Stranger In Moscow Lyrics Novels & Stories

She took the album and opened it, but when she saw the contents, her expression changed. SLAM! She abruptly closed the album and looked up at Ethan with a cold smile. "Mr. Cross, is this the kind of disgusting memory you wanted me to see?"

We had once walked side by side and loved each other deeply, and in the end, all that was left was two strangers on separate roads. From here on, his torment, his regret, his loneliness had nothing more to do with me. My road, my love, my gaze: everything lay ahead of me, as it always had.

I said. “Where? Should I drive you?” he asked. I snapped my head at him. “Why? You're bored and looking for a plaything to pass the time with?” I asked harshly. His brows creased. “What?” “Listen, Aaron, you don't like me, I get it, stop confusing me. One minute you're nice, the next minute you're shouting at me. Sometimes you make me feel like we are buddies and other times, you remind me that we are nothing but strangers to each other”

I handed it back to him without looking at him. “There,” I said, trying to sound indifferent, as if this was just another regular moment in my day. “I’ll call you,” he promised, his smile almost mischievous as I turned to leave. “And I’m Evan by the way” he called out,But I didn’t feel like I was walking away from a stranger anymore.

This princess is about to have a total meltdown. "No joke. Just relax and give it a few minutes. The doors will open," I say nonchalantly like this is an everyday occurrence, but the fact is this is normal for this place. "What the hell are you talking about? Open the fucking doors," she yells at me, her voice echoing off the walls. "I don't have anything to do with the doors, sweetheart. You're just going to have to chill out." "Are you kidding me? I'm stuck in a stairwell with some rank stranger and you want me to chill out?" She pulls out her phone, I assume in an effort to call someone to come get her.

“You are new.” “Yes. Started tonight.” I leaned forward slightly as I wiped the bar in front of him, giving him a better view of the soft swell of my cleavage. The cold outside had left my skin sensitive; every brush of fabric felt heightened. “Trying to find my way in Moscow. It is colder than I expected.” A faint smirk touched his lips, the first crack in that icy expression. “The cold has a way of testing people. Some break. Some learn to burn hotter to survive it.”

“Where are you going?” “Home” was on my lips, but something entirely different, something that shocked even me, came out. “Moscow.” Had cool and collected Ivan Volkov actually paled at that single word, or was it my overactive imagination? He released my arm, his quiet intensity freezing me to the wet stone. “Moscow,” he repeated slowly, like he’d heard me wrong. I raised a brow. “The capital of Russia? The place I was born? The—” “Zamolchi.” Be quiet. “Why do you want to go to Moscow?”

Russian, sharp and angry. Gunshots ring out. People scream. Moscow didn’t stop for me. It recoiled. Men in long dark coats turn, eyes widening. A woman yanks her daughter close, burying the girl's face in the crook of her neck as I stagger past them, leaving smeared fingerprints of blood on black cashmere. Someone curses. Another crosses himself. Then calls for ‘Police.’ A hand brushes my shoulder. Don’t know whose. I wriggle, trying to break free. “Polegché, muzhík!”

I looked back and didn't see the stranger with the intense eyes again. I sighed with relief as I concentrated on the band, which to my surprise was playing "I'm in the mood for love" by Rod Stewart, a song from 1935. I smiled. It was good to know that I wasn't the only one who appreciated old things. - Running away from someone? - The deep voice sounded in my ear and I jumped a little.

I heard someone screaming that the west side was on fire. “You brought trouble with you again.” The stranger said looking at Viktor “You stayed knowing exactly what this place was.” Vicktor replied. Their eyes locked on each other as years of hatred passed silently between them. “She doesn’t belong in this world and you know that.” The stranger said making my stomach tighten. “She belongs where I decide.” Viktor responded still gripping on me tightly. The possessiveness in his voice was shocking to me that even the stranger noticed my reaction immediately. “You sound just like him now,” he murmured.