Sex, Lies & Nikolai Read Online Free PDF Page A

windows.
    The place looks like it’s in shambles, but it’s a lie. Nikolai is made of money. If his clothes don’t prove it, it’s the brand new Mercedes parked outside of the shop that does. That bloody car doesn’t belong in a place like this, but it’s left untouched despite the carjackers around and it’s obvious why that is.
    No one wants to fuck with Nikolai.
    I know from Ivan’s retelling of his nephew’s situation that I’m supposed to approach Nikolai in the evenings like this. But I find myself wanting to return in the day when I feel safer. The darkness has an edge to it, like anything dangerous is possible. I scan the streets around me just to make sure nobody is watching me.
    I’m hesitant, wondering what it would mean to owe Nikolai money. It would be more pressure, more stress, more worrying over money and how to pay back a debt. I’ve never been in debt before. I’m worried it’s a hole I’ll be digging myself deeper in.
    But I have no choice. I have five dollars in my wallet, an empty fridge, and nothing to feed Scarlett come morning. I’ve been robbed of money and options, and simply put, this is the only quick way I can think of to put me back on track.
    I walk across the street, my head still dizzy, my steps slow. When I make it to the front of the pawn shop, I take a deep breath and walk in.
    There are chairs in the entrance area and they’re almost all taken up by other men. It’s like a waiting room in a doctor’s office, people clock-watching and waiting impatiently for their turn.
    There are two men standing and conversing by the counter filled with watches and rings. I gaze at the jewellery, momentarily fascinated by the sparkling of gold and diamonds. Then I sense their stares and look back at them. They’re looking me up and down, but not in any kind of lustful way, just a mixture of curiosity and weariness. Maybe they think I’m a whore or a junkie. I don’t really care either way.
    I approach them cautiously, standing tall to hide my unease, and say steadily, “I’m here to see Nikolai.”
    The younger one of them with red pimples all over his face smiles at me and gestures to the men seated behind me. “So is everyone else, lapochka.”
    Lapochka. Sweetie pie. Benji calls me that and I hate it.
    I glance over my shoulder at the waiting men, and they’ve taken an interest in me too that I ignore before looking back and asking, “How long do I have to wait?”
    “However long it takes,” the second more solid man replies with a thick accent, looking more intently at me.
    I leave them and take a seat in the last empty chair available and fiddle with my fingers, trying not to feel out of place while almost every man feasts on me with his eyes.
    It’s like being a prey among lions. Fortunately for me, I’m used to the feeling of being unsafe and stared at. So despite wanting nothing more than to get up and leave, desperation has me staying rooted to the chair, waiting for the minutes to pass.
    The pawn shop didn’t seem this large from out front. It’s longer than it is wider, and everything on the shelves and in the glass displays are quality items as opposed to the crappy overpriced shit you find in other pawn shops.
    There are signs on the walls.
    BUY*SELL*LOAN.
    GOLD FOR CASH.
    There’s a rack of fur jackets in one corner, a heap of sleek televisions and phones in another. The entire place looks nice and taken care of. There’s even a pleasant smell in the air. It’s definitely not what I expected.
    With time, the seats begin to empty. With every turn, a man follows the pimply dude to the backroom of the pawn shop and disappears behind a black door. It usually takes ten minutes for every man to come back out, and depending on whether they got what they wanted or not, they’re either happy or upset.
    The man sitting next to me keeps bopping his knee impatiently. He’s wearing sweats, and there’s a pungent smell coming from him that’s overpowering the smell