Page 23 of Arseni
I feel my eyes widen at an idea that strikes like lightning shooting through my body.If Nikita sees the lightbulb above my head, he doesn’t say, just waits patiently.
“Very.”I dip my chin.“I realize I said she was my foster mother, but she’s actually not that much older.And quite beautiful.She’d make an excellent addition to your parties.”
Nikita’s eyes start to narrow.“You want to bring herhere?”
I splay a hand and peer away like I’m debating it, but inside, I’m buzzing with excitement.
Why the fuck did I not think of this before?
“You aren’t allowed to have the Bratva’s whores here, right?”I pause only a moment before continuing.“Is there a rule saying you can’t take one of your own?”
He puffs with a laugh.“I don’t have that kind of patience.”
“Right, but I do… I could train her for you.I’m here all the time as it is.We could keep her in the basement until she’s ready.”
He blinks at me.
“I mean, think about it, how many maids do you go through per week?That has to be grueling.Even if you just used her toclean, she’d come in handy.”
“She’d also be kidnapped, and I don’t keep any guards here.What happens when she simply runs away?”
“Well, she’ll be trained before she’s left alone upstairs.But if she still runs away, we’ll kill her.She has no living relatives, and if things have stayed the same all these years, she’s a hermit.No one will come for her.”
Nikita’s fingers drum on his cane while he studies me.Eventually, he gives me a tight-lipped smile.“Okay, Arseni.If you want to keep a pet here for a bit, I’ll allow it.”
I release a full breath for the first time in minutes and lean back in the chair, my muscles suddenly relaxed.
“Just don’t get attached,” he says before starting on another topic.
I let him trail off, nodding and throwing a reply out when necessary.But I’m hardly paying attention.My mind is on her and all the fun we’re about to have.
8
MARGOT
It only fogs in Las Vegas one or two times a year, but it figures that tonight would be one of those nights.
Walking along the paved trail of the park, I pull my cardigan across my chest with one hand while clenching the envelope with the other.The tennis court lights have been cut off, so only the lamp posts sprouted along the walkway light my way.I don’t need them.I’ve marched this same path enough times that I could probably do it blindfolded if I wasn’t so terrified to close my eyes.
My phone buzzing in my back pocket makes me trip on my shoe, but I continue on as if I don’t notice it.It’s him.It’salwayshim.
If I was less of a coward, I might search for him in the foggy shadows, but I know if I saw him, I’d scream.Or do something terribly stupid like run.
Breaking off the path, I start toward the picnic table he chose five years ago for occasions like this.My pace increases with each inch I move out of the light, but I don’t know why the trail makes me feel any safer.It’s an illusion.A security blanket.False sanctuary.
When I get to the table, I drop to one knee and pull the tape from my cardigan’s pocket.My hands shaking, I place the envelope beneath the table and hurry to pull tape across it.Once it’s held in place, I start back toward the trail, resisting the urge to look around.
I make it halfway to the parking lot before a whistled tune cuts through the buzzing of the beetles around the lamp bulbs.
My intellect says to walk faster, but my feet abruptly come to a stop and wobble like they’ve been given a tranquilizer.
Hairs raise on the back of my neck as I slowly turn my head to look over my shoulder.Thirty yards or so away, a man walks toward me with his hands in his hoodie pocket.He whistles a jingle so lightheartedly, I know it couldn’t behim.He’s always stiff.Always serious.And for the most part, he follows the rules.He agreed long ago not to approach me.
I turn around and start walking again, convincing myself it’s just a guy doing some late-night walking.It isn’t crazy for joggers to be out here, even as late as 11PM.But I can’t help but think of Arseni.Of the swagger in his walk.The hoodie he wore the night he came to my office.
I pick up my pace while the whistling continues behind me.Once it stops, I look over my shoulder, hoping to see the guy falling behind, but he isn’t even there.
I brake.
