Bow in russian

The rain outside and the silent desert road had made Irina close her eyes in an attempt to sleep but also to avoid the disgusting scenario outside. Trees, branches, shrubbery and… dirt. Every kilometer the car went by seemed to leave behind a trail of dirt and mud. If it had been for her, she’d have never put a foot inside the car but her boyfriend Timofey had been so insistent about going camping that he actually managed to convince her father about the “wonders and relaxing time” nature promised. The truth is that Viggo probably wanted her daughter away so he could have a reunion with guests that weren’t desirable around his princess. But the mob boss wasn’t going to let her free like that. He liked the young boy but not enough to picture his daughter getting too close to him. So there went the bodyguard too, driver of the car, who seemed to be having a fun time talking to Timofey in the back seat. If only the two men would just shut up. 

It was how he spent many weekend mornings when the responsibility or dreariness of a ghost town got to be too much. He’d been expecting today to go by just like any other day. Quiet, long, and slow. There had been a bit of a dry spell since the last round of tourists had come through, so the main focus had just been keeping the town up and running.

He was currently sitting with his elbow on his knee, resting his chin in his palm and staring out at nothing in particular, just listening to the recording of a funeral long since past. He was so long in thought he didn’t hear the normal creaking of the old wooden church door and nearly jumped out of his skin when a loud, demanding voice broke the silence.

“Hey! Could any of you turn their head to look at us? We are stuck in this pigsty town and we need help”

Bo turned slowly, lips already pulled into a scowl. He stood from his spot on the pew quickly and walked towards her, trying to intimidate her out of the church. “I don’t know who the hell you think you are, darlin’, but there’s a funeral goin’ on. What the fuck do you think you’re doin’ just barging in like that?”

Large and intimidating seemed to be the role he was going with this time, as opposed to the usual angry but repentant. She hasn’t reacted like anyone he’d ever met to walking into a church service, and it was intriguing. His oceanic eyes trailed over her form and he trailed his tongue over his teeth in thought, sparing a glance to the larger man behind her who hadn’t yet said a word.

“Sorry, Sir”, he spoke. “I know we are an interruption here and we wouldn’t have entered this church if we weren’t in an emergency situation. Our car, it got stuck in that wash road, have you seen it? Maybe you know someone who can help us move forwards?”, the man lowered his voice as he talked to Bo, trying to seem more respectful than his boss’ daughter. 

“And ask for a fucking umbrella”, Irina clenched her molars behind him; her luxurious clothes were dripping wet, creating a tiny puddle in the spot she was. 

The bodyguard glanced nervously behind, he couldn’t disobey the Russian princess but he was sure people wanted them out of the church immediately. 

“Is that so hard?”, she huffed. “HEY, ANYONE BROUGHT AN UMBRELLA?!”, like a bull, she was ready to charge against any of the figures seating on the pews but the bodyguard stopped her with a hand on the pit of her stomach. It was as gentle as possible, merely touching her but it was enough for her to roll her eyes. “Fine. But next time you touch me with dirty hands, I’ll have them cut off”. 

He glanced around, wincing as he realized there was no umbrella in the church building. There hadn’t been a need for one. “Terribly sorry, darlin’, but it don’t look like we got an umbrella. If you’ll step outside, I’d be happy t’ give ya’ a ride up t’ the station. I should have one there,” he glanced back up to the other man. “She can wait there while you and I head up t’ see what I can do about your car, If that’s alright?”

“We’re gonna get in that thing?”, she asked, mostly to herself but still perfectly audible.

“I’m afraid we have no more options, miss”, the bodyguard told her wishing her tone of voice didn’t make the helper regret accepting to do something for them. The man gave a step forwards before going inside the pick up truck. “Excuse us, Sir, we have been terribly rude. Maybe let me introduce myself: I’m Alek and I’m her guardian.  An she’s…”, the man turned to the Russian but the woman just arched an eyebrow.

“I’m someone who wants to get the fuck out of here. If you keep wasting time under this shitty rain, I’ll get a cold”.

The bodyguard inhaled deep, turning to Bo again. “I can’t leave her alone in the gas station. It’s my responsibility to keep an eye on her at all times.”

“That thing, as ya’ call it, is your way out o’ the rain. I wouldn’t diss it too much if I was you.” he scowled, bumping her shoulder the smallest bit as he passed. He shot an obviously fake smile at the bodyguard. “It’s a pleasure, I’m sure,” he drawled, raising an eyebrow. “I’m Bo,” he turned to glance at the girl, “and I don’t really care who you are. I hope you get a cold.”

