But a sudden thought gives me pause.
Esme doesn’t know about Budimir.
She doesn’t know that he’s after me—and by extension, after her.
Which begs the question… who is she escaping from?
A few people glance at my bare feet as I walk past them, but I ignore the stares and keep going.
It isn’t until I’ve walked out of the park, down a few alleys, and fifteen minutes into the heart of L.A. that I realize I don’t actually know where I’m going.
After all, who do I have left to run to?
I try and shake the morbid thought from my head. But it refuses to budge. My stomach roils with hunger and my body aches as it withdraws from the drugs that have been pumped into my system since I collapsed in the Bratva safehouse.
I know I need to get off the streets as fast as possible, but my head keeps
