When cynical addict Rodion Popov makes a deal with the Devil and wagers his soul, his life takes a turn for the demonically surreal. Thrust into a city of shapeshifting sinners and chaos spirits, he must complete five tasks at the Devil's behest in...
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☨ THE DEVIL COMES TO ANGELOVSK 05: No Rest for the Wrathful ——————————————————
All it took was Shutka's left arm coiled around Rodion's waist and the snap of her right hand and they were tumbling out of Sasha's apartment, into a black blur, and rolling out of a crash landing onto his apartment's dirty floors.
As soon as Shutka retracted her arm, Rodion staggered to his feet and steadied himself on the chair the Devil had sat in that morning. His stomach roiled with nausea wrought by their transportation method, and he heaved once, then twice. A trickle of bile bubbled and burned up his throat on the way out. It plopped onto the floor with a sticky slap beside Shutka, who was clutching the part of her ribs she'd landed on and writhing back and forth like a beetle trapped on its backside.
"You absolute fucking kozyol," she said. Her soft words veered into incoherence with the help of maniacal laughter. "I've never botched an entry that bad–even with a passenger!"
Ignoring her insult, Rodion wiped his mouth and emptied his pockets. He threw Sasha's looted bills onto the table, coughed up the rest of the Devil's untouched stacks and piled them backside up. After the events at Sasha's, that money was as good as blood money. It was stained with droplets of lost trust and gnawing guilt. Rodion didn't want to answer for it anymore. Merely touching it made him want to throw up again.
He turned to Shutka. "Get up."
When she didn't, his patience wore thin. He came over and heaved her up by the back of her upper arm. She looked into his eyes and smirked before she relaxed her muscles and went slack as a rope. Rodion strained to keep her from striking the floor and cracking a bone. He cursed twice for every step it took to get her over to his bed and to lug her on it. The vint's heaviness had indeed set in. Shutka was no more agreeable, or more enjoyable, than a wet cat half-drowned in a sack.
"You think this is funny?" Rodion asked as she continued to fill the cupboard with her wild, piercing laughter. "You think this is all just a joke like your name?"
"Rodya–"
"Don't call me that. Only Sasha gets to call me that."
"Someone's touchy."
"I'm done putting up with your recklessness, that's why."
Shutka sat up and leaned back on her hands. She tilted her chin down and looked through her long lashes, pouting and attempting to guilt him at the same time. Rodion scoffed and turned away to rob her of the satisfaction of seeing his bowed head and averted eyes. Vint turned everyone into the worst, most desperate version of themself. Shutka was too faded to comprehend what it'd done to her or how far it'd lowered her inhibitions.
Realizing that, Rodion dragged a chair over to the bedside. He shed his afghanka and draped it over the chair back before he sat down and countered her manipulation with an equally scheming grin. "Not to mention your secrecy. When were you going to tell me about the deal you lost?"
