Chapter Twenty-Three
People often told me to go to hell. It felt as though I’d arrived early.
Since arriving in London, I’d spent a lot of time noticing the ways that New York and London differed, but I hardly ever took the time to really notice their similarities. I pondered one similarity now, as evening fell and acid streetlights bathed the area in sickly hues. I pulled my car up to the address on Christina’s lease form—or, rather, Tina Priest’s lease form.
The name on the side of the grey-brown high-rise was Mandalay House. It was located less than two miles from the warehouses where I’d found Ruffles. It was an ugly concrete monolith that made my small, unkempt apartment look like Buckingham Palace. The building wasn’t much of an upgrade from the little shelters I’d seen thrown tog
