The Blades of the Borderlands (Epic LitRPG Adventure - Book 11) (Fayroll) by Andrey Vasilyev

Author:Andrey Vasilyev
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: LitHunters Ltd.
Published: 2018-10-16T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

In which the hero keeps getting surprises, and not always the nice ones.

“So what exactly is going on?” Vika asked me, after we entered the Raidion building. They had dropped us off at the main entrance, and there was a commotion in the lounge. Lots of people—from cleaning ladies and security guards to pretty receptionists—were carrying various folders with documents, shredding them in the machines, and exchanging phrases that Vika and I could barely understand, addressed toward men in grey suits who circulated among them.

“June twelfth.”

“September sixth and ninth.”

“Mark May tenth off.”

The guys in suits entered this information into tablets in their hands.

All of this reminded me of the urgent evacuation of one little company that used to rent half a wing of the editorial office. They had been scurrying just like that right before the arrival of the financial crimes enforcement squad, almost tearing the documents down with their teeth, all on edge. And to no avail; they hadn’t managed to cover their tracks, and their CEO together with the chief accountant had left the building in an ugly-looking car filled with cocky sturdy-built agents. Since then, Mammoth had avoided renting out the building. It turned out they had fallen behind on six months of rent, feeding him only promises.

“I don’t like the look of this.” Apparently, Vika had the same thoughts as I did. “We haven’t just become homeless and jobless, have we? I wouldn’t want that.”

“Well, homeless is a bit of a stretch.” I sucked my teeth. “We do have a place to crash.”

“Yeah, and that place is as dirty as an Armenian’s ass,” Vika chuckled. “I do remember our previous visits to your apartment.”

“You are suspiciously knowledgeable about the body hair of men hailing from that Transcaucasian republic.” I was a bit offended. “Are your conclusions theoretical or empirical?”

“Purely theoretical,” Vika assured me and chuckled again. “My sophomore year, I shared a dorm room with a girl who once brought in an Armenian guy. She originally thought him an Italian, and that cheeky devil kept telling her “Si” and “Bellissimo.” As usual, I cleared out of the room, went to visit our neighbors, and in twenty minutes, a real uproar started!”

“Go on.” I loved stories about tricksters and rogues. I was like that myself, and new methods always came in handy. “What happened next?”

“Well! You know!” Vika laughed quietly. “I guess, Marina really wanted him to like her, so he’d take her away to Napoli, or Pisa, or—”

“It’s Pee-za,” I corrected her on autopilot.

“What?” Vika was confused.

“The stress is on the first syllable.” I snapped my fingers. “So..? What then?”

“Yeah,” Vika beamed, dimples on her cheeks. “She was trying so hard, but when he reached culmination, he gave it all away by screaming in Armenian!”

“Huh,” I laughed, too. “Now that was a shock for her!”

“You don’t say!” Vika even waved her hands. “She instantly realized her mistake and threw him out of the room. So, she’s swearing out loud, spitting, and this fake Italian’s running around with a naked ass.

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