Page 48 of Lies He Told Me (Bratva Crime Syndicate 1)

That look of his, that look that said, plain and simple, that I belong to …

Stop it, Joy. Stop it right now.

I shove the loofah up to my nose, letting the scent invade my mind. It does smell maybe like a shimmer dream, not that I’d know. Guess this is my first.

I rub the loofah all along my lower arm, enjoying the trail of bubbles it leaves.

Great, now do that twenty billion more times everywhere else on your body.

Which is exactly what I do. I clean each and every part of my body, and when I’m done, I do it all again. The third and fourth scrubs feel just as shimmery and dream-like as the first.

The shampoo and conditioner are, of course, teal too, and have equally riveting names: Pearlescent Major and Natural Organic Hidden Springs. Never heard of them—but that’s the point. These things probably sell for like a hundred bucks a pop, and basically make your hair magic. I’m ready for any magic I can get.

Of course, I want to stay longer in the tub, to slump there and let the heat blot out everything, hold me and caress me until I can maybe start to believe that I’m the kind of person who gets this sort of thing even once a year.

But I’ve got a stinky dog somewhere in this mansion, and my belly still hasn’t forgotten how rudely I’ve neglected it.

Reluctantly, I get out of the tub, plant my feet firmly on the microfiber mat, and grab an Egyptian cotton towel. One press of it to my body and I’m convinced: the rich do it better. With everything.

Not that I was ever really in the ‘money doesn’t matter’ camp. Nothing will wake you up from that nonsense quite like growing up on food stamps and sheer grit. But still. There’s knowing that every single second of the rich one-percent’s days is manicured to perfection, and then there’s living it. Even the air here feels different, like Gavril has some fancy filtration system hooked up somewhere so he doesn’t have to breathe the same oxygen as the rest of the peasants.

As I towel off, I dare a glance at my reflection. I try cracking a smile at the girl who looks hopelessly lost. Small.

You can do this,I tell her.

My reflection blinks. She knows better. I’m not convincing anybody. One glance at my clothes and I cringe. I’m clean now and they … well, let’s just say they’ve seen better days, even with my dedicated once-a-week sink cleanings.

My gaze wanders beyond my reflection, to an alternative outfit. A nice fluffy bathrobe that … As my fingers skate along its velour super-softness, I pause. Am I really going to don a bathrobe in some stranger’s house?

I square my shoulders and tilt my chin. Yes, I am. I came here to get a bath and food, and I’ll be damned if I wear my gross old clothes any sooner than necessary.

The bathrobe feels even softer than it looks, and as I pull it on and its velour strokes along my curves, I get a flash: Gavril’s smirk of ownership as he sees me in his robe, in his house.

Screw that smirk. He ain’t stopping me.

I leave the room, bathrobe’d up and all.

Outside, somehow, Walter is waiting with a new and improved Chowder. My little buddy looks like a new dog: fur all fluffy, tail wagging, smelling like oatmeal and happiness.

“Excellent.” Walter’s tone is you-took-too-long-but-I’m-too-professional-to-mention-it. “As you can see, your dog is now in fine form. And will therefore be placed outside on a leash.”

“But I said—”

“And fed, of course.”

I pause. Am I really going to start World War III over whether Chowder is two feet or fifty feet from me?

Besides, it’s not like he can really do shit if things do get hairy. Better for him to be outside, actually, so I can scoop him up on my way out if a high-speed escape becomes necessary.

“Fine,” I relent.

“Ludmil will convey you to the dining room,” Walter says, already walking off.

Sure enough, seconds later, Ludmil is by my side. These guys have their efficiency down, I’ll give them that.

“Was everything to your satisfaction?” Ludmil asks, as though I’m the queen of England and have a highly discerning palate when it comes to fancy bathrooms and carefully matched bath soaps.

“Definitely,” I say. “And …”

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