Alien's Bride Book Three by Yamila Abraham Page B

He found himself huddled in the back corner of Zhirov’s cell while the big man stood in a doorway which no longer had a door.
    “They won’t fuck with you while you’re with me.   Quit shitting yourself.”
    Yolkov’s chest trembled so vehemently he had a hard time getting words out.   “Why—why are you protecting me?”
    Zhirov looked back to smile at him.   He smiled more with his eyes than his mouth.   Something about that smile—it made Yolkov’s shivering stop.
    “What can I say?   I’m a sucker for a pretty face.”
    That’s how it began.   Yolkov remembered it sweetly now.   He put all his faith in that wretched criminal, and in the end came out unscathed.   Zhirov still managed to evoke peace inside him even now.   His wretched job, shitty apartment, pathetic wages, horrible divorce—Zhirov could make him forget it all.   He could actually make him look forward to going to work.   Being close to the man was a new craving he’d developed.   He satisfied it in dangerous, idiotic ways like this private dinner.   Fuck the rules.   None of the other guards were saints either.  
    “Okay, beautiful dreamer,” Zhirov said, “why don’t you tell me what you’ve been reading lately?”
    Yolkov’s spirits buoyed.   “A bit of Eugene Onegin.   I’m not committed to rereading the whole book, mind you.”
    Zhirov let that wonderful smile break through his dense beard.   “Ah, yes.   ‘Is he the same or grown more wise?   Still doth the misanthrope appear?   He has returned, say in what guise?   What is his latest character?’”
    Yolkov closed his eyes so Zhirov wouldn’t catch him rolling them back in ecstasy.   Zhirov’s deep voice, the beautiful poetry—it made his flesh tingle.   He took a sip of tea to try and regain his composure.
    “He could be talking about you in that verse,” Yolkov said with forced calm.
    “Da.”
    “Do you know any more?”
    There was a pause that Yolkov would discover later to be meaningful.   Zhirov looked into his eyes.
    “’How oft to the Kara shore, She led me through nocturnal mist, Unto the sounding sea to list, Where Nereids murmur evermore…’”  
    “Crimean shore,” Yolkov corrected, but then was struck by a realization.   His heart began to race. He swallowed and said, “How did you find out?”
    “You think we’re sealed tight in the pit.   Information is like water—it can flow through the smallest gap.”
    Yolkov was at a loss.   He’d been trying to reconnect with this man, and now he’d just betrayed him with a secret.   Any excuse he gave would seem banal.   The reality was he hadn’t thought it through yet.   He didn’t want to tempt Zhirov with something he couldn’t deliver.   He should have given him more consideration—or at the very least, remembered his debt to him.
    “What did you hear?”
    “Not enough.   So tell me like I know nothing.”
    Yolkov drew a deep breath.   “It’s a Corrective Labor Colony—but not like we’ve ever done before.   It’s cleaning up a toxic waste dump on an island in the Kara Sea.   They’re accepting lifers as volunteers for the first time, but only because it’s such horrible shit.   It’s going to sicken the men.   Anyone in low-max is eligible to have their sentence reduced.   You’re not eligible, Zhirov.   Not even the men in medium are eligible.   They won’t allow anyone considered dangerous to volunteer.”
    “I’m no longer dangerous.”
    “You’ve proven this to me, of course, but—“
    “Aleksi.”
    Yolkov felt a sting at the base of his spine that radiated out as a shiver.   Goose pimples rose up on his flesh.   He’d never heard his first name uttered by his friend.
    “Convince them to let me go.   This is the only favor I’ll ever ask of you.”
    Yolkov shuddered out a sigh.  
    He thought of that harrowing week once again.   A man had gotten into the intermediate gate leading to the doors of the pit’s kitchen and