He shrugged, looking to Alek. “Well, I mean, If it’s an order and all…” He wasn’t sure who this Timofey was but hoped he was less hard to put up with than the girl. He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to put up with two of them.

The trip to the gas station was shorter than she thought. Alek was very reluctant about leaving the blonde in the middle of nowhere but she inisted again. When the two men drove away, she started inspecting the station. The gasoline smell was disgusting and she was sure it was the same smell that fucker had on him. She looked at both sides of the street. No one in sight. With the roaring storm, it wasn't hard to suppose everybody was seeking shelter inside their homes, however, that didn't make the town less intimidating under the darkening effects of the sunset.

Irina looked down. Her clothes were totally spoiled and she ressembled a wet poodle in pink. "Great", she huffed and walked inside the station, realizing the task would take a while for Alek to be back soon.

She scanned the place, walking around. Tools, some cans and empty food packages, a vintage radio. She chuckled as she traced her fingers along the buttons, then pressed play.

You cut off all of your fingers

Trade them in for dollar bills

Really? At least that fucker had a taste for music. If only her father knew how she'd dance and bounce around at club parties, entirely drunk, to songs like that one. Maybe mixed up with a bit of trap music as well. Oh, a nice drink sounded perfectly at the moment. She started swinging her hips, turning the sound louder and throwing some cans around. Nothing but beer. It was too much to ask for. Then she noticed a shirt and something like a baseball cup. Carefully, she smelled them and, to her surprise, they looked clean. "You'll be useful for something", she said and started undressing, taking then the shirt to change into dry clothes. It was long enough to cover her down her skinny thighs and it wans't appealing at all for her. But she couldn't stand the cold wetness any more. She hesitated for a second as Marilyn Manson's song went on but she put the cup on. "I don't really care who you are", she imitated him with an even higher pitched voice.

The rain outside and the silent desert road had made Irina close her eyes in an attempt to sleep but also to avoid the disgusting scenario outside. Trees, branches, shrubbery and… dirt. Every kilometer the car went by seemed to leave behind a trail of dirt and mud. If it had been for her, she’d have never put a foot inside the car but her boyfriend Timofey had been so insistent about going camping that he actually managed to convince her father about the “wonders and relaxing time” nature promised. The truth is that Viggo probably wanted her daughter away so he could have a reunion with guests that weren’t desirable around his princess. But the mob boss wasn’t going to let her free like that. He liked the young boy but not enough to picture his daughter getting too close to him. So there went the bodyguard too, driver of the car, who seemed to be having a fun time talking to Timofey in the back seat. If only the two men would just shut up. 

It was how he spent many weekend mornings when the responsibility or dreariness of a ghost town got to be too much. He’d been expecting today to go by just like any other day. Quiet, long, and slow. There had been a bit of a dry spell since the last round of tourists had come through, so the main focus had just been keeping the town up and running.

He was currently sitting with his elbow on his knee, resting his chin in his palm and staring out at nothing in particular, just listening to the recording of a funeral long since past. He was so long in thought he didn’t hear the normal creaking of the old wooden church door and nearly jumped out of his skin when a loud, demanding voice broke the silence.

“Hey! Could any of you turn their head to look at us? We are stuck in this pigsty town and we need help”

Bo turned slowly, lips already pulled into a scowl. He stood from his spot on the pew quickly and walked towards her, trying to intimidate her out of the church. “I don’t know who the hell you think you are, darlin’, but there’s a funeral goin’ on. What the fuck do you think you’re doin’ just barging in like that?”

Large and intimidating seemed to be the role he was going with this time, as opposed to the usual angry but repentant. She hasn’t reacted like anyone he’d ever met to walking into a church service, and it was intriguing. His oceanic eyes trailed over her form and he trailed his tongue over his teeth in thought, sparing a glance to the larger man behind her who hadn’t yet said a word.

“Sorry, Sir”, he spoke. “I know we are an interruption here and we wouldn’t have entered this church if we weren’t in an emergency situation. Our car, it got stuck in that wash road, have you seen it? Maybe you know someone who can help us move forwards?”, the man lowered his voice as he talked to Bo, trying to seem more respectful than his boss’ daughter. 

“And ask for a fucking umbrella”, Irina clenched her molars behind him; her luxurious clothes were dripping wet, creating a tiny puddle in the spot she was. 

The bodyguard glanced nervously behind, he couldn’t disobey the Russian princess but he was sure people wanted them out of the church immediately. 

“Is that so hard?”, she huffed. “HEY, ANYONE BROUGHT AN UMBRELLA?!”, like a bull, she was ready to charge against any of the figures seating on the pews but the bodyguard stopped her with a hand on the pit of her stomach. It was as gentle as possible, merely touching her but it was enough for her to roll her eyes. “Fine. But next time you touch me with dirty hands, I’ll have them cut off”. 

