keeping my location a secret.
“You have a sweetheart waiting for you? A lover? She must be anxious.” Zlata’s fingers run down his forearm, and I can see the skin twitching from here.
He leans forward and picks up the glass of water on the table. “I just take them as they come along. We fuck, I leave, I come back, she’s no longer in the picture. It’s a good system.” That grin again. Yes, definitely disturbing.
Zlata’s hands are wandering again. “I like the way you think.” Her smile is slow and sly.
Subtle, Zlata. Real subtle.
Mila takes one look at him and immediately pulls me into the kitchen. Her words tumble over themselves and she loses her English in her excitement, but based on her sister’s reaction I think she’s telling me how hot Declan is. Which is weird, because he’s not.
She blushes and fumbles her way through a stilted conversation with him, or stilted on her part, since all she seems to be capable of is staring.
By the time she leaves there’s a black cloud hanging over my head. I haven’t left the flat since the night of the bombs, and I can’t handle being trapped in here with him.
Except up until the sisters showed up, I hadn’t felt trapped.
“I’m going to see if there are any vacant flats around.” I slip on my sneakers and grab my coat. My legs are begging for a run.
“Why?” He’s fiddling with something on his laptop and keeps his eyes on the screen.
“Because I’d like my bed back.”
He glances up, one side of his mouth lifting in a smirk as he studies me. “You got something against sharing?”
The proposition combined with his expression, so smug, so arrogant, should not have heat gathering between my thighs. “Why would I want to share a bed with a man I know is just going to shunt me aside sooner rather than later?”
“Because it would be fun.” Lacing his hands behind his head, he leans back, eyes glinting with amusement.
“Not my idea of a good time.” I shrug my coat on. “You’re getting a new flat. I’ll be back in a while.”
His smirk drops away, a blank mask sliding into place. “Good luck with that, lass.”
It rained earlier, the wet chasing away the stench of smoke. I’ve let too much time lapse. I swing through one of my usual routes, the end point one of the supply drop offs. I need to find new ones. Can’t become predictable. The old storefront is boarded over and empty, the back loading dock a perfect place for food supplies to be unloaded, away from the prying eyes of the neighborhood.
Edging through the broken door hidden behind a stack of crates, I let my eyes adjust to the gloom of the interior before tiptoeing forward, listening for voices. I switch on the tiny flashlight stuffed in my pocket. They’ve been here recently, and I snag a few cans of food and a loaf of sandwich bread, then break the seal on a refrigerated crate. Eggs! Oh my god, actual eggs. And butter. Saliva pools in my mouth. Drooling would be a bad idea.
My cache of burlap sacks hasn’t been moved, and I grab one and fill it with the food I’m swiping. Stashing it near the exit so I can sneak in and carry it home later, I head for the next alley, the next drop. Medical supplies. The clinic’s okay for a while, supply–wise, which is a good thing because I missed the truck and the crates have been moved to their final destination.
Winding through the neighborhood, venturing further out in search of more information, I almost miss Cristian as he stalks down the opposite side of the street. The fury I’d felt when I learned of the waste laid to the hospital rises, and I struggle to bank it. Anger won’t do me any good here.
I suck in a breath and step out onto the street, hurrying across to catch up to him. “Cristian!” I
“You have a sweetheart waiting for you? A lover? She must be anxious.” Zlata’s fingers run down his forearm, and I can see the skin twitching from here.
He leans forward and picks up the glass of water on the table. “I just take them as they come along. We fuck, I leave, I come back, she’s no longer in the picture. It’s a good system.” That grin again. Yes, definitely disturbing.
Zlata’s hands are wandering again. “I like the way you think.” Her smile is slow and sly.
Subtle, Zlata. Real subtle.
Mila takes one look at him and immediately pulls me into the kitchen. Her words tumble over themselves and she loses her English in her excitement, but based on her sister’s reaction I think she’s telling me how hot Declan is. Which is weird, because he’s not.
She blushes and fumbles her way through a stilted conversation with him, or stilted on her part, since all she seems to be capable of is staring.
By the time she leaves there’s a black cloud hanging over my head. I haven’t left the flat since the night of the bombs, and I can’t handle being trapped in here with him.
Except up until the sisters showed up, I hadn’t felt trapped.
“I’m going to see if there are any vacant flats around.” I slip on my sneakers and grab my coat. My legs are begging for a run.
“Why?” He’s fiddling with something on his laptop and keeps his eyes on the screen.
“Because I’d like my bed back.”
He glances up, one side of his mouth lifting in a smirk as he studies me. “You got something against sharing?”
The proposition combined with his expression, so smug, so arrogant, should not have heat gathering between my thighs. “Why would I want to share a bed with a man I know is just going to shunt me aside sooner rather than later?”
“Because it would be fun.” Lacing his hands behind his head, he leans back, eyes glinting with amusement.
“Not my idea of a good time.” I shrug my coat on. “You’re getting a new flat. I’ll be back in a while.”
His smirk drops away, a blank mask sliding into place. “Good luck with that, lass.”
It rained earlier, the wet chasing away the stench of smoke. I’ve let too much time lapse. I swing through one of my usual routes, the end point one of the supply drop offs. I need to find new ones. Can’t become predictable. The old storefront is boarded over and empty, the back loading dock a perfect place for food supplies to be unloaded, away from the prying eyes of the neighborhood.
Edging through the broken door hidden behind a stack of crates, I let my eyes adjust to the gloom of the interior before tiptoeing forward, listening for voices. I switch on the tiny flashlight stuffed in my pocket. They’ve been here recently, and I snag a few cans of food and a loaf of sandwich bread, then break the seal on a refrigerated crate. Eggs! Oh my god, actual eggs. And butter. Saliva pools in my mouth. Drooling would be a bad idea.
My cache of burlap sacks hasn’t been moved, and I grab one and fill it with the food I’m swiping. Stashing it near the exit so I can sneak in and carry it home later, I head for the next alley, the next drop. Medical supplies. The clinic’s okay for a while, supply–wise, which is a good thing because I missed the truck and the crates have been moved to their final destination.
Winding through the neighborhood, venturing further out in search of more information, I almost miss Cristian as he stalks down the opposite side of the street. The fury I’d felt when I learned of the waste laid to the hospital rises, and I struggle to bank it. Anger won’t do me any good here.
I suck in a breath and step out onto the street, hurrying across to catch up to him. “Cristian!” I
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