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I clear my throat when I hear everyone chanting for Ruslan.
Standing up, I reach into the bag and grab the chain. Black clothes fall out, and I bend down to pick them up, but I stop when I notice the entire bag is full of stacks of money.
My eyes widen.That’s so much fucking money.
Focusing on the money and the chain, I’m left with a feeling of greed. I have to take it. I can’t help myself. It’s right there.
A large hand grabs onto my wrist and twists. I screech from the pain and try to pull my hand away. The tall man looking down at me hits me across the face.
With the chain still in my hand, I rush to the door and make a run for it. Kicking the heels off my feet, I race down the sidewalk, passing by everyone.
Why the hell am I running? Oh my God, what am I doing?
I turn my head behind me quickly to see if he’s still running after me and find his face flashing with anger. I can’t help the laugh that escapes my lips.
This feeling is incredible. Adrenaline spikes through my blood, a euphoric sensation. My feet slam onto the rough stone, bound to leave cuts on the bottom of them, but I couldn’t care less. I can’t feel anything besides the beat of my heart crashing into my ribs. I’ve never felt like this before.I love it.
“Vorovka!”he shouts after me.Thief.
An alarm rings in my head when I hear the Russian in his voice.
I turn back around, and a man steps right into me. I slam into his back and fall to the ground, scraping my knees.
“Vorovka!” the man huffs, trying to catch his breath.“Vorovka.”
Standing around me in a circle, four men stare down at me. Three of them laugh at the guy who was trying to get me, but one just stands there staring me down. He’s wearing a suit tailored to fit him perfectly.
I mutter under my breath as I try to get myself off the ground. The man in all-black offers his hand.
“Ne tron’ yeyo. Koldunya,”a bald man says. The man who stands out from the rest takes his hand back just as I was about to grab it. Tattoos in an abstract pattern line his entire neck up to his hairline.“Vashe imya?” Your name?
When his eyes find mine, I can’t help but stare.
“I see. English?” he asks. His voice is deep and his Russian accent barely noticeable.
“Yeah,” I answer without giving it any thought.
He offers his hand again, this time not taking it back. When I grab onto him, he lifts me off the ground.
“Your name?”
“Sloane,” I tell him.Does he know me?He should.
His jaw clenches, and he fights a smile as he looks at his friends. “Sloane, I’m Mikhail. Is this man bothering you?” He narrows his deep blue eyes on the man I stole from.
Mikhail.
I turn to look back at him, and he steps closer to me. Mikhail holds up his hand. The man looks like he’s about to piss himself, and rightfully so; Mikhail looks fucking terrifying.
“No,” I answer honestly.I’m the one who’s bothering him.
“He calls you a thief—are you?”
“No.”That was a lie.
“Mm-hmm.” He takes the chain from my hand and holds it up. “No, I know a thief when I see one.”
There’s a lump in my throat as I process his precise accusations. The way his eyes roam freely over my body leaves me feeling uneasy. He can see straight past my lies as if he knows everything in the world. It’s strange. Lying has proved to be an easy task in my household, but this stranger is able to see right through me, and I don’t like it. I never thought I was this easy to read.