He glanced around, wincing as he realized there was no umbrella in the church building. There hadn’t been a need for one. “Terribly sorry, darlin’, but it don’t look like we got an umbrella. If you’ll step outside, I’d be happy t’ give ya’ a ride up t’ the station. I should have one there,” he glanced back up to the other man. “She can wait there while you and I head up t’ see what I can do about your car, If that’s alright?”

“We’re gonna get in that thing?”, she asked, mostly to herself but still perfectly audible.

“I’m afraid we have no more options, miss”, the bodyguard told her wishing her tone of voice didn’t make the helper regret accepting to do something for them. The man gave a step forwards before going inside the pick up truck. “Excuse us, Sir, we have been terribly rude. Maybe let me introduce myself: I’m Alek and I’m her guardian.  An she’s...”, the man turned to the Russian but the woman just arched an eyebrow.

“I’m someone who wants to get the fuck out of here. If you keep wasting time under this shitty rain, I’ll get a cold”.

The bodyguard inhaled deep, turning to Bo again. “I can’t leave her alone in the gas station. It’s my responsibility to keep an eye on her at all times.”

“Sure you don’t wanna buy one of these?”, Timofey asked the Russian princess. 

“Let me see, a 2 dollars mask that’s probably made with plastic and other cheap materials and has been tried on by many of these fuckers. No, thank you”, she huffed in response, adopting her usual crossed-arms pose that reflected she was done with this Halloween party in the center of the city. 

“Come on, Irina, you are not even wearing a costume. Maybe get one of this,  look, you can be a hot zombie girl”, her boyfriend insisted, moving the mask in the air to try and convince her. 

“Touch me with that and I’ll make you eat it, Timofey”, she barked at him. “Where are the others?”

“Well…, they said you were… in a very special mood so they decided to go around the carnival on their own. They are probably doing the Dark Ride”. 

“Cool. So we can get the fuck out of here”.

Before the young man was able to stop her, she signed the two bodyguards who were watching her from a few meters away. Irina was clear in her orders: they were expected to guard her to the bathroom and wait for her outside. 

She damned herself for having to pee in this nasty hole. Used to the maids keeping her bathroom perfectly clean at the Tarasov mansion, the constrast with this place was simply horrendous and she had to pinch her nose to stand the disgusting smell coming out of one of the tiolets.

While washing her hands, a notification rang on her phone: 

[message from Pup]: I’m at the Dark Ride with the rest. 

[message from Slut #1]: Too scared to come with us? Even Timofey is here

Irina huffed again. She considered leaving with the bodyguards and going back to her comfy bed but she wasn’t going to let her ‘friend’ start talking shit about how much of a coward she was. 

She looked around. There wasn’t any paper to dry her hands. Great. She tried to fix her outfit looking in the mirror but from how dirty the glass was, the expensive pink skirt and pink top weren’t even recognizable. Annoyed, she left the bathroom just to stumble across a person in black. She looked up: the man was extremely tall and he was wearing a mask. One of the 2 dollar ones? 

“Move, you freak”, she barked at him, pushing at his stomach to pass him by. 

Once with the bodyguards again, she notified them the change of plans. God, how she hated having these babysitters. But her father would never let her out without them. Luckily, once at the Dark Ride, they didn’t get to hop into one of the train wagons. She looked around, trying to locate Timofey and the rest. Where the fuck were they? 

The person in charge of introducing the Ride was starting his speech and she couldn’t locate them. It was when it finished that she spotted the group outside, clearly laughing, and her stomach turned into a tight knot at the mere thought of them having pranked her to get into one of these repulsive wagons. 

Irina was about to leave but before she could stand up, a person sat down next to her on the left passenger seat. She looked up to see their face and if things couldn’t get any worse, she found the mask of the bathroom freak. 

Then the security bar dropped and the train started to move into the haunted house. How was she supposed to get down? 

Well, too bad she didn’t listen to the instructions speech. 

@chr0meskull​

He stopped near the bathrooms, taking his time to just carefully wash off a bit of scum from his gloves, and scout out the women who always seemed to linger around in lines, waiting desperately to retire from their dates or relieve themselves. As he was about to step away, continuing his scouting and looking to see if anyone seemed to fit the bill, a Barbie in their pinkest came right in front of him, nearly stomping on his foot with her pretty little heels. Bingo. If it wasn’t obvious from her attitude and the way she carried herself, she definitely looked like the type of girl that men would pay thousands of dollars to see suffering from their own avarice.

