Chapter

  Five

  Galina

  I was familiar with fear and the rush of adrenaline. It had been a companion in my life for as long as I could remember. So why was I shaking after my attack? Why was I having trouble breathing at the memory of his hands on my throat? Why was my vision going from clear to fuzzy, making it hard to focus?

  I exhaled, shook my head to clear it, and found myself walking around my bedroom, unable to sit still, feeling as if I was missing something, as if there was an integral part of me that I’d left back there in that alley.

  In Vegas.

  I stopped in the center of my bedroom and looked down at my hands. They still shook slightly, and I scowled at them, curling my fingers tightly until the prick of my nails pressing into my palm had that rage inside me loosening.

  Letting fear and the sensation of not having control take over my life wasn’t something I’d ever allow, not if I had the power to be strong.

  I swallowed, the pain and roughness in my throat a reminder that the asshole’d had his thick fingers digging into my skin, his nails all but tearing at my flesh. I loosened my fingers from the tight cage, went into the bathroom, and turned on the light, the fluorescent bulb above me flickering before finally settling and staying on.

  I could hear the electricity moving through the lightbulb, almost loud enough to drown out my warring thoughts.

  I curled my fingers around the yellow-colored sink, the entire bathroom like something out of a ’70s home interior catalog. I leaned forward, the mirror above me cracked in the corner, spider veins snaking down the edges.

  The woman who stared back at me was familiar, yet she was also a stranger. She was used to the horrors of life. But as I looked into my blue eyes, I could see the truth. I was empty. I’d been that way for a very long time.

  For some reason I thought back to the dark-haired man in the diner. His gaze made something warm and unusual grow within me, his focus so strong that I felt it as if he were reaching through the distance and pulling me in close. It was crazy, unrealistic, and so very dangerous. I couldn’t entertain the idea of making any kind of connections like that. I couldn’t allow myself to be known like that.

  My gaze went down to my throat, where four finger-sized bruises were starting to form on one side, and a thumbprint mark on the other. I looked at my hands, hating that they still shook, and lifted my fingers to touch the marks.

  Although my throat was raw and tender, I didn’t feel much of anything else.

  Am I dead inside?

  Was this what it meant to only survive, not live?

  I went through the motions of getting ready for bed before leaving the bathroom and heading back into my bedroom. Although I hadn’t eaten anything since early this afternoon, I had no appetite, my stomach feeling like it had a stone lodged in the center.

  I stood in the doorway of the bedroom and stared at the mattress with no frame pushed up against the corner wall. This apartment was disgusting, far worse than the last hole-in-the-wall place I'd been in when I was in Vegas. But it was this type of place that would protect me from the people I ran from. It was a place to keep me hidden.

  It was places like this, places that were in shit parts of cities, that didn’t require background checks or credit approvals. They took cash in the palm of their hands and asked no questions when I handed them my fake ID. As long as I paid on time every month, I was left alone.

  Aside from the mattress, the room was barren, not even a dresser. But I didn’t need nor want furniture. I didn’t want to get settled, because this place wasn’t a home. I kept my clothes in my backpack, always carrying it with me in case I had to run again.

  I walked over to the window and pulled the old, pale-yellow sheet aside. It had been the only other thing in the bedroom besides the mattress, and I used it as a makeshift curtain, although I was pretty sure people could still see through it at the right angle.

  The scent of age and musk filled my nose, this uncomfortable tingle in my sinuses.

  My apartment was only one story up, something I was very thankful for in case I had to run again, in case my only exit was this window. I stared out at the neighborhood. It was just as depressing and dirty, gloomy and dark as you’d expect in a city that was filled with addicts and crime.

  The houses that were in this part of town were small two-story, bungalow-style homes, but they weren’t homes at all. They were four walls and a roof, privacy for people to inject and snort, rape, and murder.

  There were a few businesses within walking distance of me. A deli that sold questionable meat and delivered an even worse atmosphere. There was a laundromat just down the block, and a check-cashing place on the other end of the street. A pizza joint was close as well, and a small convenience store across from that. So although the neighborhood was run-down and barely thriving, it gave me enough of the amenities I needed in order to survive.

  I let my gaze travel over what might have once been a lush expanse of grass for children to play on but had long since died and was now nothing more than yellow and crispy patches trying to hang on to that last hope of staying alive.

  There was one tree, but it was even sadder than the decrepit neighborhood, with barely any leaves hanging onto the skeletal branches, its thirst evident in the gnarled trunk. It was as dead as everything else in Desolation.

  The shadows were dark and thick at the back of the building, and the few streetlights that lined the road had long since given up. And of course the city couldn’t care less about fixing them, so they continued to let the depression cave in around people.

  I felt this tingling on the back of my neck, something I was very familiar with, a feeling that told me I was being watched. I should’ve moved away from the window, allowed this dirty sheet to give me a semblance of privacy I desperately wanted in life, but I found myself rooted to the spot. I looked, searching for who was out there. But there was nothing to see but the sadness, ugliness, and the forever darkness.

