Page 22 of Fight

I ignored his apparent displeasure and instead focused on what else he’d said. “We?”

“You think last night was free?” he asked, his voice radiating with incredulity.

I shook my head. “Nothing’s free.”

He gave a curt nod. “So you’re not as stupid as you sometimes act. That’s good.”

“Don’t insult me. And what does my debt have to do with you?” I asked.

“I intervened and that cost Markov money. That money has to be repaid. Your debt is now mine,” he said.

I glanced around the sunny kitchen, again noting that his place was nice, nicer than any I’d ever stayed in. Then I looked back at him, intentionally letting my gaze linger on the faint darkness I could see under his shirt. Probably more tattoos like those I’d seen on his arms. I should have pieced this together last night, but things were becoming clearer.

“You’re clan, right?” I asked.

He nodded. “Petran.”

“Don’t know them,” I said, and it was only after I saw the slight sharpness in his expression that I realized the potential insult. I reminded myself to tread carefully, though the warning probably had zero chance of sticking.

“You wouldn’t. We don’t run drugs and whor—girls,” he said.

It was my turn to be insulted, not that I had the right to be. I only knew of the clans and the Ukrainians because of the drugs and flesh that some of them peddled. Why wouldn’t the same be true for me?

I cleared my throat, the sound coming out false and strained, and even worse, pushing me a little closer to him so that my nipples were pressed against his chest. I ignored the new sensation and continued on.

“So if you’re clan, you don’t have a nine to five, and I know you have money, so why not just pay him?”

“And save your hide, eh?” he said, lifting his head.

“You said my debt was yours. Saving me would be a useful side effect,” I said. As I considered it, I saw merit in the idea, felt some hope begin to grow. I hated owing anyone, but the fact was I did. And while Ioan was dangerous, he wasn’t as bad as Markov. Maybe I could reason with him, get more time to pay the money. It would take a long time, but Ioan seemed more reasonable than Markov, and maybe he would take pity on me. That left a bad taste in my mouth, the thought of having to rely on someone else’s charity, but right now that was all I had.

“Sorry to disappoint you, P, but I don’t have six hundred thousand dollars on hand,” he said.

The low rasp of his voice was so distracting that I almost missed what he said.

Almost but not quite.

“Six hundred thousand!”

I gaped, staring at Ioan, who nodded shortly. My heart began to pound at his confirmation and I blinked rapidly, mind racing to process what he’d said.

“How is that possible? I only owe him forty,” I said.

“You only owed him forty last night. This morning, it’s six hundred.”

“What…? How?” I said, the air fleeing my chest in a rush, the pressure of the surprise wringing the last breath from my lungs.

“Weren’t you paying attention?” he asked.

“Of course,” I snapped, before I went quiet and then breathed deep and then continued. “Yes, you intervened and Markov has to be repaid.”

I understood that, knew that there would be some cost for Ioan’s help, and I had prepared myself to pay it. But this?

“Six hundred thousand dollars?” I said, my chest compressing so much it was hard to get the words out.

“That was what was lost in last night’s take. It must be repaid,” he said.

“I-I…I…I don’t have that kind of money,” I said on a trembled whisper.

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