One Month Later
I puke my guts out so hard I feel like my back’s going to break.
“Fuck,” I groan when I’m done.
Lately, I’m like one of those freaking vomit dinosaurs from Jurassic Park just spewing my guts up.
Every morning like clockwork for the last week it’s like this.
But as quickly as the nausea hits, it’s gone. I clean myself up and head into the kitchen where Mom’s waiting with coffee. “Got sick again?” she asks.
“I’m fine.” I kiss her cheek. “How are you feeling?”
“Good as always.” She smiles at me and pats my hand. “You should see a doctor.”
“Can’t do it.”
“We have insurance.”
“There are copays. We can’t afford copays.”
“Baby—”
“No, Momma, I’m fine.” I kiss her again. “Want something to eat?”
She shakes her head and we bicker a little about that. She’s so darn thin lately and I know her latest round of treatment has been really rough, but she needs to keep her strength up.
“You two hens clucking at each other again?” Vadim strolls into the room and kisses Mom’s cheek. “When will you give it a rest?”
“Someone’s got to look out for her.”
“I’m fine,” Mom says, waving me off. “How are you today, big baby?”
“I wish you’d stop calling me that,” Vadim mumbles. He fusses with his dark hair in a mirror and rubs at his beard. My brother’s a lot of things, but at least he takes pride in his appearance. Two gold chains glitter over a dark t-shirt, and I can’t help but wonder where he gets the money to afford this stuff, considering how much he doesn’t contribute to the family.
“You’ll always be my big baby and you are my little one.” She rubs my arm. “Now, I’ll have toast, but only if you promise to see a doctor.”
I grind my teeth. “Really, Mom—”
“You still puking?” Vadim snorts and shakes his head as he makes himself a protein shake. “I bet you’re fucking pregnant.”
“God forbid,” Mom says, glaring at him. “Don’t even say something like that.”
“I’m just kidding.” He grins at me. “Gotta find a guy willing to kiss your ugly mug to get pregnant first.”
I throw a coaster at him, which he dodges gracefully, and throws it right back. It smacks me in the face. “Funny coming from the guy still living with his parents.”
“You live here too.”
“But you’re five years older than me.”
“I’m helping out around here.”
“Really? Could’ve fooled me.”
“I do more for this family every single day—”
“Enough,” Mom says, throwing up her hands. “Do you two need to bicker all the time?”
We both glare at each other, but we shut our mouths. I head into the kitchen and start making her toast as she puts on glasses and reads the paper on her tablet.
“She’s thin,” I tell him quietly. “I don’t like it.”
Vadim’s face goes serious. “I know. I hate it too.”
“Help me make her eat, okay?”
“You know she feels terrible.”
“But she needs to anyway. Help me, please? She listens to you.”
My brother leans back against the counter and nods slowly. “I’ll try, but you know her. The second I say something, she’ll have a dozen excuses and suddenly she’s trying to cook for me.”
“Yeah, I know. She wants to feel useful.”
We lapse into silence as the toast cooks. Mom’s silently reading, her lips tugged down into a frown. I’m not sure why she still looks at the paper—it always just makes her upset. But she insists on being a knowledgeable member of society no matter what. Too many immigrants exist in their own little bubbles, she always says. Too many ignore the world and focus on their homelands.
“Seriously, what’s up with you?” Vadim asks, nudging me with an elbow. “You said it was just acid reflux.”
“I know. I have to get some of that Prilosec stuff.”
“Need money?”
I snort and wave him away. “Like you have any.”
“I’ve got stuff cooking.”
“I’m fine. Thanks though.” I finish the toast and look at him. “You want me to make you something?”
He grins. My older brother’s a lot of things, but he can be charming sometimes. “Nah, I’m good.”
Club Shade’s too damn loud. My head’s pounding after an hour of running drinks. Two drunk guys are shouting their order into my ear and one leans in close enough to put a hand on my ass.
The fucker. I gently extract it, but he puts it there again. He’s leering at me, but so far, he’s already given me fifty bucks in tips.
“Vodka tonic,” he screams over the music. “And your number.”
“I’ll be back with that drink.”
“And the number!” This time, he straight up palms my left butt cheek while his friend gawks, practically swaying on his feet.
I take the hand off my ass and return it to the drunk idiot. “If you touch me again, I’m going to break a bottle and shove it straight up your fucking rectum, do you hear me? You’ll shit blood until you expire in your own filth.”
His mouth drops open and I walk away before he can say anything.
That was probably a little too graphic and not a smart move, but I feel like crap and I’m tired of taking it from these grabby dickweeds. Not everyone that comes to this club tries to sexually harass the staff, but some of them definitely do.
I swear, the owner practically invites these people. He’s my age, only twenty years old, a loudmouth named Saro that thinks it’s cool to flaunt his guns and his money. Shade’s one of the worst-run businesses in the world, and yet it still manages to turn a profit every month, almost like money’s getting funneled in here from somewhere else.
Not my problem. I mean, I’m definitely curious, but not my problem.
I order the drinks at the bar and give myself a little break while they’re made. The place is crowded tonight with the usual crowd. Young people out for a good time, hustlers looking for a mark, girls looking for husbands, addicts and dealers looking for a score. Shade’s decorated like a crypto bro’s fever dream ideal of a Euro group sex club. Lots of glitter, lots of mirrors, and sticky stinking floors.