As she stormed off, he began mentally evaluating everything that was happening around her, first with her bodyguards, and then looking around to see if she had friends. When it was obvious that they weren’t as invested in spending time with her, as any run of the mill teenagers seemed to behave, he took the opportunity to make himself right at home next to her in the ride.

Monsters, ghosts and hanging bats came one after the other never seeming to scare her. What truly was anxiety provoking was the bastard seating at her side. He had had to do it on purpose. She grabbed her phone once more: 

[message to Pup]: I’ll chop your balls and make you eat them. 

[message from Pup]:  just try and have fun

[message to Pup]: Yeah, it’s hilarious being here with this fucker next to me 

[message to Pup]: I’m having the time of my life

[message from Pup]: Lol ♥

The Russian huffed, throwing the pinkish phone back into her purse. The gaze from the man was burning through the mask. 

The rain outside and the silent desert road had made Irina close her eyes in an attempt to sleep but also to avoid the disgusting scenario outside. Trees, branches, shrubbery and… dirt. Every kilometer the car went by seemed to leave behind a trail of dirt and mud. If it had been for her, she’d have never put a foot inside the car but her boyfriend Timofey had been so insistent about going camping that he actually managed to convince her father about the “wonders and relaxing time” nature promised. The truth is that Viggo probably wanted her daughter away so he could have a reunion with guests that weren’t desirable around his princess. But the mob boss wasn’t going to let her free like that. He liked the young boy but not enough to picture his daughter getting too close to him. So there went the bodyguard too, driver of the car, who seemed to be having a fun time talking to Timofey in the back seat. If only the two men would just shut up. 

It was how he spent many weekend mornings when the responsibility or dreariness of a ghost town got to be too much. He’d been expecting today to go by just like any other day. Quiet, long, and slow. There had been a bit of a dry spell since the last round of tourists had come through, so the main focus had just been keeping the town up and running.

He was currently sitting with his elbow on his knee, resting his chin in his palm and staring out at nothing in particular, just listening to the recording of a funeral long since past. He was so long in thought he didn’t hear the normal creaking of the old wooden church door and nearly jumped out of his skin when a loud, demanding voice broke the silence.

“Hey! Could any of you turn their head to look at us? We are stuck in this pigsty town and we need help”

Bo turned slowly, lips already pulled into a scowl. He stood from his spot on the pew quickly and walked towards her, trying to intimidate her out of the church. “I don’t know who the hell you think you are, darlin’, but there’s a funeral goin’ on. What the fuck do you think you’re doin’ just barging in like that?”

Large and intimidating seemed to be the role he was going with this time, as opposed to the usual angry but repentant. She hasn’t reacted like anyone he’d ever met to walking into a church service, and it was intriguing. His oceanic eyes trailed over her form and he trailed his tongue over his teeth in thought, sparing a glance to the larger man behind her who hadn’t yet said a word.

“Sorry, Sir”, he spoke. “I know we are an interruption here and we wouldn’t have entered this church if we weren’t in an emergency situation. Our car, it got stuck in that wash road, have you seen it? Maybe you know someone who can help us move forwards?”, the man lowered his voice as he talked to Bo, trying to seem more respectful than his boss’ daughter. 

“And ask for a fucking umbrella”, Irina clenched her molars behind him; her luxurious clothes were dripping wet, creating a tiny puddle in the spot she was. 

The bodyguard glanced nervously behind, he couldn’t disobey the Russian princess but he was sure people wanted them out of the church immediately. 

“Is that so hard?”, she huffed. “HEY, ANYONE BROUGHT AN UMBRELLA?!”, like a bull, she was ready to charge against any of the figures seating on the pews but the bodyguard stopped her with a hand on the pit of her stomach. It was as gentle as possible, merely touching her but it was enough for her to roll her eyes. “Fine. But next time you touch me with dirty hands, I’ll have them cut off”. 

He was sipping a mug of coffee while reading the morning newspaper as the young woman trod through the door step, setting a disappointed look on his face immediately. She seemed to realize this, setting to work on excuses and pointless babbling. Sometimes he hated the girl, for fucks sake. “Yes, you were very careless. Do you even realize how much danger you were put in by trying to disappear into the crowd?” He chastised with a fatherly tone he didn’t quite know he had, paternal instincts mixing with body guard wit.

