Page 5 of Wicked Arrangement

A small furrow appears on his forehead, and he seems genuinely perplexed by my words. Have I somehow offended him? He doesn’t seem like someone with money troubles, but considering I banged up his car before it was destroyed and then he took a hit for me and got injured, surely, it’s the right thing to do?

He shakes his head. “I am fine, a few minor burns and abrasions, they will heal quickly. And as for medical bills, I will take care of everything. Mine and yours.”

I open my mouth to protest but he holds up a hand, stopping me in my tracks before I can speak.

“Please. It is a drop in the bucket for me. And I owe you,” he states simply.

“You owe me?” I ask incredulously, wondering if he’s the one with the head injury.

His brown eyes search mine and he replies seriously, “Yes. If it wasn’t for the accident, I would have been in the car. I would have died alongside Ivan. So, I owe you a life debt.”

“It wasn’t like I knew what was going to happen… you don’t owe me anything, really,” I reply, slightly uneasy with his serious tone. He sounds like he’s swearing an oath.

“I do. I won’t take no for an answer. I’m paying for your medical costs. And your car,” he adds as an afterthought.

I wish I could refuse, but I’d be stupid not to. I was just worrying about how I was going to pay for all this and then lo and behold, the answer to my prayer comes along and offers to pay for everything.

“Thank you, that’s very generous,” I reply earnestly, flushing under the intensity of his focused gaze.

“I happen to value my life. A few medical bills and the cost of fixing your… vehicle,” he hesitates on this, clearly holding back any insulting comments about the state of my car, “It doesn’t cover the debt I owe you. Pass me your phone, I’ll give you my number, you can call me if you’re ever in a bind.”

I hold up my broken phone, looking glum. “It’s broken…” I say forlornly.

He looks like he’s contemplating something for a moment then he nods and reaches into his pocket, pulling out a wallet and producing a business card. He hands it to me with a flick of his wrist. The business card is ridiculously thick and luxurious, I’m almost afraid to touch it lest I sully its pristine white surface.

“Don’t lose it. I’m a good person to have on your side if you’re in need. Consider it a one-time favor owed, so use it wisely.”

I nod, the conversation has been so surreal I don’t quite know how to respond.

He gets up and glances back at me one last time. “Goodbye, Miss Walsh.”

I look at the business card, Yaroslav Volkov. “Erm, goodbye Mr. Volkov.”

He chuckles slightly as though amused, but he doesn’t say anything else. I watch his confident, commanding frame as he walks away. Every set of eyes turns to look at him, as though drawn by invisible magnets. I can’t stop myself from doing the same.

I don’t know who Yaroslav Volkov is, but some instinct in me tells me he’s dangerous. I would be wise to forget all about the encounter and throw his card away. But I can’t quite bring myself to do that. I think of how he so casually offered to pay for all my expenses—costs that would cripple me further financially than I already am. A favor from a rich and powerful man like that could come in very handy one day.

Chapter 4

Kimberly

Itrudge up the stairs to our eighth-floor apartment— the elevator has been ‘undergoing maintenance’ for weeks—and open the door wearily, sighing as the key struggles to budge in the stiff lock. How I long for our beautiful, detached house back in Charleston, the one we lived in before Gran got sick and we had to move here. While the apartment is homely and tastefully decorated, the apartment block has been falling into disrepair recently. Though that’s probably why the rent is affordable.

I enter, taking in the familiar sights of the apartment, the walls filled with my artwork, Gran’s books that she no longer reads crammed onto the bookshelf, and the cozy couch strewn with brightly colored cushions. The lighting is warm and welcoming and the smell of home cooked food wafts throughout the apartment.

“Kimmy, is that you?” Abigail calls out from the kitchen.

Abigail Williams is the neighbor who helps take care of my grandmother while I’m out, she’s a retired nurse and is the homely nurturing type with ample curves, permanently pink cheeks, and a deep belly chuckle that makes you laugh along with her. I don’t know what I’d do without her. She’s constantly telling me that she’s the kind of person who likes to keep busy, that looking after Gran is no trouble, and that she enjoys having something to do, but I’m eternally grateful for the massive amounts of work she does for little to no money.

Her smile falters when she sees my disheveled appearance and the bandages on my arms and face. “Kimmy, my goodness child, what happened?”

Her sweet, genuine concern almost makes me burst into tears.

“I’m okay,” I reassure her. “I was in a car accident.”

I mean, it’s not a lie, but it’s also not the truth either. But I can’t quite bring myself to explain the strange encounter with Yaroslav nor the horrifying ordeal of being so close to a bomb going off. My ears are still ringing and right now, all I want to do is curl up and go to sleep. If I tell Abigail what happened, she’s bound to have questions. Questions that I can’t face answering even if I knew how to respond.

I allow Abigail to fuss around me, “Oh my lord, thank god you’re alright. You sit down on the couch, and I’ll go fix you a sandwich, Emma’s just finishing her dinner in the kitchen now.”

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