He’s fucking lying.
There’s no way he’d let go of me. Not while I’m still breathing anyway. And there’s no way he’d let go of his bargaining chip. I hate it, but that’s all she is to him. He keeps her fed, clothed, and cared for, and it keeps me in line. “How the hell are you going to afford that?”
“You find that elephant and none us will have to worry about money for a long time.” I know it’s too good to be true, but there’s a chance... I’m more curious about Sawyer’s role in all of this. And why that statue? I have no idea what it even looks like.Ivan’s described it numerous times, but I have no idea why he’s so obsessed with it.
“What about me?” Koda asks.
“Are you asking to abandon me?” Ivan glowers at his son.
Koda’s gaze drops to the floor and he shakes his head. “No sir.” My heart gives this annoying little pinch. I don’t feel sorry for this brat. I don’t.
“But you’ll let me have Katya?” I ask.
“What am I going to do with a little girl?” Koda’s jaw clenches. He’s only seventeen and I know he has a long life of this bullshit ahead of him. The only saving grace I have is not being blood related to Ivan. If I were, freedom wouldn’t be an option.
“Done,” I say to distract him, and it’s not because I feel bad for Koda. I don’t. I just want to find this stupid statue and get on with my life with Katya. She’s the only reason I’m breathing on this stupid spinning marble.
“You start tomorrow. I’ll give you some time. Don’t call a lot of attention to yourself. If you don’t find it, I will burn that place to the fucking ground. I don’t care how you do it, but find that elephant.”
I almost tell him to fuck off, but this is my shot. If that elephant is as valuable as Ivan desperately believes, maybe I can cash it in myself. It’s a shot. Koda told me Ivan’s gotten himself into trouble—debt, most likely. Who the hell knows who he’s in debt to, though. There are a few notorious crime families around the state, and I wouldn’t want to be on any of their shit lists.
“You have twenty minutes up there, then I want you out of my fucking house.” Not wasting time, I go upstairs and find the white door on the right. I take a deep breath. Part of me wishes I could just sleep in the house, but I won’t push. If Ivan means it, we’ll have our own place soon.
For now I’ll sleep in my car and bide my time. I’ve slept in worse places. You’d think sleeping in the middle of the woods would be creepy, but it’s not. Ghosts, shadow people, and even the occasional bear don’t scare me.
Who needs monsters from fairytales when humans are far more terrifying.
Slowly I open her door, peeking inside just in case she’s napping. Instead, I find her cross-legged on her bed reading a book. Her black curls bounce as she moves her mouth, reading the words on the page.
As if she can feel me, she looks toward the door. “Aiden!” she sequels, scrambling out of bed and flinging her book in the process before leaping into my arms. I almost don’t catch her. It’s been nearly two weeks since I was last allowed to see her.
She pulls back, and her clammy hands cup my jaw as she inspects me. Her tiny face morphs into worry. “Where did you go this morning? I thought you were coming up here.” She scowls.
“We had to run errands first. It took longer than I thought. I’m sorry.” Setting her down, I sit beside her and show her the bag. “I got you some things. Have you eaten today?” She shakes her head, and I tamp down my anger. This is what I mean. It’s not that they starve her, but they won’t actively get her things unless she asks.
I know she could go downstairs and make herself something, but no one checks on her. She’s mentally older than a lot of six-year-olds, I know this, but still. She deserves to be checked on, cared for, and thought of. “Well, how about dessert for breakfast?”
“What is it?” She tries to peek inside the bag. I pull out the seafoam-green box with the bakery’s name on it: Moonlight Confections.
Cute.
Her dark eyes light up, and I kick my shoes off and sit back on her bed against the headboard. “I haven’t had breakfast yet.”
I’ve lived in the United States for most of my life, but this one thing I can never wrap my mind around. Pancakes, donuts, and cinnamon rolls... fine. But a cupcake? That’s not breakfast. What’s the difference between this and pancakes and syrup?
I hold out the container. “Which first?”
“Cupcake! No! Lemon. The strawberry will overpower the lemon.”
“Okay, Ms. Patisserie.”
“Before we left, I was watchingChoppedwith Natalia.” Ivan’s old fling. They come and go. At least she was good with Katya. She didn’t come with us. I have a feeling Ivan didn’t expect to be here this long.
Katya was only two when our mother died. I know she doesn’t remember much about her, which is not a bad thing.
She takes a bite, her eyes shining. “It’s so fucking good.”
“Hey,” I laugh. “Watch your mouth.”
