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A door creaks open down the hall, startling both of us before there’s a soft knock on Nina’s door.
“You okay, honey?” her mother asks from outside. “Are you still on the phone at this hour?”
I dig the gun into her ribs and gesture for her to answer.
“I’m okay, Mom,” she chokes out. “Just getting ready for bed.”
“Okay,” her mother replies. “Get some sleep.”
The footsteps retreat, and I glance at the bedside clock. Christ, I have to get back to the club. Vasily will be expecting a report.
“Do not tell anyone we have spoken.” I pull away from Nina. “And that means Kat too. Do you understand?”
“Yes.” She nods forcefully. “I got it, okay. Nobody will know. Just please don’t come back here.”
“I won’t if I can help it,” I answer ominously. But the truth is, what happens next depends entirely on her father.
7
Kat
I’m not good, Kat. And I’m definitely not good for you.
After Lev leaves, I spend ten minutes just sitting there staring at the closed door, trying to wrap my brain around what just happened.
I’m not sure if I still smell that little bit of aftershave or if it’s my imagination. Or just straight-up desperation.
I bend down to pick up my phone which at some point dropped to the floor.
You won’t see me again.
I guess he got what he wanted, plus a bonus fuck this morning. Now he’s gone, and I don’t even know why I’m surprised. Or why I expected him to be different.
He only took care of me at the club because if anything happened to me due to a bad drug, the club would be in trouble. Me kissing him like I had and practically climbing into his lap when I was high? Well, let’s be honest here, that’s the reason he returned the scarf. He didn’t want to take advantage of me while I wasn’t quite in control of myself. Not because he’s such a gentleman but rather because he had to protect himself.
When he told me to stay away from the club at dinner, I don’t know, maybe he didn’t want to see me get hurt or into any trouble. Or maybe, again, he was protecting himself. I mean, I did use a fake ID to get in there. And it’s not like it took much convincing for him to sleep with me last night.
“Ugh.” I get to my feet. “I’m such a slut.”
No. Fuck that. If it weren’t for the very caring, upstanding, and all-around nice guy Mr. Robert George—perverted asshole—I’d still be a virgin. You can’t be a slut and a virgin, right? It’s just I’ve never been so drawn to someone like I am to Lev.
Was.
Like I was to Lev.
He won’t be back, and I’d better get used to it.
I bite my lip to stop the tears that burn my eyes from falling. I liked him. That’s all there is to it. Even if it’s stupid, I did. And it hurts to know I won’t see him again.
My phone buzzes with a text. Looking down at it, I remember I never got to read Nina’s message, but the text on the screen is from Sandy, a woman I work with. Her daughter’s sick, and she’s asking if I can come in an hour early and cover the end of her shift.
I text her back to tell her that’s fine. I don’t have much else going on, and I could use both the distraction and the cash.
I quickly scroll through to Nina’s name to read her texts, but all I see is the deleted message notice. Two of them. I check the time. She’ll be at school by now. She attends Penn State during the day like a normal nineteen-year-old. Me, I’m at the local community college for two classes this semester that I squeeze in around my work schedule.
I need to see her, but it won’t be tonight, so I change into a clean uniform, grab a bag of laundry, and head to the basement to drop it into the washing machine. On my way to the diner, I text Rachel to please put my things in the dryer when she gets home and that I’ll see her after class tonight. And I mostly try not to think about Lev or what happened last night or this morning.
* * *
With conflicting schedules, it’s a few days before I can see Nina. The first morning that I can, I text her.
Me: Hey. You around?
Nina: Yeah, just working on a project.
Me: Can I come over?
Nina: My dad’s home, and he’s got someone over but just come in around back. I’ll be upstairs.
Me: I’ll bring coffee.
I quickly brush my hair and twist it into a bun, grab a jacket and my purse, and head out. I don’t own a car, but there’s a bus stop a block away. Even though she lives in a much nicer part of town than I do, Nina’s house is only about a twenty-minute ride away. There’s almost a line you can draw between the middle class and the outright poor here, and as the bus drives out of my neighborhood and into hers, it’s like night and day.
