Page 83 of Meet Cute or Your Money Back

The app isn’t catching every word of their conversation, but it’s doing pretty well, all things considered.

I strain to listen as the men’s voices drift over. At first, it’s just idle chatter about work and family and sports. But then the tone shifts, growing hushed. I glance down at my phone screen, trying to catch fragments of meaning from the swirling Russian.

“You took care of the body?” the man who helped me asks gruffly.

My blood turns to ice.Body?

“Da,” responds another. “It sleeps with the fishes now.”

“Well, some of it sleeps with the fishes,” another man says. “The other half of it is fed to our dogs.”

A round of sinister chuckles. I glance around nervously,hoping no one notices the sheen of cold sweat on my brow. Who did they kill? Could it be connected to Thatcher and his wife’s mysterious death?

“Drakon will be pleased,” the first man with the beard says.

“I’m surprised he didn’t join us here today. After his long flight.”

“He will. Soon. But he’s got one thing on the mind and that’s avenging his brother.”

Drakon. Brother. Avenge. My heart does a jitterbug of nervous excitement.

I’m so focused on eavesdropping that I don’t notice one of the men detach from the group and lumber toward me. He’s bald and burly, with prison tattoos snaking up his thick arms.

“You,” he barks in English, beady eyes narrowed in suspicion. “What are you doing with that phone?”

Busted. All the men turn to look at me, their dark eyes snagging on me and my cheeks flame hotter than the sauna rocks.

Panic rises in my throat. Think fast, Allie. I swipe out of Google Translate and pull up a text with my sister as I plaster a clueless smile on my face. “Just messaging a friend,” I reply lightly. “Telling her how relaxing this place is. She thinks I’m crazy for coming here alone.” I force out a girlish giggle and wave my phone like a white flag before I scramble to my feet and clutch my robe closed. “See? Girl talk.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Pyotr,” the man with the thumb ring barks. “Leave the poor girl alone to have her steam.”

“Uh, no, I was just, um, I was just heading to check out the next room, anyway,” I stammer.

“Are you afraid of us, ????????”Pyotr says, his voice threatening.

Unbeknownst to me, even if you’ve swiped another tab to be open… Google Translate will still do its job. As I’m holding my phone up to Pyotr, Google translate pops up with a notification at the top: ???????…baby girl.

Pyotr’s beady eyes narrow even more suspiciously onto me. “Are you eavesdropping on us?”

I barely let him get the words fully out before I’m laughing nervously. “Eavesdropping? Do I look like I can speak any language other than English?” I play the dumb American girl card, hoping they buy it.

“You better hope you weren’t listening,” the man from before says, standing now. He’s massive. Towering over me. His entire body covered in tattoos.

I point at the broken chair. “Seriously, guys. I sat on a broken chair,” I titter a laugh. “You think I’m some language savant?”

The man takes a beat to stare at me and even though I want to make a run for it, I can’t just take off. It will look too suspicious. “Well, I’ll leave you boys to it. I’m going to check out the mudroom.” Despite my racing heart, I calmly walk out of the common room and instead of turning into the mudroom, I duck into the supposed sanctuary of the women’s steam room.

Am I safe? Not quite. The room swirls with more than steam—tension thickens the air.

Two women lounge across from me; their conversation a mix of smooth English and accented syllables. One clutches a champagne flute like a scepter, bubbles winking at me mischievously, her slurred words painting her life in broad, sloppy strokes of opulence and naivety.

“Totally untouchable,” she giggles, the sound bouncingoff the tiled walls. “While I’m with Drake, I’m untouchable! And he’s got plans, big ones! He told me.”

“You be careful with Drake,” the other woman says, her Russian accent thick, but her English beautiful. “They don’t call him Drakon for nothing.”

Drakon and Drake… they’re the same person. I really hit the jackpot at this bathhouse. Then again, I’ve never heard of a Russian bathhouse in South Carolina before. So, it would make sense there was a connection to whoever this Russian mobster is.

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