Her Russian Beast: 50 Loving States, New Mexico Read Online Free PDF Page A

the bullet hitting his forehead, then The Russian Beast came to stand over him.
    She could see his face clearly now, cast in partial light. Hard as a statue’s as he squeezed three more orange sparks out of his gun. Three more bullets found their way into Cyrus’s chest, making his dead body jerk with the violence of their impact.
    The next thing she knew, The Russian Beast was standing in front of her, his huge chest heaving. He was breathing hard. But not with exertion.
    No, he looked nothing but angry. Nostrils flaring in and out as he held out his hand and said to her, “Come.”
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    “ C ome ,” he said to her.
    And she found herself taking his hand and letting him pull her to her feet. In a daze, the siren followed the beast out to the street and into the back of a cab.
    Inside the car, she clung to his large hand with both of hers. But his face remained unreadable, no emotion to be found about what had just happened or what he had done. She watched him watch nothing but the passing scenery as the cab took them through the congested streets of Athens, into the historical neighborhood of Plaka. Above them, the Acropolis was lit up like a shining beacon to tourists everywhere. A sure sign, even more than the streets’ strictly engineered switch to neoclassical design, that they were now in a neighborhood she couldn’t possibly afford.
    That had been one of the first things she’d learned when she’d finally used the passport she’d gotten after graduating from high school. When she’d finally followed through with her plans to get out of Greenlee County, spurred on by her brother’s tragic death. Anything too close to a tourist site or with a decent view was out of her price range.
    But apparently that wasn’t the case for The Russian Beast. Her mouth dropped open when the cab deposited them outside a hotel that looked like an ancient Greek palace made new. This definitely wasn’t any kind of student hostel situation. In fact, the hotel boasted columns so high, she could barely see their tops, even when she bent her head all the way back.
    No, this place was definitely out of her price range. But she followed him through the middle set of columns anyway.
    Inside she could feel the stares of the other hotel guests, and couldn’t help but feel self-conscious in her skimpy ring girl outfit. She also became keenly aware of her face, which had to be sporting a black eye if the pulsing pain coming off of it was any indication.
    However the hotel employees were nothing but deferential to The Russian Beast, inclining their heads as they said, “ Kalispéra , Mr. Rustanov.” Good evening, Mr. Rustanov. So she guessed Rustanov was his last name, not Beast. Though why he’d asked if she knew it, she had no idea. Was she supposed to know that name? Was he famous?
    She didn’t understand. Any of it.
    After a short elevator ride, they finally arrived at a door made of a rich, dark wood. She braced herself, but was still overcome with the opulence of the hotel room, which made her fully understand the term “presidential suite” for the first time. The room—which was more like a full-on apartment, in her opinion—had a front room fit for a statesman, with luxurious leather furniture, heavy carpets, and a dining table that could easily seat six. Beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, she could see a balcony with a hot tub and…
    Her eyes widened. Was that a private swimming pool? Yes, it was. And in the distance, the Acropolis shone like a nighttime portrait. Forget price range. This place was out of her imagination’s range.
    A low growl interrupted her blatant gaping. She looked across the huge room to see an insanely large dog with white and black fur standing outside a closed set of sliding doors like a canine sentry. It stared at her with demonic blue eyes, as if it were trying to decide whether or not to kill her.
    “That is Sascha. Siberian husky, wolf mix. Do not try to pet. Not safe.”
    The Russian