Page 38 of Lies He Told Me (Bratva Crime Syndicate 1)

I feel a touch on my lower back in a way that definitely isn’t necessary. Looking up, a toothless man I don’t recognize leers at me. That’s my cue. I leave, knuckling away oncoming tears in the corners of my eyes.

I still don’t like people seeing me cry. Never have, never will.

I go back to my tent and retreat inside. Falling to a cross-legged seat, I survey my surroundings, taking in the little setup I’ve come to have something like pride for. The bent hanger for my one nice top I save for special occasions (so far, I’ve had a grand total of zero), my crumpled collection of plastic bags, my art. All sad posturing to avoid the simple fact: my life is shit and getting shittier.

No, my life is a shit sundae, and I just got dealt the last shit topping.

Teddy, the best of us, the kindest … dead.

Behind me, there’s scrabbling at my tent flap. I freeze.

Not now.

But then again, of course now.

With the others occupied inside Teddy’s tent, it’s the perfect time for some creep to make his move. Or, worse still, for one of the junkie wrecks, the ones who are half-conscious at the best of times, who can barely speak, to clamber over to where I’m hidden and …

I lunge for the mirror shard I keep under my pillow, then twist back around, hold it tight, tell myself I’ll kill them.

I mean it. Whoever or whatever is outside that door has no right being there. And if they think that they can just come here and do what they want to me, then I have a lesson to teach them.

I am not as helpless as the world seems to think.

But when I slowly creep forward and unzip the very top of the flap, just an inch, to peek outside and confront my assailant, I see that it’s only Teddy’s dog Chowder, smelling like hot dogs, not even noticing the mirror shard.

I unzip the flap enough for him to bound in. He pants and licks at my toes.

Maybe I’m a little more of a wreck than I thought.

I get under the covers, return the mirror shard under my pillow, and curl up into the tiniest ball I can manage. Chowder snuggles under the covers next to me. I wrap my arms around him. He lets me, and even though his fur smells dank and I’m pretty sure Teddy used to bathe him in sewer runoff, it’s comforting to have a warm body next to me.

Because the world outside seems pretty damn bleak. Teddy was … is … gone. The gentlest guy here. The one who’d been here for what—twenty years? Thirty? Forever?

How does that even happen? A junkie who was good at getting by, staying alive, renowned around here. The kind of guy who helped out the hardest cases, who had gotten being homeless down to a science. How does his ticket get punched like that?

Chowder whimpers and licks my face. “I know, I know,” I cry softly into his fur. “I’m sorry. He was my friend, too.”

A whine in response.

“But I’m going to take care of you now, okay? I’m not going to let anything bad happen to us.”

The little black eyes give me another discerning look, before closing contentedly.

It’s so warm, almost even cozy in the tent, with the fire outside, and my sleeping bag and Chowder, that it’s easy to let my eyes fall closed, too.

* * *

And then I see him.

Tall, powerful body, face curved like a hunter. Mocking half smile. “Did you really think you could get away that easily?”

Chowder doesn’t so much as stir. In fact, he isn’t even here anymore. It’s just me and the man in the suit—his musk overtaking my tent, winning out already.

“What are you doing here?” is all I can think to ask.

Gavril closes the distance between us in two powerful strides. “Don’t pretend you don’t know.”

It’s true, as he covers my body with his own. I know exactly why he’s here.

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