Though she’d had an extensive tour of the city already, Elena was grateful for the help.
“Make yourself at home, Elena. You can call anytime if you have questions, okay? Doesn’t matter what time.” Sven gave her a hug and handed over his house keys, smiling boyishly. “It’s been great spending time with you. I’m glad you could come before I had to leave.”
“Same!” Elena declared as she opened the front door and held it wide when he picked up his luggage and slid past her through the open portal. “Really, Sven. Thank you for everything. See you soon!”
“Cheers!”
She waved again as he closed his trunk and got in his car, turning to shut the door as he drove away. Now Moscow was all hers.
*
The next few days, Elena stayed close to home. She ran most of her errands early in the day, wanting to be sure to give herself enough time to get home before dark. Now that Sven was gone, she was a little more worried about her safety. It didn’t stop her from venturing out, of course, but she spent a good deal of time looking over her shoulder and thinking about the movie Taken.
But Elena was determined to get over her fears, so she tested her apps, explored a few nearby restaurants and shops, and quickly grew bored with trying to play it safe close to home.
There were still plenty of tourist attractions to see, but she’d be here for three months, so she wasn’t in a hurry. Eventually Elena decided she’d have to find something else to do to keep her busy. She wanted an authentic experience, wanted to get to know Moscow in more than just the superficial sense most tourists did.
A cursory search through blogs for short-term residents of Moscow without work visas revealed that certain types of businesses were sometimes willing to hire workers for cash under the table. Though they were generally paid much less than citizens, it was still possible for desperate foreigners to make a little money if they didn’t mind busting their asses. Elena didn’t need many shifts—a few nights a week, at most. That would give her plenty of time to experience the rest of Moscow in her off-hours.
Neighborhood restaurants and bars were some of the top places the blogs suggested people like Elena might find work. They were less visible than more upscale establishments, and more likely to look the other way where the rules were concerned. A visitor could expect to wash dishes, prep food, make market runs, or tend bar. It wasn’t glamorous, but she’d certainly done it before. Nothing new there, she thought.
A restaurant wouldn’t expose Elena to the people she wanted to meet, though—not if she were stuck in back doing dishes. So she narrowed her search to bars in the surrounding area. As it happened, there was one just a few blocks away.
When in Rome, she told herself as she settled in for the night.
She knew what she was doing was probably ill-advised, but she was excited none the less. Tomorrow, she thought, she’d take a trip down to the local bar and see if she could get hired. The worst they could say was no.
Chapter Three
The bar was lively, even as early as it was. There were so many people milling around Elena couldn’t even see to the back of the room.
A quick survey revealed bottles of liquor on the right wall over what she could only assume was the bar. Setting her internal compass, she pushed into the crowd. She squeezed this way and that, trying to take advantage of small gaps between patrons as they appeared.
The crowd was rowdy, jostling her as she tried to force her way through. She was just working around the edge of a table where four men sat drinking when someone crashed into her from behind, sending her careening into the nearest seated man.
The shot glass that had been halfway to his mouth jerked, clear liquid spilling over the sides onto the table and his lap.
“Heyyyy! What the hell?” the man growled in Russian as he turned to look over his shoulder.
Elena’s stomach dropped. Of all the people to run into, she’d had the misfortune of it being some burly thug who spent way too many hours in the gym. She gave a weak, apologetic smile.
“Excuse me, I’m so sorry!”
She tried to ease around him, but the brute snatched hold of her arm. “Watch where you’re going, bitch! This is best vodka of house. Fucking wasteful.”
This time he hissed at her in broken English, obviously having picked up her accent when she apologized. His eyes flicked over her freely as he held her captive, blatant in his appraisal.
“I think maybe you owe me a drink, da?”
Elena’s eyes widened as she looked around the table at his buddies, uncertain of what to do. Two were watching with amusement, as if they couldn’t wait to see what would happen next. The third, a bigger man than the one holding her arm, didn’t look like he thought the situation was very humorous at all. It wasn’t good.
She froze. The weight of that man’s gaze was so intense she forgot about the fingers digging into her arm. His dark, murky green eyes watched her from beneath a brow marked heavily by worry lines, her first indication that the man was probably always as somber as he looked now. You only got lines like that when you were constantly making the face that inspired them—one of grim disapproval.
He took a deep drag off his cigarette, narrowing his eyes as he snuffed it out in the tray before him. He was already scooting his chair back when his buddy gave Elena a brisk shake.
“I say, you owe me a drink!”
Elena forced her eyes away from the behemoth rising to his feet and back to the one who posed the biggest threat. She nodded reflexively, unwilling to test the mean glint in his eyes. This one was looking for a reason to start trouble, and she wanted none of it.
“Sure,” she said, “of course! I’m really, really sorry. I’ll go get it no—”
“What would your mama say, seeing you handle a woman like so?”
Her head swiveled in the direction of the voice, only to find the smoker now standing at her side. He towered over her by at least a foot, the width of his muscled bulk making it impossible to see beyond him. Her mouth dropped open, a thing she didn’t realize she’d done until his eyes flicked in that direction. She snapped her jaw closed, cheeks heating with embarrassment when the corner of his lip turned up.
In the scruff on his cheek a dimple appeared, nearly hidden by the several days growth of his beard. Irrationally, she wondered if he had a matching pair or if it was just that one, lopsided dimple.
“Hey! Don’t be a dick, Evgeni,” the man holding her arm whined as he released her. “Why you bring my mama into this? I’m only having fun!”
“She’s not having fun, are you, solnyshko?”
Had he just called her sunshine? His voice was like a shot of bourbon, smooth and rich, but everyone knew bourbon burned on the backslide.
“I-It’s okay, really.” She tried to smile, but she got the impression by the way his expression softened that she wasn’t very convincing.
He put a massive hand on her shoulder and cut his eyes toward his friend. “Tourists won’t come if you scare them all away,” he chided. “I get you another, Oleg, da?”
Sulking, the other man waved him off, turning back to the table and his remaining friends. They heckled him in Russian too rapid for her to translate, resulting in a few shoulder punches and someone getting smacked in the back of the head.