadly, I lived in reality, where a woman was rarely believed over a man, and the Ivanovs probably had every single cop on their payroll.
No, making a scene, garnering attention, or telling my story was just going to make it that much easier for him to find me.
I didn't need to draw attention; I needed to fade into the background until he forgot about me.
I needed to stay alive.
I needed to stay on my feet, working to pay off my father's debts and my grandmother's bills.
Someone needed to take care of her.
My father had disappeared, so I was the only option.
She never let me down, and I wasn't about to do that to her.
The moment I stepped inside my tiny apartment, I shoved the door shut behind me and bolted every single lock.
When I moved into the apartment, it already had three deadbolts.
I had added two more and a chain for good measure.
Now, that didn't seem like enough.
After locking up, I dragged my tiny second-hand Ikea dresser against the door and looked around for anything else I could use.
On a whim, I stacked the pots and pans I found at Goodwill on top, as well as anything else that would make some noise if it fell.
It was a tower of sad, pathetic junk.
Almost everything I owned.
I looked at it, hollow desolation welling inside of me, and just sank to the floor.
The dresser wouldn't stop Pavel, but maybe it would slow him down?
If he found me, maybe that dresser with its mountain of clutter would make enough noise to give me the warning I needed to escape or fight back.
I took the gun out of my waistband and just held it in my lap.
For a moment, I lifted it away from my body, like it might bite me.
Before grabbing this one off of that desk , I’d never held a gun before.
I never even had the desire.
The closest I had come was maybe a paintball gun at Bradley Foster's fifth grade birthday party.
What had happened to that shy little girl who was afraid to shoot a paintball gun at her classmates?
Now she was sitting here holding a pistol that had been used to kill someone just a few hours ago.
I had witnessed a grisly murder and how did I respond?
By sucking the murderer's cock.
More tears burned behind my eyes as I grieved that innocent little girl who’d had such a bright future ahead of her.
That wasn't me anymore.
Somehow, I had become this.
A broken husk of a woman desperately trying to make ends meet and having to deal with mobsters and murderers and…
"Seriously, what the fuck just happened?" I whispered aloud, as if the gun could actually answer me.
The events of the night played in a vicious loop over and over in my mind.
Starting with the first gunshot.
The blood.
Pavel opening the door. Meeting his eyes.
His mouth on mine, the way he tasted of mint and coffee.
The strength in his hands when he grabbed me and the way I had let him—
I gritted my teeth, swallowing down the shame burning in my throat.
I should have bitten him.
I should have clawed at him, fought him off.
Anything.
I should've done anything other than let myself drown in the moment.
No, it was so much worse than that. I didn't let myself drown in the moment.