“You sure about that? She’s not a junkie like you.”
“Fuck off, Yury.”
He pulls back and slaps her hard across the face. “Now the bitch knows my fucking name.”
Oxo turns her head back to him with a narrow-eyed glare, licking blood from her bottom lip. “Does it matter?”
“Fucking whore.”
“Well, since you like dipping your dick in this whore’s cunt, I guess that makes you one too.”
He raises his hand as if to backhand her again, but she lifts her chin and stands her ground. Seeming to change his mind, he curls his fingers into a fist and swings it at her face only to stop at the last minute. When she winces at the mock-charge, he laughs.
“Get this shit out of here,” he snarls. “Make sure you don’t leave a trail.”
She closes the make-up box. “I know how to wipe out my tracks.”
Hulk smiles at me. “You don’t want to go back into the trunk, do you?”
I barely contain a whimper.
“Then you’re going to do what I tell you.” He grabs my bicep and hoists me to my feet. “You’re going to walk into that bank on my arm, and you’re going to look as if it’s the only place you want to be.”
Chapter
Eight
Tatiana
* * *
When I come to my senses, I’m staggering down a sidewalk. Disorientated, I look around. I have no idea where I am or where I’m going. The sight I catch of myself in the reflection of a shop window jerks me to a standstill. My clothes are streaked with dirt. My hair is disheveled, and a trickle of blood runs down my temple. But what surprises me even more is the heavy, smudged make-up on my face, maybe because it’s so not me. It’s like looking at a stranger.
How did I get here?
What happened?
When my brain doesn’t deliver answers, panic claws a hole in my chest.
I sway on my feet, feeling sick. Shivers rack my aching body. My vision goes in and out of focus. Barely managing to keep my balance, I stumble into the nearest store.
The sales lady takes one look at me and grabs a phone that lies behind the counter.
“Please,” I say. “I need help. I need a phone.”
She unlocks the screen and hands me the phone without arguing.
“Thanks.” I grab it with both hands and dial the only number I know by heart. Or rather, the only number I remember. “Thank you so much.”
The phone rings for a while before our housekeeper’s voice comes onto the line. Emily rambles off the number, followed by, “How may I help you?”
“Emily.” I almost cry with relief. “It’s Tatiana.”
A second ticks past. She repeats my name as if she hasn’t heard right. “Tiana?”
“Emily, listen to me. Put my mom on the line.”
An even longer silence stretches.
