Page 182 of Porcelain Lies

Perfect.

Shooting a look over my shoulder, I see Aleksei’s ape-sized minion close behind, his eyes scanning the streets for anypotential threats. Even though he’s watching me, I’m not going to give him a chance to stop me. I’ll use the element of surprise to my advantage.

As the protesters sweep by, I see it. Aleksei’s thug is distracted, glancing to his side, probably expecting an attack from a rival mafia gang or something.

This is it, Stella!

This is the moment!

I don’t give myself enough time to hesitate. Not when every millisecond counts. Before I realize, I’m darting into the crowd, my legs pumping viciously. I tear the biomarker off my wrist, letting it fall to the ground, probably triggering alarms in Aleksei’s surveillance system. Let it. Shock and fear have turned into rage, and it’s fuelling me now.

“Hey! Hey, come back here!” I hear my driver’s shouting from behind, mingling with the chanting of the crowd around me.

I’m not going back. Of course, I’m not. I keep running until I merge with the protesters, their angry chants providing cover as I slip deeper and deeper into the mass. It’s barely a few minutes before my phone rings — it’s not Aleksei’s ringtone, but I’m certain it’s another one of his fucking minions. If he doesn’t already know that I’ve escaped, he’ll find out soon enough. I silence it without looking, pushing forward, letting the sea of bodies carry me away from his control.

Before I know it, I’m a streets away, the protesters still shouting and waving their arms about. It should unsettle me, but it doesn’t. I’m still reeling from the horror of what I just learned. Even an angry mob can’t compare to that. But now, my stomach is roiling, and it’s not nausea or the baby this time.

Food.

I need food!

It’s always been there when I’ve needed a place to turn, and now I need that more than ever. The golden arches of McDonald’s beckon like a beacon of rebellion. Inside, the smell of grease and salt makes my mouth water. No more carefully portioned meals. No more watching my weight forhim.

Fuck the goddamn diet.

Fuck all of it!

“Big Mac meal,” I tell the cashier, then add, “Make it large. Extra fries. And a chocolate shake.”Screw it.“And a Coke. Large too.”

The cashier hands me the slip, and I hesitate. The shiny credit card Aleksei gave me will definitely give my location away, so I pay cash, reveling in this small act of defiance.

I find a booth and sink into it, trying not to look too nervous, but I can’t help it when my eyes dart around the place. My nerves are stretched as taut as violin strings. Yet the food, when it arrives, tastes like freedom. I stuff fries into my mouth, sauce dripping down my chin. Let him try to control this. Let him—

“Ms. Fermont.”

Two men in dark suits and darker glasses materialize beside my table. My heart stops.

They’re clearly not McDonald’s types. This could only mean trouble.

Shit!

Fuck!

Shit!

Freedom had seemed so close, but I’d barely been gone thirty minutes, and already, I’m trapped.

I look around at the other diners. Maybe I can get out of here.

“Mr. Tarasov requests your presence,” the taller of the two says. The words may be polite, but his expression tells me he’s anything but friendly.

“I’m having lunch,” I say, reaching for another fry. His eyes narrow on it.

“Now,” he growls. “Don’t make this get ugly.”

“I’ll do what I damn well please,” I say, my voice rising.

“Is everything alright here.” The manager hovers nearby, looking uncertain.

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