Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 79087 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79087 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
I would absorb all the books I could get my hands on. Not that we had many sewing-related books in the library. The one bonus about having a father that didn’t care about you was, he gave you a credit card and told you to leave him the fuck alone. I was able to order whatever the hell I wanted to. So, I did.
I don’t have his credit card anymore. He took that from me the moment I was engaged to be married to Victor. Not that I minded. I also had the small amount of savings from the allowance he gave me.
“What about you?” I asked. I’m not used to talking about myself. “What do you do?”
The Butcher smiled. “You’re not quite ready to know.” She moved toward the far wall where all my fabric was neatly folded. I watched as she touched it, putting her hand on each piece.
“It’s an interesting hobby,” The Butcher said.
“Do you ... like ... work with meat?”
The Butcher burst out laughing. “I kill people.”
“Oh,” I said.
“Yeah, and that is all I am going to tell you today.”
I sat down on the chair and ran my hands down my thighs. Silence fell between us. I had no idea what to say or do. This felt awkward.
“Tell me about your dad,” The Butcher said.
“There’s not a lot to tell. I mean, most of the information is easily accessible online. He tends to keep his stuff for the public to see.”
The Butcher chuckled. “I doubt he keeps everything. Everyone has dark secrets. Trust me.”
I had a feeling she was talking about something I didn’t want to know. “Do you want to talk about Victor?” I asked. “I mean, you clearly know him.”
“No, I barely know him.”
Okay, we were at a loss.
“You’re an interesting woman, Freya,” The Butcher said.
“I think you are as well.”
This made her laugh.
“How about you show me your wardrobe? I assume you’ve made many more items of clothing.”
I don’t know why she was trying to appease me, not that she needed to. Ivan and Victor were somewhere else, and it left me with The Butcher.
“My room is across the hall.”
“You’re not sharing a room with Victor?” she asked as we stepped into my room.
I paused. I have no idea what I was supposed to say to that. Should I lie? I didn’t feel comfortable lying. Lying got no one anywhere.
“We’re not sharing a room.”
“Okay.” The Butcher followed me into my closet, and she went straight to the vanity table and took a seat.
I stood in my closet with a stranger, and at first I didn’t have a clue what to do. I opened my hands, closed them, and then pressed my lips together.
“Are you afraid?” The Butcher asked.
“Should I be?”
The Butcher laughed. “You have no reason to be afraid. Ivan has not given me an order to kill you, so you’re perfectly safe.”
“He can do that?”
“Honey, I’m sure it is not lost on you that you’re a member of the Volkov Bratva, and shit doesn’t quite work as it did.”
I took a deep breath. “I know.” I expelled. “You know, I’m not used to any of this. I mean, I’m used to my dad being a giant dick to me because he absolutely hates the way I look. I have brown hair, and he wanted me to be blonde. I’ve got brown eyes, and he wanted them to be blue. He tried to get me to have plastic surgery, and I refused.” I stopped. “But I did everything else right. I stayed away. I lived in my little house, and I thought with time he would accept me.”
“Instead, he sold you off, and I’m guessing he didn’t even give you a heads up?” The Butcher asked.
“Yeah,” I said, and then laughed. “I mean, I’m talking to a woman called The Butcher, and I doubt you have anything to do with knowing different cuts of meat.”
She threw back her head and laughed. “I do, actually,” she said.
“You do?”
She nodded her head. “Yep, I can give you any cut of meat you would like.” She shrugged. “I like learning new skills.” Again, another shrug.
“You like learning how to cut meat, and I prefer to know how to install an invisible zipper.” I picked a dress off the hanger and showed her what I mean. “An invisible zipper means you don’t see it from the right side of the fabric. I mean, if it’s done well. With some of my earlier ones, there was no point in me using an invisible zipper because you could clearly see it.”
“You talk a lot more when you’re nervous, don’t you?”
This made me press my lips together. Was I talking too much?
“I don’t mind,” The Butcher said.
If she didn’t mind, why did she bring it up?
So, for the next hour, we stayed on safer subjects, and I showed this woman, who I didn’t know, all the items of clothing I still kept after so many years. Some of them were very old and still fit. There were a few items I did have to let go. But all in all, it was not bad for fifteen years of sewing.