  One day I’d be able to feel safe. One day I’d be able to make a home and be happy.

  But that day wasn’t today.

  Chapter

  Six

  Galina

  I’d been at work for the last two hours, and there was an unusual rush this time of night that kept me busy, which I was thankful for. It helped keep my mind off the night before and what had happened.

  I felt someone come up behind me before the scent of Laura’s too strong, flowery perfume filtered in my nose.

  “Hey,” she said, and there was something off about the tone of her voice.

  I turned around from restocking the Styrofoam cups to look at her. “Everything okay?” The expression on her face answered my question. She had her brows pulled down low and slowly shook her head as if clearing her thoughts.

  When she looked up at me, I could see dark circles under her eyes before her gaze took in my throat. Her eyes widened, and she moved a step closer. “Oh my God. What happened?”

  Instinctively I touched my neck where I knew the marks were. I’d bought some cheap concealer, but the shade wasn’t a match and made the bruising look even worse. I shook my head and said, “It’s nothing. Just someone too touchy-feely. I doused him with my pepper spray and kicked him in the balls to teach him a lesson.” I gave her a smile that I felt wavering and didn’t reach my eyes. She looked like she wanted to argue, but I shook my head. “I’m fine. Promise. Now tell me what’s going on with you.”

  After a moment, when it was clear I wouldn't budge on this, she exhaled and tied her apron around her waist before leaning back and resting her hands behind her on the chipped counter.

  “Well, if you don’t count the fact that I’m barely scraping by moneywise, or that my dreams of getting a college education are slowly slipping through my fingers, then yeah, I’m doing great, all things considering.” She laughed humorlessly, and although I knew I should comfort her, it was never something I’d had experience with.

  I reached out and placed my hand on her shoulder, and she looked up at me, her light-brown eyes showing me how tired she really was. I wished I could’ve told her things would be okay, but the truth was nothing was ever okay in the world we lived in.

  I wished I could have helped her with the money aspect, but I was barely making enough to support myself and save up to leave. I was struggling just as badly as she was, and that wasn't even counting the shitstorm of my past that would catch up with me eventually.

  Laura didn’t even know who I really was.

  What I didn’t spend on food and necessities, I squirreled away. Desolation certainly wasn’t my endgame. I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life here. I wanted to be able to go somewhere that was full of life. Because maybe then I would actually feel like I had one.

  But the cherry on the shit sundae that was my life story was that they’d found a body just down the street from where I worked. Although finding corpses in this city wasn’t exactly breaking headliner news, there was a prickling on my skin that told me this wasn’t just any death.

  “So that body they found?”

  “Yeah?” I waited to see if she’d give more information or if I’d have to press a little harder. I didn’t watch the news and didn't want to be any more depressed than I was. And the news that tended to be throughout Desolation was always the same. Warring criminal factions, gang wars, deaths from either murder or drug addiction. And of course there was rape and sexual assault.

  She leaned in close and looked around as if she was afraid someone would hear, although nobody that frequented cared. In fact, they probably had a hand in many of the news stories that had come out over the years.

  “This isn’t public knowledge, not yet anyways, but I have a friend who works at the local paper who has connections with a guy who works at the police station. Apparently the body they found not only had his hand cut off, but he also had a wound on his…” She pointed down to her crotch region. “The wound was so substantial that he bled out from the groin before he could from the missing hand.”

  My heart jumped in my throat at the brutality of his death.

  The front door opened, and we both looked toward the entrance. My heart, that had been beating fast and erratic from Laura’s story, stilled in my chest at the sight of the man who stepped in. The same man who consumed my thoughts and made me question what was going on with my body for the last two months.

  He took his usual seat, but I didn’t miss how he kept his gaze locked on mine.

  “Why is he watching you so⁠—”

  “Yeah,” I said before she could finish. “It’s intense.” I glanced away, because his eyes on me were heavy, so heavy it was like a cloak over me.

  But I found myself looking back at him. I didn’t miss how his gaze moved down to my throat, didn't miss the way his jaw tightened as he no doubt saw the marks. I forced myself not to touch my neck, feeling bared even from across the restaurant.

  “Yeah, he screams, ‘Stay the hell away.’”

  I snapped my attention toward Laura and saw that she was staring at him, but she quickly looked away. I didn’t miss how she shivered and then shook her head, her focus on her hands.

  “He looks at you like he wants to eat you up until there’s nothing left,” she whispered before clearing her throat and pushing away from the counter. “There’s just something about him that scares the hell out of me.” Her voice was soft, and she finally looked up at me before slapping on a smile, which I could tell was forced. “But the men I’ve been around and this shitty city have kind of ruined it for all others.”

  This would’ve been a good time for us to bond, for me to tell her she wasn’t alone, that I, too, knew all about bad men. But she was gone before I could say anything. I didn’t even know if I would have been able to say anything. Connecting with people wasn’t a strong suit of mine.

  I looked back at him and gathered my strength. I made my way over to him, his eyes never leaving me, as if he were the negative end of a magnet and I the positive. I was drawn to him, this invisible thread that was winding tighter the closer I got.