“There are many horrible people out there, irina, ones who will take and exploit you for their own personal gain. Your fathers name often does not fall into polite ears. Many he has pissed off.” He was curt, short, and less than favorable. Now was not the time for pleasantries. He then shit up about it though, exhausting himself for no reason as he saw her expression. She wasn’t listening. She never did. “Good. I will be around should you require my assistance.” He nodded, Parker back up in his face to conclude that he was done with the conversation whether she was or not. He sipped again the rich decadent coffee, black as he liked it so.

Irina went to the bedroom to wait for her new clothes and, in the meantime, she made the pertinent calls. 20 friends. 20 friends, including her boyfriend, that were supposed to come home that night for a party. Of course she didn’t tell John. He would have said no. 

A few hours later, the bodyguard came back and the pile of shopping bags was delivered to her room by the maid. “Where’s John?”, she barks at her. 

“Downstairs, Miss”, the maid hurries to say. 

“Go tell him that I require his presence”. 

He was sipping a mug of coffee while reading the morning newspaper as the young woman trod through the door step, setting a disappointed look on his face immediately. She seemed to realize this, setting to work on excuses and pointless babbling. Sometimes he hated the girl, for fucks sake. “Yes, you were very careless. Do you even realize how much danger you were put in by trying to disappear into the crowd?” He chastised with a fatherly tone he didn’t quite know he had, paternal instincts mixing with body guard wit.

“There are many horrible people out there, irina, ones who will take and exploit you for their own personal gain. Your fathers name often does not fall into polite ears. Many he has pissed off.” He was curt, short, and less than favorable. Now was not the time for pleasantries. He then shit up about it though, exhausting himself for no reason as he saw her expression. She wasn’t listening. She never did. “Good. I will be around should you require my assistance.” He nodded, Parker back up in his face to conclude that he was done with the conversation whether she was or not. He sipped again the rich decadent coffee, black as he liked it so.

It was calming, the way he moved his fingers along the piano, the way he talked, low and with no trail of high pitched sounds like she used in her speech. Irina breathed, deeply, like she hadn’t done in a very long time and moved her eyes from John’s head to toe. What was happening? 

Without asking for permission, she sat back again in the edge of the chair, sharing the seat with him. Then she tried. Starting from past the middle of the waltz, everything went harmonically, and then the end. Her pulse was beating with nervousness but she breathed again and looking out of the corner of her eye at John, she counted out loud. “One two three, and one two bu-bum”, she mocked him and, surprisingly, it came out well. “Oh”, she whispered to herself. The Russian didn’t want to look directly at John, no when he was right, no when he helped her, so she put the casing down again and stood up. 

“Very well then, we have a pianist gunman”, she commented at him not to give him any sort of credit but somehow the way her voice trembled a bit was a way to say thank you. “ANTONIA!”, she screeched, getting back in brat character to forget about the situation. 

A maid came downstairs almost running. “Yes, miss?” 

“What happened to my fur coat?” 

“I still couldn’t clean the stain like you wanted. The fabric is hard to work on”. 

Irina huffed. “Sometimes I wonder why my father even cared to bring you here.” 

“I’m sorry”; the maid looked down, apologetic. 

“I have nothing to wear tonight”, Irina spoke at John truly believing in what she was saying when her personal wardrobe was filled to the top with 100k dollars worth of clothing. “So... we’re going shopping”.  

He was sipping a mug of coffee while reading the morning newspaper as the young woman trod through the door step, setting a disappointed look on his face immediately. She seemed to realize this, setting to work on excuses and pointless babbling. Sometimes he hated the girl, for fucks sake. “Yes, you were very careless. Do you even realize how much danger you were put in by trying to disappear into the crowd?” He chastised with a fatherly tone he didn’t quite know he had, paternal instincts mixing with body guard wit.

“There are many horrible people out there, irina, ones who will take and exploit you for their own personal gain. Your fathers name often does not fall into polite ears. Many he has pissed off.” He was curt, short, and less than favorable. Now was not the time for pleasantries. He then shit up about it though, exhausting himself for no reason as he saw her expression. She wasn’t listening. She never did. “Good. I will be around should you require my assistance.” He nodded, Parker back up in his face to conclude that he was done with the conversation whether she was or not. He sipped again the rich decadent coffee, black as he liked it so.

By the time the water was inside the cup with the coffee, she had already made a disaster over the counter with sugar and stains of brown everywhere. Irina didn’t seem to mind, though, she was actually proud of herself for making the beverage she wanted. Closing the distance to the bodyguard, she cleared her throat smiling and taking a seat in front of him, almost as she was showing off the product of her ‘work’. 

Smiling some more, she took a sip. God, it was horrible. No human could have made a simple coffee taste extra sweet and extra burnt at the same time. But she wasn’t going to say a word about it. Instead, she forced herself to swallow it and commented: “tasty”. Then she checked her watch. Twenty minutes for the assigned piano professor to come. 

