Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 126003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 630(@200wpm)___ 504(@250wpm)___ 420(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 630(@200wpm)___ 504(@250wpm)___ 420(@300wpm)
I let out a long breath, then take myself over to the couch and flop down into the cushions.
There’s a lull. It goes on for a while. She’s the one who breaks the silence, not me. “I’m surprised, you know.”
I find her gaze from across the room. Her mouth is a flat line. Her arms are crossed. “Surprised at what, exactly?”
“That you fell for it.”
My jaw clenches, working side to side. “Do you know who you killed that day?”
“What day?”
“That day in your camp.”
She scoffs at me again. “Who? Udulf?”
“Nah. The others.”
“Are you asking if I knew their names? No. Other than Lazar, of course. I had no idea who those men were. I grew up in the fuckin’ jungle, remember? I wasn’t pretty enough to be taken to parties and rented out to rich men.”
It’s interesting how her Russian accent leaks through some times. When she’s emotional, I think. “Right. I’m not accusing you of anything.”
“Good. Because I am… unshameable.”
I crack a smile. “I don’t know what that translates to in Russian, but in English—not a word.”
She shrugs one shoulder. “Fine. I have suffered no dishonor for the killing I’ve done. Right up to, and including, Udulf van Hauten. Every injury I’ve ever inflicted—every life I’ve ever taken—was justice.”
“Darlin’, you don’t have to convince me. I was there as well.”
“I’m just making it clear. No, I don’t know all the names of the men who were killed that day. I don’t even think Cort, or Maart, or Rainer know that either. We were isolated at all times. We trained in the jungle and in the middle of the ocean. Fuck the world outside those parameters. It meant nothing to us. I don’t know what your camp looked like—and I don’t remember anything that happened to me before I came to live in Cort van Breda’s training camp when I was six—but you got it right the first time. We lived like savages compared to… to…” She throws up her hands. “To all this.” She spins in a slow circle with her arms up, probably indicating Miami. But in a broader sense, she means the entire Western world.
She has missed my point and I’m not sure I should correct her. So I pause here.
But she just keeps talking. “Did you have girls in your camp?”
I shrug. “One or two over the years, but no. Not really. No one wants to waste time and money on them when they were never gonna make it.”
Irina snorts out her offense. “I would’ve made it.”
“Maybe.”
“You have no idea what kind of training I have. And you know what? I like it that way. I like it when men underestimate me.”
“So you can fuck them up on the beach, get a black eye and a photoshoot opportunity for the most famous fashion designer on the entire planet?”
Finally, she pauses. “What?”
“Which part of that sentence flipped your world, Irina?”
She just stares at me.
“Was it the fight? Or the black eye? Or how they are both connected to the opportunity you got?”
She is genuinely confused. “What are you saying?”
What am I saying? I blow out a breath. This whole conversation has gone off track. “Forget it.”
“No. You chose those words for a reason. What was the reason?”
“It’s been a long day. Do you want to go for a run?”
She actually smiles, but it’s an incredulous smile. “We ran twenty miles this morning. Why the hell would I want to go back out for more? And you’re just changing the subject.”
“I don’t even remember what we’re talking about, Irina.”
Now she laughs. Then she walks over to the chair opposite my couch, and sinks into it, pulling her legs up to her chest, folding herself in half. She’s a tiny thing, really, and fragile-looking. Everything about her is deceptive. “We were talking about black eyes. Photoshoots. The names of dead men.”
But that’s not what we were talking about at all.
We were talking about Cort and how he was buying his freedom.
She’s watching me as I think these words, looking at me like she’s a fuckin’ mind-reader. And maybe she is? Because she’s very much on track when she speaks. “That fight you were promised.”
I smile and sink a little deeper into the cushions. “That fight I was promised was a lie, Irina.”
“OK. But what’s it mean?”
What does it mean? “I haven’t worked it out yet.”
She wants more from me. I can see it. But she’s at a loss as to which questions she should ask to get to the answer she’s looking for. Hell, I don’t even know how to get to the answer I’m looking for, so she hasn’t got a chance.
I glance at the clock and realize it’s only seven p.m. It won’t even get dark for two more hours and I suddenly just want to go to bed. Sleep forever. Never get up again.