I wish I could ask someone how he’s doing. But I don’t have a phone or a purse or money or hope. I’m a sitting duck. Waiting for retribution. For the cavalry. For the consequences I know I must face.
I tuck my knees to my chest.
For a moment, I close my eyes, but then I see Yelena’s wide-open mouth as Andrey slashed her throat open. I shudder and tear my eyes open.
When I’m sick of sitting, I get to my feet and walk into the nearest restaurant. It’s a small shop with faded pictures of pizza displayed in their greasy window.
Ignoring the gnawing hunger in my stomach, I approach the portly older woman behind the counter. She reminds me of Yelena. I shudder again.
“Can I help you, sweetheart?”
“Uh… I’m sorry—” I cringe at my own ineptitude. But maybe it can work in my favor. “I-I need h
