Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 106541 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 533(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106541 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 533(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
“No, you won’t.” I’m still reeling over the fact Grayson is an undercover agent, that I can’t take in the rest of Alek’s reply with the diligence it needs. “Because she’s got you so fooled, you’re like every other dumb fuck out there.” He nudges his head to the hallway. “You think she’s carrying Kirill’s kid.”
When Grayson’s wide eyes ask a range of questions, I do nothing but return his stare. I don’t deny Alek’s claims or express that I am as confused as him. I stand as frozen as a statue, only moving when a squawk coming out of Grayson’s ear is loud enough for me to hear.
“You won’t make it back to Russia,” Grayson threatens, glaring at Alek.
Alek takes his threat in stride. “Says you.”
After an intense standoff, Grayson flicks his eyes to mine for a nanosecond, dips his chin in farewell, then hotfoots it outside.
His cologne is still lingering in the air when Alek shifts on his feet to face me. “There is no way that snowflake is Russian. What’s his real name?”
I shrug before stammering out, “I-I don’t know.”
Grayson was nice to me, so he doesn’t deserve the wrath of the Bratva coming down on him.
Also, he was doing his job—just like Ghost at the start of our interactions.
For the first time in a long time, I feel fear when Alek asks in a low, gravelly tone, “Are you lying to me, Kate?”
“No.” I should be given a doctorate in deceit with how easily lying is coming to me lately.
After what feels like a lifetime, Alek finally relents. “All right.” His expression turns miffed. “I’d ask you to walk me out, but that might be a little hard since you need to stay in their good books.” When I unknowingly screw up my face, he grins. “As hard as it may be, try and remember what you were taught. It will make your time here pass a lot quicker.”
“It would pass even quicker if you stayed.” I loathe the desperation in my voice. Don’t hold it against me. It is an extremely lonely life when you can’t tell the difference between fear and excitement.
Dirty brown locks fall into his eyes when he shakes his head. “I wish I could, but I need to do a favor for a friend.”
My brain instantly goes to Ghost, but my stupidity only lasts as long as it takes to remember that ghosts can’t ask for favors.
Once he is certain the coast is clear, Alek cranks his neck back to me. “If anyone asks, the dead man across the hall died of a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head.”
He grins, winks, then leaves me gobsmacked.
54
KATIE
When Alek said good behavior would contribute to a faster transition, I thought he had plans in the works to free me from Kirill’s clutches.
I had no clue that months would pass before I would hear anything again.
The Bobrov ties have strengthened in the US. Their bridging networks that were fractured years ago and creating ties with entities that weren’t around during their previous tender in the US, and for some strange reason, I have a feeling their foundations are being built on my pregnancy.
A meeting rarely goes by that I’m not requested to sit in on, and some of the men speak to me with familiarity, like I should know who they are.
I’m clueless, but the role I was beaten to portray keeps them as unknowledgeable as I am free of Kirill’s anger. He hasn’t associated directly with me for months, preferring for his messages to be passed through his staff.
I don’t mind. The conditions are bearable, and I’m left to myself most of the time.
I also haven’t seen hide nor hair of Watermelon Head since Alek’s visit. Rumors circulated that he left the sanction on his terms—by a self-inflicted bullet wound to the head—after a fallout with Kirill, but those in the know said he was executed.
Supposedly, it is unusual to self-mutilate certain regions of your body before committing suicide.
The knowledge has slimmed Kirill’s crew greatly over the past few months. Even with a handful of new members joining from a mutual collaboration, the Bobrovs’ notoriety isn’t as strong here as it was in Russia.
The changeup means only on the rare occasion do I have to pretend the sun shines out of Kirill’s ass.
Like now, at a doctor’s office on the outskirts of town. Kirill said we’re here to check on ‘his’ son’s well-being, but my intuition is warning me to stay on high alert. It is why I denied Lera’s beg to come with me today. She is as desperate as me to leave the house, but a horrid feeling in the pit of my stomach saw me shaking my head.
I think it was for the best.
The furniture in this office is so new, the carpet pile isn’t indented, and it doesn’t have that sterile, gross smell most doctors’ offices have.