Chapter Six
The alarm by my bed rang for minutes, not seconds before I slammed my hand against the vibrating appliance, squashing the button into its back, so the sound buzzer ceased to plague the air with its crazed roar. Six-thirty, I saw through one opened sleepy eye. I could call in sick was my first thought, the theme song of all the other excuses for not going to work that traipsed through my brain. Then, of course, it was meeting morning. I don’t show up, Max Gatov would have more ammunition to dismiss me. I ached everywhere, having crashed into bed just four hours before after spending nearly forty-eight at the ruthless hands of my master, Sergei. My initiation. I couldn’t think about that time now, at least not consciously, except that I was sure that the events since the contrac
