Page 98 of Lies He Told Me (Bratva Crime Syndicate 1)

Once we get into the iron-bar-protected parking garage, some of the tension eases out of Gavril’s shoulders. “This will do. How did you hear about it?”

“Teddy. This was the one place where he told me it would be safe, if I could sneak in.”

“But if you could sneak in, then couldn’t …”

“Other people?” I bob my head. “Teddy used to be a rock climber, which is how he found his way in, a hole on the back second story. Said he’d spent years sleeping in there before he started liking the company of Tent City better and decided to stay there instead. Anyway, while he was here at night, he apparently never saw another homeless soul. It’s too hard getting in.”

By now, Gavril has parked the car and we’re exiting the garage. “Good,” he says. “Because I’d hate to kill anyone stupid enough to try and rob me or damage my car.”

I glare at him. “You couldn’t just—you know, cut off their ear or something? Or, heaven forbid, give them a good punch and leave it at that?”

Gavril is all smiles. “No. Although I do like the ear idea.”

I roll my eyes. “I was joking.”

He smirks again. “Pity.”

We’ve reached the entrance now, and Gavril presses a button that makes the bar gates rise. He gestures forward. “After you.”

It feels surreal, walking down the graffitied and garbage-strewn streets. The last time I was here, I was basically a different person. The silence now is unnerving. I glance over at Gavril, who chuckles.

“What?” I ask.

“The people here are smart.” He nods his head with approval.

“But I don’t see …”

Gavril guides my head over to a nearby window, where, behind the foggy glass, I can just barely see something that looks like a face. I jump. Gavril laughs. All of a sudden, I can sense them everywhere, ducked just out of sight. Around corners, behind windows, doors.

“What is it?” The skin on the back of my neck crawls. “Gavril …”

“They know I’m here,” he explains. “I don’t usually come this way, but it’s near my old stomping grounds.” He lets out a low whistle.

“Pompous much?” I say lightly, although my hands are still shaking. “Not everything is about you. Maybe it’s just not a busy time.”

I know better than that, though. I’ve only been here a handful of times, but every time, there was always someone—even in the dead of night.

Thing is, I want it to be true about it just being Gavril’s fat head. I want it to be true, because if it’s not true, if there’s a very good reason why Bank Street is now desolate and abandoned, and if that very good reason is standing beside me and just took my hand and is holding it, then that is a bad, bad, very bad thing.

“Hey.” Gavril’s hand goes to my shoulder to squeeze it and I jump. “We getting burgers or not?”

He indicates the food truck, which is wafting delicious fried smells and definitely not abandoned. It still has Marlow manning it, his bushy red mustache half bristling over a happy mouth.

When he sees me, his grin widens even further. “If it isn’t Joy Smith!”

“Joy Vaknin, now.” I smile sheepishly at him.

“Well, don’t be a stranger.” He’s still grinning with his boxy teeth. “Get your fancy ass over here!”

I rush over and give him a one-armed hug through the window, the best we can do when separated by a pane of chrome.

“You look great!” he says. “When I saw the newspaper the other day, I couldn’t believe my eyes. ‘That’s Joy,’ I said to myself. That’s the sweet girl who’d stop by here from time to time. And now, here you are.”

“Here I am,” I say shyly. I feel odd, all of a sudden. Embarrassed and happy and grateful all at once. “I had a craving for a good burger, and thought of you immediately.”

Marlow bobs his head. “That’s what we’re here for. What can I get you two?”

I jump again, not noticing that Gavril had joined us until now. “I’d like my usual: a hamburger with mustard, and he’ll have …”

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