“Oh dear, I think you dropped this.” A kind old lady next to me nudges my arm with the fallen book.
“Thank you so much,” I say, forcing a smile as I clutch the book tight in my hand.
“It certainly looks like an …interesting read,” she says with a little chuckle. “I love romance novels, too. I read at least three a week! Although, not this week. Oh, no. This week, I’m going to be parked in front of my favorite slot machines at the Excelsior!” She clasps her hands together. “It’s just going to be such a fabulous trip! My girlfriends and I are all meeting at the luggage carousel since we’re flying in from different places. And we’re so excited…”
The woman continues to talk and I just smile and nod, my mind tripping back to the handsome stranger who managed to get caught in my crosshairs last night.
I’d much rather think about him than about my sordid past, not that there’s any shot I’ll ever see him again.
When I ran away from Velvet Lounge last night, it was partly because I was afraid he could see right through me. He called me out on so much and came damn close to connecting the dots that were never meant to be linked.
I stayed with him at the bar last night and let him in further than I have any guy in what feels like forever.
And I knew if I stayed for a single second more, he’d have peeled away enough of my layers to find what lay tangled and twisted inside of me. And I’m not just talking about my clothes either.
I couldn’t allow that to happen, especially after our hot little tryst outside of the restroom.
He had…has…the power to undo me.
And I can’t afford to unravel like a cheap fucking rug.
Not now, not ever!
I’ve played that role and it almost got me killed.
I suddenly feel like one of the toxic heroines in the romance novels I devour, the ones who can’t let a guy get close because they don’t trust anyone, the ones who are so emotionally damaged that they want to rely entirely on themselves and not get into any romantic entanglements with hot as fuck strangers.
That’s where the similarity ends for me.
The difference for those other girls is that they eventually bend…then bend over…and let the guy in — literally and figuratively.
And that’s just not me.
My past is too littered with death and devastation for anyone to possibly break through. Right now, I feel like an empty shell, void of everything except hatred. And that shit is debilitating. The only way I think I can actually move on is to make sure that the people who hurt my family feel the same pain.
Because I feel it all the time.
A sharp pain assaults my chest.
I can’t even look at mint chocolate chip ice cream anymore without dissolving into tears because it’s the guilty pleasure Maks and I had always shared. It was our tradition to go out for it once a week and to talk and laugh and act like somewhat normal people for a little while.
On those occasions, we’d remember our parents and our lives back home.
Even though things came to a tragic end, there was still so much good and I always vowed I’d remember it all. Maks knew how much I needed to talk about them, that if we didn’t, I was petrified I would forget.
He knew me better than anyone and he always promised to find us a way out.
And then he died.
My best friend in the whole world left me, and I never even got to say goodbye.
Through all of my splintered thoughts, the woman keeps chatting. I don’t want to seem rude, although I hope she doesn’t ask me a question because I haven’t heard a single word she’s said in the past couple of minutes. I keep smiling and nodding, realizing that she only wants someone to talk to, and I silently thank God when the stewardess’s voice comes over the speaker.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we’re going to begin our descent into McCarran International Airport in our destination city of Las Vegas. The local time is two o’clock in the afternoon and the temperature is one-hundred-and-two degrees. Please fasten your seatbelts and put away all electronic devices. We will be on the ground shortly.”
My fingertips turn white as I clutch the arms of my seat.
“Oh, are you afraid of landings?” the woman asks, noting my death-grip on the armrests. She reaches out an pats my hand. “No worries, dear. It’s all computer-based, anyway. These planes don’t even need humans to fly them! The computers are even smarter than the pilots, if you ask me,” she says in a conspiratorial voice. “We’ll be on the ground, safe and sound, soon enough!”
I sit back against my seat and let out a deep breath. It is actually nice to listen to someone drone on about innocuous things like a weekend out with the girls, winning slot jackpots, and which hotel has the best buffet for the money. The conversation pales in comparison to the fantasies I’ve had looping through my mind about mystery man Gio from last night, but then again, maybe it’s time to shove those into the dark recesses of my mind where I lock up all of the other shit I can’t control.
I need to clear my mind of everything other than the job I was sent here to do.
Forget the fact that I have no clue how to do said job, but I’ll just worry about that when the time comes. The most important thing is making sure I get the damn job in the first place.
The plane finally hits the runway, bouncing a few times before gaining traction on the pavement, and I let out a huge sigh of relief, gathering my stuff together so I can make a run for it as soon as the doors open.
The woman next to me, who introduced herself as Dottie, busies herself with putting her own bags together while she prattles on about the jerkoff husband of one of her friends who wouldn’t let her join in the weekend fun. I swear, she hasn’t taken a single breath since she started this one-sided conversation. She also hasn’t asked me a single thing about myself, which is fine by me. The last thing I need is for some lonely old woman to interrogate me about my own life choices.
I get enough of that at home from Olga, the seamstress I’ve been working with over the past few years. She taught me to sew when I first came to Brooklyn at thirteen and it helped calm the demons battling inside of my head and heart. It became therapeutic for me to work beside her, and I learned to use the needles in all sorts of creative ways. I even took up crocheting to get comfortable using the larger, longer variety.
Olga is now my only friend aside from Uncle Boris.
It’s a self-imposed occupational hazard.
I try to keep my circle small. Makes it easier to slip in and out of my everyday life to handle a hit when there aren’t many people interested in my whereabouts.
I never get caught in a lie because Olga is the only person who ever asks about things I can’t actually divulge. My stories are simple and straightforward, and I never mix up details because there is only one narrative.
But it’s damn lonely.
I’m suddenly a little jealous of Dottie and all of the girlfriends she’ll be spending the week with here in Vegas.
I guess it’s just not a life I was ever meant to have.
Building big circles of friends means willingly putting trust in people, and I just don’t have that luxury.
When the door opens and people begin filing out of the plane, I expel a grateful sigh. I need to get my head screwed on straight, and getting out of this airport is step one. I sling my bag over my shoulder and turn to Dottie and give her a cheerful wave. “So great talking to you,” I gush. “Have a great time with your—”
Then she grabs my arm and links it with hers, tugging at me as I try to walk up the aisle. “It was so rude of me to not even ask your name, dear!”
My lips stretch into a tight line. “It’s Anya,” I say.
“Anya! What a beautiful name! Just like you,” she says, patting my arm. “Now, Anya, I would be so appreciative if you could help me carry my things to the baggage claim area. I’m afraid if I have to lug them myself, my friends will leave me here!” She chuckles. “I move so slowly these days, you know, because I had a hip replacement not too long ago…”