By the time the man arrived, she was already waiting in the living room where the instrument was located. The teacher was old enough to be slow and exasperating but somehow he was the only one who could stand her to preserve his job and many times Viggo had to consider if he was actually deaf and pretending to invent corrections on what he listened. But the thing was, even if she had no discipline, she was quite good at playing the piano and when she did, she was calmer, more down to earth.

Problem was that after the lesson was over, she had to practice a combination of keys that required too much speed and precision. It was the end of the song. The rest was beautifully played but that ending wasn’t coming off as she wanted. So Irina stood there, trying to make use of the tiny bit of dedication she had and tried and tried and tried till her fingers felt numb and her patience was over. She slammed the piano cover down and huffed, leaning over it to rest her head. Her stomach was still upset but the frustration was bigger. 

The moment she turned around, she yelped at the sight of John. How long had he been there? 

“What?”, she asked, moody. 

Irina Tarasov x Bo Sinclair @vetreaux​

The cold breeze coming in through the window made her rub her arms, crossing them over her chest. She wasn’t dressed for the weather. Although expensive, the Dolce&Gabban pink tulle skirt and the matching pinkish top with fluffy short-sleeves weren’t protecting her from goosebumps. She huffed. They had been travelling along the desert road for an hour already and it was starting to feel exasperating. 

  His truck’s gasket head had blown previously on a drive out to Baton Rouge for a supply pick up. Rendering the automobile useless. On a newer model he could manage another two weeks of mileage–but his Ford-150’s cylinder wouldn’t be able to handle the damage; so he was indisposed without a proper vehicle for the drive. 

  If that wasn’t enough to spoil his mood, the garage gate bruising the back of his skull was. The hinges were old and rusted shut, once he sprayed some W40 to lubricate the bolts it closed suddenly behind, abruptly knocking him to his knees. A golf ball sized knot under the surface of his scalp. The injury itself wasn’t worth the risk of a hospital visit, the last thing he needed was a background check considering he was a convicted felon with firearms held up in his parent’s house. Having innocent strangers swing by the museum was one thing; the authorities another. 

  Groaning as he pressed a freshly iced beer bottle against the knot, a loud banging from upstairs worsened his affliction. Wincing as the noise rattled his already sore head, he hoisted his sawed off shotgun from the toolbox nearby. The echo of Doc Martins stomping up the concrete stairwell within the station alerted Irina that someone was approaching. Once he made his way to the gate and the noise paused briefly; he hid in the darker area of the room to inspect the late-night intrusion. 

  Bo’s bushy brows furrowed as he noticed the lady outside, arms crossed with an irritated expression. She looked young enough to be his niece, though was dressed like a wealthy city slicker. She was accompanied by a taller man in a black suit and tie, with an ear piece hanging loosely on his collar. Bo wiped the sweat from his forehead as he moved from the shadows, leaning onto the window panel by shoulder and tucking his firearm behind his thigh as the Orleans stud came face to face with the duchess of a distant concrete jungle. 

  He was dressed down for once, no longer in uniform. Stunning a gray wife-beater and lounge pants that hung loosely from his waist. His hair was still slick from sweat as he had yet to shower. He couldn’t remotely muster a charming façade as he was in so much pain. 

Irina’s jaw dropped. She was used to people treating her with major respect and even fear, especcially when she was in a bad mood. Definitely startled by the fact that this man in this dirty town dared to raise his voice at her but never the one to lower her head, she put her shoe back on and with an obvious smile of disgust, she replied: “Sorry, the sign was so dirty I couldn’t make my eyes understand what it says behind all that dust”. 

Guiding the Russian back to the car, he subtly glanced at her from time to time. Yes, she clearly looked like a chihuahua, a demonic one who was clenching her molars so hard, he was sure it was audible. He offered her his suit jacket to cover her clothes but she disregarded it, it was already late and she was too heated for the thick fabric.

It was hard to go back to the car. Picking the woman in his arms again with the rain pouring and with the washout travesy was a nightmare despite how phisycally trained he was.

Must of had another nightmare, though he couldn’t recall. Bo hasn’t remembered a singular slumber of peace since he was a prepubescent boy; of course that along with his imagination died shortly after his parents left his brothers to fend for themselves. If memory served correctly; the night they were admitted to foster care was the wake of his sleeping dread. He awoke abruptly to his twin in tears as Bo twisted and turned aggressively hitting himself along with the wall in his sleep. He was always a rough kid to put down at night, eventually the insomnia gave way and he finally began to obtain more than just five hours of sleep. Though as he gets older, his hibernation is extended.