  When I was right in front of his table, I held the pad in one hand and a pen in the other. My fingers shook, and I tightened them around the objects. His gaze flickered down, and I knew he saw my physical nervousness. I had a feeling he could read me better than I could read myself.

  When he was looking back at me, I felt my tongue swell, my throat tighten, that pain from being strangled last night making itself known once more. As if he knew the latter, his focus once more lingered on my neck. Although his outward appearance seemed stoic, almost uncaring, I noticed a slight, subtle clench of his jaw, the same thing when he first looked at the bruising.

  I found myself fidgeting with my hair, pulling it over my shoulders to hide the marks. There was nothing I could do about them, but I certainly didn’t want anyone paying attention to the marks either. “The usual?” I hated that my voice was so low, slightly shaky. And it didn’t have anything to do with anxiety.

  Why was I so on edge around him right now? All the other times, I’d been able to at least pretend like his presence didn’t rattle me. Maybe it was the way he stared at me, his dark eyes so intent and prying, as if he could sift through my darkest secrets and find out exactly who I was without me uttering a word.

  “Lina, right?” He looked down at my name tag, and I nodded, licking my lips. He was staring at my mouth now, and I felt an intense flush cover my face at the fact that he watched me so hard. There was something behind his gaze, something that wasn’t apathetic. Something that was… heated.

  And I felt an answering call from my body. It was uncomfortable and unusual.

  It was exhilarating.

  It was the first time I felt anything but the lonely despair that had always been crushing me.

  “Yes,” I said with a stronger voice this time. “That’s what the name tag says,” I teased and offered him a smile, but he didn’t give me one in return. Which then had mine dying a slow, embarrassing death. “So.” I cleared my throat again. “The usual?”

  He was silent for so long I wondered if he’d heard me. Had I said the words out loud or thought them? I certainly didn’t want to ask again and further embarrass myself. Maybe I should just turn and give him the space he clearly needed.

  “I’m Arlo,” he finally said, and I felt my eyes widen at the piece of information he gave me. Because for some reason he seemed like a man who didn’t give anyone any part of himself. “Arlo Malkovich.”

  I nodded slowly, not sure what to say, but then common sense kicked in, and I replied, “Lina Michaels.”

  He leaned back in the chair and regarded me. “Lina Michaels.”

  The way he said it made me feel as if I’d been caught evading the truth. Of course it was a lie, but if he was calling me out, he didn’t blatantly do it. I licked my lips again and nodded, not trusting my voice.

  He tipped his chin in my direction. “What happened to your neck?”

  There was this weird tone in his voice, as if he knew the answer to that question already. But clearly he couldn't have known the truth. I’d left while he’d still been finishing his meal, and my assailant had taken me into an alley. It had just been him and me until I left him clutching his family jewels and ran.

  I found myself making sure my hair was still covering my neck before I shook my head. “Nothing. Just an unfortunate event.” I cleared my throat and started shifting on my feet, not liking the way his look made me feel.

  But fortunately he didn’t press for more answers. I didn’t know why he even asked about my neck in the first place. It was very clear by his stoic expression he didn’t care one way or another.

  “You come here quite frequently.” I could have slapped a hand over my mouth at what just came from me.

  One of his dark eyebrows crept up ever so slightly, as if he was surprised I’d been so forward with my statement.

  “I do,” he said slowly, evenly.

  Tonight he wore a dark jacket, a white pressed shirt underneath. He looked more like a businessman than somebody who should be dining in the middle of the night at Sal’s.

  I could see tattoos that crept up from underneath the collar of his shirt along the base of his throat. I could even see some on his wrists that also marked the back of his hands. I wondered how much more of him was covered in ink.

  “Yes, the usual, Lina.”

  The way he said my name sent a visible shiver through me. And it was very clear by his expression that he didn’t miss it.

  My pulse was rushing through my ears, so I couldn’t think clearly, let alone speak. I forced myself to turn around and walk toward the back to put his order in, and once again, the entire time, I felt his gaze on me.

  Who was this man? What was he to me? And how was I going to handle it?

  Chapter

  Seven

  Arlo

  After I left Sal’s, I knew exactly where I needed to go.

  Yama, or the Pit as it was called in English, was like a split personality. One where, on the surface, you had something pretty, something tolerable. Socially acceptable. Beautiful women, exotic drinks, an atmosphere expensive and pleasing to the eye. A man could get his wildest fantasies fulfilled in the rooms above.

  But then there were the bowels of Yama. The pit of hell itself. And inside that was so deep and dark not even light penetrated.

  And for a long time the Pit had been the only way for me to diminish some of the darkness that lived inside me.

  The killing, the cleaning and fixing for the Ruin, for the Bratva, did help satiate all the heinous shit I felt deep down. Having somebody to go up against, someone who had the strength and agility, the same evilness lurking in them and willingness to give it back tenfold, was a whole different kind of fight.

  It was the hits to my body, that pain wrapped up in brutality, that made me feel something other than the brokenness that shaped the man I was today.