Page 12 of Immaculate Corruption (Romanoff Bratva)

Two hundred thirty five…

“Order number fifteen!” crows someone in the kitchen.

I check my receipt.That’s me.I stand up and slip through the queue to the food counter. The man in sunglasses doesn’t move out of my way, so I have to turn and awkwardly inch by him. He watches me the whole time.

Without looking up, I mumble, “Thanks” to the old lady handing my food over. I put a dollar in her tip jar, then turn and leave.

It’s just a few steps to the door,I urge myself.Put one foot in front of the other and get the hell out of here. Back to your son. Back to safety.

I can still feel those eyes burning a hole in the back of my head. But I ignore them and focus on the floor. One foot in front of the other. Just a few more steps.

I’m reaching out for the door handle. My fingers touch the cool metal. I lean into it, start to step out into the night…

And then a hand clamps down around my other wrist. A big, strong hand.

I stifle a scream and look up to see the man in sunglasses glaring down at me.

“P-please, just leave me—” I start to stutter.

He holds out his other hand, palm up. “You dropped this,” he rumbles.

I look down to see him offering me a paper-wrapped eggroll.

I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. I almost just had a full-on, five-alarm nuclear meltdown of a panic attack because a big stranger picked up my dropped eggroll for me.

I suppose I should say thank you. Instead, I just pluck the eggroll from his hand with trembling fingers, stuff it in the plastic bag with the rest of the food, and sprint out without so much as a word of gratitude.

Only when I’m breathing in the night air again can I start to relax.

“You’re okay,” I mumble to myself. “Nothing is wrong. Everything is fine.”

Lies, lies, and more lies, but I’ll tell myself whatever I need to in order to make it through this week from hell.

The motel is about six blocks away from the Chinese place. With every step I put between me and the man in sunglasses, I start to feel better and better.

In just a minute, I’m going to get back into the motel room. I’m going to see June’s smile, hear my son’s giggle, feel Ernestine’s reassuring touch on my shoulder. And everything really will be fine.

I have them and they have me and that’s all we need. That’s all that matters.

The first half of the walk goes quickly. The air is still a little brisk for mid-spring, so I put some pep in my step. The very last stretch of road is completely dark and empty. No cars. No pedestrians. And the whole block of streetlights is burned out.

I can see the gold pot at the end of the rainbow, though:Sunset Motelwritten in bright pink neon on the sign at the far intersection.

I’m almost home. I’m almost safe.

I’m halfway down the darkened block when that familiar feeling strikes me again. The one I haven’t been able to soothe since we got here three days ago.

Eyes on me in the darkness.

Shadows close on my heels.

But when I whirl around, there’s no one. I’m all alone out here.

“Get a grip, Arya,” I scowl. I brush my hair out of my face with my free hand, then turn back to finish the walk.

That’s when I hear it.

A voice I hoped I’d never hear again in my life, cracking out of the darkness like a whip.

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