The God (Bratva Blood #3)- S.R. Jones Page 0,18

our block are another three. They stand in a straight line, one after the other like sentinels.

Why they didn’t place them at angles when they built these places, I don’t understand. The way they line up one after the other for rows of up to ten or more buildings is oppressive. They’re so big compared to us humans, and sometimes I imagine them coming alive, waking from a deep slumber and striding away like giant concrete monsters.

We walk in silence past the small empty parking lots. The wind blows a plastic bag toward me, and I kick it away, but it gets stuck to my shoe, and I try to kick it again, but it doesn’t move. I glance at Dasha, somehow embarrassed by this bag stuck to my foot.

Dasha doesn’t fit here. She looks like one of the Russian Princesses we learned about in history. The Tsar’s daughters. She’s refined and delicate. You don’t see many delicate things around here; they get stamped out, or they turn into something hard in order to survive.

We reach the destination after a five-minute walk. It’s a big old garage that no one seems to use anymore, on a plot of wasteland between yet more huge blocks of apartments. The garage has a light that works inside, and we found an old gas heater and brought it here, which wasn’t too difficult as it had wheels underneath.

We pull the stiff door open, and Abram slips through first. I gesture for Dasha to follow him, and she does. I enter last, and Abram clicks on the light switch as I close the door. We head straight to the heater and put it on. We sit ourselves down on one of the worn mattresses lined up on the floor. These we didn’t bring; they were already here.

To the side of the mattress is an old bureau with many drawers in it. I open the top drawer and take out some rolling paper, a packet of tobacco, and some matches. Methodically I roll two cigarettes. One I pass to Abram, and one I keep.

Lighting his first, I then light mine and take a drag.

“You smoke?” Dasha asks. She sounds worried.

“Yeah, sometimes, why?”

“It’s not good for you,” she says. “My momma told me it’s very bad. It puts gunk into your lungs.”

Then she screws her face up as the smoke reaches her. “You could die early if you keep this up.”

I don’t tell her that we’re all probably headed for an early death. People don’t live long around here. It’s just a fact of life.

“It isn’t good for a fit and healthy body,” she says primly,

I suck in some smoke and blow a perfect smoke ring, and her eyes go wide. “Oh wow; do that again.”

I smirk, liking how impressed she is by me and the things I can do.

“What do you know about being healthy; you’re only little,” Abram says.

“I’m in training,” she announces importantly. “I’m going to be a prima ballerina when I grow up.”

“What’s that?” I ask.

“A lead dancer in the ballet.”

Oh, of course. The ballet. I know what that is; I just hadn’t heard of a prima ballerina before. I don’t like the ballet. It’s weird. Lots of people in odd costumes doing strange things with their arms and legs.

I suppose I don’t like much. I read a lot, and I enjoy drawing, although I kind of suck at it. But I don’t have things I love doing, not like Dasha loves her ballet. Maybe being outdoors? I love being in nature and out of the city. Not that I get to go often. However, on a few occasions either my mother or my uncle have taken me to a park or to the area outside the city where there is grass, trees, and rivers. You can breathe there in a way you can’t here.

There’s a tiny patch of trees nearby, and a small lake, but it’s surrounded by the concrete giants on all sides. Still, if you use your imagination you can pretend you’re in a giant forest. I do that quite often.

“Show me,” Abram says, and for a moment I don’t know what he means. I realize he’s staring at Dasha. “Show me how you dance.”

She shakes her head.

He laughs. “I don’t believe you. You’re not a prima ballerina.”

She scowls at him, tiny but fierce. “Of course not. I said I will be one day, silly.”

“So, show us.” Abram gestures between us.

She sighs, but to my surprise stands. Her arms raise