Moments after he arose, he could hear faint yelling outside. Sighing from disappointment that the brat and her lackey had returned for further assistance. He was hoping they would of just left, as he wasn’t serious in helping. Though he thought this a perfect opportunity to stretch his legs and exert some pent up frustration.

"Sir, could you help us now? We are already arriving late to our destination, I hope you understand. We have a Chrysler 300. It needs new engine cords".

"You take care of that shit", she said to the bodyguard. "I have to use the bathroom. And don't you tell me it's closed cuz I'm not having that shit again", she yelled at Bo, passing by him pushing his arm with her shoulder on purpose.

Now where was the bathroom in this nasty station?

Irina Tarasov x Bo Sinclair @vetreaux​

The cold breeze coming in through the window made her rub her arms, crossing them over her chest. She wasn’t dressed for the weather. Although expensive, the Dolce&Gabban pink tulle skirt and the matching pinkish top with fluffy short-sleeves weren’t protecting her from goosebumps. She huffed. They had been travelling along the desert road for an hour already and it was starting to feel exasperating. 

  His truck’s gasket head had blown previously on a drive out to Baton Rouge for a supply pick up. Rendering the automobile useless. On a newer model he could manage another two weeks of mileage–but his Ford-150’s cylinder wouldn’t be able to handle the damage; so he was indisposed without a proper vehicle for the drive. 

  If that wasn’t enough to spoil his mood, the garage gate bruising the back of his skull was. The hinges were old and rusted shut, once he sprayed some W40 to lubricate the bolts it closed suddenly behind, abruptly knocking him to his knees. A golf ball sized knot under the surface of his scalp. The injury itself wasn’t worth the risk of a hospital visit, the last thing he needed was a background check considering he was a convicted felon with firearms held up in his parent’s house. Having innocent strangers swing by the museum was one thing; the authorities another. 

  Groaning as he pressed a freshly iced beer bottle against the knot, a loud banging from upstairs worsened his affliction. Wincing as the noise rattled his already sore head, he hoisted his sawed off shotgun from the toolbox nearby. The echo of Doc Martins stomping up the concrete stairwell within the station alerted Irina that someone was approaching. Once he made his way to the gate and the noise paused briefly; he hid in the darker area of the room to inspect the late-night intrusion. 

  Bo’s bushy brows furrowed as he noticed the lady outside, arms crossed with an irritated expression. She looked young enough to be his niece, though was dressed like a wealthy city slicker. She was accompanied by a taller man in a black suit and tie, with an ear piece hanging loosely on his collar. Bo wiped the sweat from his forehead as he moved from the shadows, leaning onto the window panel by shoulder and tucking his firearm behind his thigh as the Orleans stud came face to face with the duchess of a distant concrete jungle. 

  He was dressed down for once, no longer in uniform. Stunning a gray wife-beater and lounge pants that hung loosely from his waist. His hair was still slick from sweat as he had yet to shower. He couldn’t remotely muster a charming façade as he was in so much pain. 

Irina’s jaw dropped. She was used to people treating her with major respect and even fear, especcially when she was in a bad mood. Definitely startled by the fact that this man in this dirty town dared to raise his voice at her but never the one to lower her head, she put her shoe back on and with an obvious smile of disgust, she replied: “Sorry, the sign was so dirty I couldn’t make my eyes understand what it says behind all that dust”. 

Guiding the Russian back to the car, he subtly glanced at her from time to time. Yes, she clearly looked like a chihuahua, a demonic one who was clenching her molars so hard, he was sure it was audible. He offered her his suit jacket to cover her clothes but she disregarded it, it was already late and she was too heated for the thick fabric.

It was hard to go back to the car. Picking the woman in his arms again with the rain pouring and with the washout travesy was a nightmare despite how phisycally trained he was.

Irina Tarasov x Bo Sinclair @vetreaux​

The cold breeze coming in through the window made her rub her arms, crossing them over her chest. She wasn’t dressed for the weather. Although expensive, the Dolce&Gabban pink tulle skirt and the matching pinkish top with fluffy short-sleeves weren’t protecting her from goosebumps. She huffed. They had been travelling along the desert road for an hour already and it was starting to feel exasperating. 

  His truck’s gasket head had blown previously on a drive out to Baton Rouge for a supply pick up. Rendering the automobile useless. On a newer model he could manage another two weeks of mileage–but his Ford-150’s cylinder wouldn’t be able to handle the damage; so he was indisposed without a proper vehicle for the drive. 

