I loosen my tie, suddenly feeling suffocated. When I finally clawed my way back to consciousness, she was gone. I turned this whole goddamn city upside down looking for her. All I found was her sister Em, and John, her deadbeat dad, drunk off his ass and causing trouble as usual.
My jaw clenches, a muscle twitching. I gave up the search months ago.
What’s the fucking point?
If I really wanted to, I could crack every fucking database in this city. Track her bank records, her last known locations, hell, even her goddamn coffee orders. But for what? She made it crystal fucking clear there’s nothing more between us. Nothing more I can give her.
Chasing ghosts won’t change a damn thing. She’s gone, and I’m still here, holding onto memories like a patheticmudak.
The doctor’s words echo in my head: “You’re lucky to be alive, Mr. Orlov. An inch to the left, and…”
Lucky.Right. Lucky to wake up to a world without her…
“Oi, D,” Erik’s voice cuts in. “You still breathing?”
I blink, focusing on his ugly mug. “Da, da.Just… thinking.”
His eyes narrow. “About her?”
My jaw clenches so hard I taste blood. “Otvali, Erik.”
He backs off, hands up. “Fine, fine. But it’s been three years. Maybe it’s time to—”
“I said fuck off,” I snarl, slamming back my drink.
Some commotion erupts inside.
Drunkmudakin a suit that cost more than my first car, getting grabby with a waitress. She’s trying to bolt, terror all over her face.
Perfect. Just fucking perfect.
My lips curl into a savage grin. Blood starts pumping faster, that familiar itch for violence crawling under my skin. This piece of shit’s about to be my punching bag for the night. Maybe I can’t beat the memory of Wren out of my head, but I can sure as hell beat this fucker into next week.
“Duty calls,” I mutter, already moving.
Erik sighs behind me. “Try not to break the rich toys this time.”
I crack my knuckles. “Nakhuypromises.”
60
Wren
The cabin door creaks open at 8:47 PM. I’m hit with the warm smell of microwaved pizza and the drone of some cartoon blaring from the TV. Alex is sprawled on the threadbare couch, his chubby face slack with sleep, a half-eaten slice of pizza threatening to fall from his tiny hand.
I drop my bag by the door, the thud making Lenny’s head snap up from his phone. He’s slouched in the ratty armchair, all awkward limbs and messy hair.
“Hey,” he says, scrambling to his feet. “You’re back early.”
I grunt, kicking off my shoes. “Yeah, Marge came in to cover the last bit of my shift. Said I looked like shit.”
The cabin’s not much—two cramped rooms barely big enough to swing a cat in—but the soft light from the cheap floor lamp makes it feel almost cozy.
I move to the kitchenette, eyeing the stack of dishes in the sink. “I see you boys had a feast,” I mutter, grabbing a clean-ish glass and filling it with tap water.
Lenny has the decency to look sheepish. “Yeah, sorry about that. I’ll clean up, I swear.”
I wave him off, gulping down the water. It tastes metallic, but it’s wet. “Don’t sweat it. How was the little terror today?”
