Page 43 of Lies He Told Me (Bratva Crime Syndicate 1)

Maybe I have to leave behind my make-believe better future to create one for real?

A smile slides over my face. That thought sounds like something Mom would say, right before she went back to making the same old mistakes.

At any rate, I can’t take these. The only other option is staying here. And if I have to choose between holding onto my art and getting gang-raped, or leaving, then I know what my decision is.

I’ve left my art before. I can do it again.

Although, as I peer through the tent flap again, I realize that leaving may not be so easy.

The assholes from before have their bulk smushing some particularly unlucky lawn chairs, beer bottles all around. They look wasted, but how wasted is can’t-chase-a-slow-overloaded-girl wasted?

Best thing would be to sneak out, but there’s only one direction to go out of the tent—right into the lion’s den.

I finger the cool mirror shard in my hand. Even with this, I can’t get too cocky. Although the dickwipes probably won’t hear the noise and, if they do, probably won’t clue in to what it is, I don’t know for sure.

I need to make these cuts quick and precise. In and out.

I hold the edge of the blade against the canvas, testing. It goes through with only the slightest resistance. It’ll do.

I glance at Chowder. He’s been rustling against the makeshift twine leash I looped on him. Now, he regards me with curious eyes. Reminds me of the way Teddy would look at me sometimes, when I’d turn down a cigarette or a beer, or would bring over some extra food I’d found.

And now …

I shake my head.

Not that.

His face if he saw me escaping—would he wink? Grin for days after? Probably.

That was another thing I liked about Teddy. He saw that I was different.

“Huh, you’re still here?” was one of his favorite things to say. That, and, “You’re going to leave us, my girl. I’d bet a good gold dollar on it.” At which Wanda would sniff, “You don’t have a good dollar.”

I shake myself out of it. It’s time to go.

Gripping the mirror shard hard with one hand and holding the tent canvas taut with the other, I slash it in. The ripping noise seems unbearably loud to my ears, but I keep going.

One slash here, one slash there. I rip it off the rest of the way. And then I’m out, pulling Chowder along behind me.

“C’mon, boy.” I motion to him as I pull ahead, in the opposite direction from where the creeps are.

But he’s pulling in another one, the way towards Teddy’s tent.

“I do not need this now!” I hiss as I scoop him up in my arms and hurry off.

Chowder lets out an indignant howl.

Shit.

“Hey—where you goin,’ girl?”

Shit, shit, shit.

“I swear to God, Chowder, I will chuck you at them.”

Though I don’t mean it. I’m running as fast as my legs will carry me, the world caroming by—more half-dilapidated tents, some with people poking their heads out, wondering what’s going on.

Behind me, some of the creepos have set off at a lumbering jog. I smile grimly and keep going. These guys are no Usain Bolts, that’s for sure.

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