  If that wasn’t enough to spoil his mood, the garage gate bruising the back of his skull was. The hinges were old and rusted shut, once he sprayed some W40 to lubricate the bolts it closed suddenly behind, abruptly knocking him to his knees. A golf ball sized knot under the surface of his scalp. The injury itself wasn’t worth the risk of a hospital visit, the last thing he needed was a background check considering he was a convicted felon with firearms held up in his parent’s house. Having innocent strangers swing by the museum was one thing; the authorities another. 

  Groaning as he pressed a freshly iced beer bottle against the knot, a loud banging from upstairs worsened his affliction. Wincing as the noise rattled his already sore head, he hoisted his sawed off shotgun from the toolbox nearby. The echo of Doc Martins stomping up the concrete stairwell within the station alerted Irina that someone was approaching. Once he made his way to the gate and the noise paused briefly; he hid in the darker area of the room to inspect the late-night intrusion. 

  Bo’s bushy brows furrowed as he noticed the lady outside, arms crossed with an irritated expression. She looked young enough to be his niece, though was dressed like a wealthy city slicker. She was accompanied by a taller man in a black suit and tie, with an ear piece hanging loosely on his collar. Bo wiped the sweat from his forehead as he moved from the shadows, leaning onto the window panel by shoulder and tucking his firearm behind his thigh as the Orleans stud came face to face with the duchess of a distant concrete jungle. 

  He was dressed down for once, no longer in uniform. Stunning a gray wife-beater and lounge pants that hung loosely from his waist. His hair was still slick from sweat as he had yet to shower. He couldn’t remotely muster a charming façade as he was in so much pain. 

Irina’s jaw dropped. She was used to people treating her with major respect and even fear, especcially when she was in a bad mood. Definitely startled by the fact that this man in this dirty town dared to raise his voice at her but never the one to lower her head, she put her shoe back on and with an obvious smile of disgust, she replied: “Sorry, the sign was so dirty I couldn’t make my eyes understand what it says behind all that dust”. 

Irina Tarasov x Bo Sinclair @vetreaux​

The cold breeze coming in through the window made her rub her arms, crossing them over her chest. She wasn’t dressed for the weather. Although expensive, the Dolce&Gabban pink tulle skirt and the matching pinkish top with fluffy short-sleeves weren’t protecting her from goosebumps. She huffed. They had been travelling along the desert road for an hour already and it was starting to feel exasperating. 

  His truck’s gasket head had blown previously on a drive out to Baton Rouge for a supply pick up. Rendering the automobile useless. On a newer model he could manage another two weeks of mileage–but his Ford-150’s cylinder wouldn’t be able to handle the damage; so he was indisposed without a proper vehicle for the drive. 

  If that wasn’t enough to spoil his mood, the garage gate bruising the back of his skull was. The hinges were old and rusted shut, once he sprayed some W40 to lubricate the bolts it closed suddenly behind, abruptly knocking him to his knees. A golf ball sized knot under the surface of his scalp. The injury itself wasn’t worth the risk of a hospital visit, the last thing he needed was a background check considering he was a convicted felon with firearms held up in his parent’s house. Having innocent strangers swing by the museum was one thing; the authorities another. 

  Groaning as he pressed a freshly iced beer bottle against the knot, a loud banging from upstairs worsened his affliction. Wincing as the noise rattled his already sore head, he hoisted his sawed off shotgun from the toolbox nearby. The echo of Doc Martins stomping up the concrete stairwell within the station alerted Irina that someone was approaching. Once he made his way to the gate and the noise paused briefly; he hid in the darker area of the room to inspect the late-night intrusion. 

  Bo’s bushy brows furrowed as he noticed the lady outside, arms crossed with an irritated expression. She looked young enough to be his niece, though was dressed like a wealthy city slicker. She was accompanied by a taller man in a black suit and tie, with an ear piece hanging loosely on his collar. Bo wiped the sweat from his forehead as he moved from the shadows, leaning onto the window panel by shoulder and tucking his firearm behind his thigh as the Orleans stud came face to face with the duchess of a distant concrete jungle. 

  He was dressed down for once, no longer in uniform. Stunning a gray wife-beater and lounge pants that hung loosely from his waist. His hair was still slick from sweat as he had yet to shower. He couldn’t remotely muster a charming façade as he was in so much pain. 

Irina’s jaw dropped. She was used to people treating her with major respect and even fear, especcially when she was in a bad mood. Definitely startled by the fact that this man in this dirty town dared to raise his voice at her but never the one to lower her head, she put her shoe back on and with an obvious smile of disgust, she replied: “Sorry, the sign was so dirty I couldn’t make my eyes understand what it says behind all that dust”.