I inhaled on my cigarette and thought about what women wanted and how my view had changed when Mila entered the equation.
“Get lost, kid,” the driver snapped, closing up the back of the truck and latching it with a click. The exchange was only background noise; my thoughts were centered on the girl I held captive in my home.
“I’m starving, sir.”
Mila wanted candles, world peace, and most likely a lot of household pets.
“Talk to your momma about that.”
“I don’t got one!”
“Not my problem.”
Mila would probably even like me more if I had a small dick. I bet it would remind her of a baby bird she needed to nurture.
“Hey, let me go, fatso!”
An uncomfortable edge slid through me when I realized Mila wouldn’t care if I was penniless.
“Your momma’s probably a whore!” the boy yelled. “And she’s so fat and ugly, she gets paid to keep her clothes on!”
That finally brought my attention to the scuffle happening in my alley. I pushed off the truck to see the driver dragging a young boy away while the kid punched him in the stomach, struggling to get free. So this was the starving boy deprived of a momma. And with a creatively dirty mouth. He bit the driver, who dropped him to the pavement with a harsh curse. The driver moved to hit him, but my “Nyet” froze his fist mid-air.
“Snot-nosed little brat,” he muttered to the kid before heading back to the truck.
“Hey, mister!” the boy hollered at me and got to his feet. “Can you spare a few coins?”
He appeared to only be nine or ten and small for his age, but it was the way he edged closer with his hands cupped like a cinema-inspired orphan that made me narrow my eyes. I knew what was coming before it happened, though it was too late to react.
He pulled a pistol on me, fired, and ran like a bat out of hell. Pain cut through my arm, making me drop my cigarette. I stared at the wasted nicotine with annoyance, then at the boy running down the alley.
“You’re a poor shot, kid,” I growled after him.
He turned and gave me two middle fingers.
The little fucker.
Andrei flew out the back door, pants unbuttoned and gun already drawn. Seeing the retreating kid, he started to go after him, but he stilled when I said, “Let him go.”
It wasn’t the boy who shot me. That was on Alexei. Contempt flared in my chest knowing I’d be busy with more of his shit all day.
zemlyanika
(n.) wild strawberries
A tap to the cheek pulled me out of a deep sleep.
I didn’t need to open my eyes to know who woke me. She smelled like strawberries. I’d never been a fan of the fruit before her, but now, the scent made me hungry. And hard. Her hair caressed my bare chest. I was about to wrap a few strands around my fist and pull her mouth to mine, though I didn’t get the chance.
She slapped me hard.
“What the fuck, Mila?” I growled, waking fully.
I was lying on the drawing room couch, a throbbing arm hanging off the side. Awkwardly, I wasn’t sure how I’d gotten here. When I’d said I would be busy with Alexei’s shit today, I meant it. The last thing I remembered was dealing with one of my train cars that derailed, crashed, and then exploded when I arrived. Little white pills had fallen from the sky like snow.
With a distressed noise, Mila shoved at my chest. I clenched my teeth. Apparently, I wasn’t waking to her sweet side tonight. She tried to push away from me, but I grabbed her wrist.
“I couldn’t get you to wake up!” she cried breathlessly. “I thought—I . . .”