Page 36 of Wicked Arrangement

“I’m from Charleston originally, we moved to Atlanta a couple of years ago.”

“Did you know Charleston is home to the first public college, playhouse, museum, and golf club in the United States?” he replies, throwing me off guard.

“No, I didn’t,” I say truthfully looking at him in surprise.

“Charleston is also known for the famous Charleston dance,” he adds, getting up and doing a little jig to demonstrate the style. “Dance with me, Kimmy!” he yells.

“Umm… I’m okay, thanks. I’m not much of a dancer,” I reply nervously, uncertain about his erratic behavior.

He abruptly sits back down, as though he didn’t just randomly get up and start dancing. “You didn’t tell me what you do, are you a student?” he says, acting normal again.

I shake my head, “No, my Gran got sick, so I had to look after her. I work as a waitress in a diner and at an art supply store as a cashier. What do you do?”

“Boring, work’s boring,” he declares leaning back in his chair and taking a bite of an apple. “Tell me something interesting. Have you ever been kidnapped?”

I laugh nervously, again thrown off by his sudden change of topic. “No, I haven’t.”

“I have,” he declares. “Several times. First, I was a professional tennis player, or at least I would have been if my abductors hadn’t broken my fingers—that put an end to my tennis career. The next time I was kidnapped they took me to the loony bin. Even though I’m not insane. And then my own brother kidnapped me, took me from my homeland, and made me come to this ridiculous place. Do you know the worst part about America?” he asks.

Thrown off by his fantastical rant, I don’t know what to think, so I simply answer his question. “No, what is it?”

“It’s filled with Americans,” he quips, deadpan, making me laugh.

“How did you and Yaroslav meet?” he queries, seeming calm again as he surveys me.

“I crashed into him with my car by mistake,” I admit with a shrug, pouring myself a coffee and taking a sip.

He lets out a big belly laugh, “I’d have loved to have seen that, bet he was real pissed off! You don’t seem like the type of woman he usually dates. Not that you’re not beautiful of course, quite the opposite. All of the women he dates are empty inside. But not you, you’re filled with fire... Does it hurt?”

“Does what hurt?” I ask, confused.

“The fire inside of you? Most people would be burned up by it.” He looks at me intently, clearly expecting an answer. He reaches out a hand as though to touch me but resists, dropping it back down after a moment.

“Umm… no,” I venture.

He nods, satisfied with this response. “So, why are you here? At our house I mean,” he says, pouring a cup of coffee himself.

“It’s a long story. After I hit Yaroslav’s car and he got out, it blew up. The police say someone had planted a bomb in it and tried to kill him. He said he owed me since I saved his life,” I explain, watching his reaction closely.

David nods as though it all makes perfect sense. He doesn’t even comment on the fact that I just said his brother almost got blown up.

“Do you know they call my family the wolfpack?” he asks, again seeming to veer off topic.

I notice the two men stiffen slightly and exchange looks out of the corner of their eyes.

“No, I didn’t. Why do they call you that?” I ask, curious, leaning forward and placing my elbows on the table.

“According to legend, years ago my great, great, great, great,greatgrandfather controlled a pack of wolves. They were even more common in Russia than they are now, and they were terrorizing the village. My extra great-grandfather went into the woods with some other men to kill the wolves. He was gone for days, and everyone presumed the wolves had killed the men. But then, one night he came back. And he wasn’t alone. He hadn’t killed the wolves, he had tamed them to his will. They listened to him and only him. None of the other men had survived. With all of the village’s most powerful men dead, he became the chief and no one dared cross him, else they would be devoured by hiswolves,” David tells me. His eyes alight, as he speaks animatedly. He’s quite the storyteller.

“It almost sounds as though you believe the story to be true,” I state, tucking into a pastry.

“Of course it’s true! Some people even believed that the old man could become a wolf, perhaps that’s where werewolf legends came from!” he says with a wide grin.

I laugh, “So, your family are literal wolves?”

“Well, Volk translates to wolf in Russian…” he says with a smile, “HAWOOOOOOOO!!!!!” he howls loudly imitating a wolf and making me laugh even harder.

I glance at the two other men who are in the room, they’re not paying much attention to David’s antics, so I guess this is just a normal breakfast. After a few moments he fixes me with a smile and says, “Na, we’re not wolves. Even my crazy ass knows there’s no such thing as werewolves,” he says chattily. But then his voice turns serious. “Besides, my family is far more deadly and scary than any wolf. That’s more likely where the name comes from. The Volkov Wolfpack will eat you alive. HAWOOOO!” he howls again, uncannily accurately.

---