“You’re looking a little pale!” Enrico the bartender shouts as he plops the drinks on my tray. “You good tonight?”
“I’m fine,” I tell him, getting sick of defending myself. But he’s right. I’m sweaty and shaky, and I can feel myself fighting against the need to evacuate my stomach contents yet again.
I carry the drinks over to my customers but they’re not at the high top anymore. I dump the drinks there and catch sight of a cigarette floating in a martini glass stained with red lipstick, and that sends me over the edge. I don’t even know why, but my stomach twists, and I have to basically run toward the back of the building.
The bathrooms in Shade are hell. Seriously, they’re the worst place in the world. The stalls are only cleaned once a day and basically anything goes inside of them. I can’t guess how many blowjobs have happened on those disgusting toilets or how many girls have ridden drunk morons right there on the toilet seat, and I don’t want to know. Instead, I bang into the Staff Only door and spring into the boss’s private office.
He’s never here, thank God, but he’s got his own little powder room. I slam the door, lock it, and proceed to lose it for the next few minutes.
I’m covered in a sheen of sweat when I finish. I have no idea what’s happening with me. I want to splash water on my face, but that’ll only ruin my makeup. Instead, I fan myself with paper towels and lean up against the wall.
Mom’s right. I need to see a doctor. But what Vadim said starts to bother me.
I know he was joking—but what if he’s right?
I haven’t had sex since that night with Arsen, and I haven’t seen him around the building since.
We weren’t careful though, and what if I really did get pregnant?
I push the thought away. No way in hell is that happening. Mom’s my focus right now, and I’m not letting myself get distracted by some stupid what-ifs.
Instead, I remind myself why I put up with this horrible job—money, Mom’s cancer—and slip out of the bathroom.
The thing about Saro’s office is it’s in the very back of the building. The music’s not as loud and he’s got his own exit into the alley right outside in the hall. The door’s open and light spills in from outside. Cool spring air blows against the little hairs on my arms. I’ve never actually seen this door open before, and my God, I should just head back to the dance floor and start slinging overpriced alcohol some more.
But it’s an open door I’ve never explored, and there’s no way in hell I can resist it.
I creep over, paying attention in case Saro or one of his cronies shows up. I don’t feel like getting yelled at tonight, not after spewing my face off. I look out at a dumpster and some indistinct graffiti sprayed on the wall, probably Saro’s gang tag or something equally stupid. I poke my head out, just wanting to get a feel for what’s going on—
And stare at two men, their backs to me, both of them holding guns as Saro cowers on the ground in front of them.
I freeze. Cold terror fills my bones.
The look on Saro’s face is horrifying.
His eyes are wide and his mouth is trembling and he looks like he wants to start crying. I’ve never seen anyone look so pathetic and scared before in my life and it shatters my heart and sends icicles clawing down my spine.
I need to run. I need to run.
But voices hit me, and I stay where I am.
“…we’re finishing what you started. You understand that, cousin?”
“Please, Arsen,” Saro croaks, tears running down his face. “I didn’t mean anything. The family was at war and I thought—”
“You thought you’d steal what’s rightfully mine.”
I can’t move. I can’t breathe.
That name.
That voice.
His wide shoulders and lean, muscular physique. The way he holds himself like he’s about to spring into motion.
That night comes back to me. His hands on my body, his tongue in my mouth, his dick between my legs. His smirk as he tugged me closer against him and bent down to whisper in my ear. “I’m not done with you yet, my thief.”
“It’s not like that. I just wanted something for myself.”
“Shut the fuck up, Saro,” the other man says. “You and your idiots killed two of our guys and muscled onto our territory. You know what has to happen.”
“We can make a deal. Please, I’ll join you against Uncle Garen.”
Arsen’s chuckle is low and deadly. It sends a knot of pure, frozen fear into my guts. I think I might throw up again, except I don’t know how to make myself move.
“And trust a traitor? Sorry, cousin. I don’t think so.”
Saro lets out a low, pathetic moan—and then he looks at me.
Maybe I made a noise. I can’t even say. I’m barely in control of my body. My knees are shaking and my cheeks are numb. But Saro looks straight into my eyes and his face brightens, almost like he thinks there’s a chance he can get out of this—
A gunshot hammers into his skull and his head explodes into a pink mist. The stone wall behind him gets splattered with gore.
Whatever he thought, whatever he felt, it’s gone now.
Arsen’s gun smokes as I back away. One step. Another step.
Then he turns. His eyes fall on mine. There’s a blackness in his gaze, a void of emotion. He just killed a man in cold blood and there’s no feeling, no reaction at all. Only mild surprise at seeing me there.
“Who the fuck is that?” the other guy asks.
I turn and run.
My legs start working. I speed into the club, going as fast as I can. Arsen saw me. He saw me. He knows. He knows. I witnessed a murder. I saw my one-night stand kill someone. He knows!
My brain’s screaming with gibbering cosmic horror as I shove my way through the crowd. I think Enrico calls after me but I can’t even respond right now. I have to get out, I have to get away.
Saro’s dead. His corpse is in the alley right now.
“Oh god, oh god, oh god,” I say as I burst out the front door and spring away from the club. I run and run and run, speeding past people, ignoring anyone that calls out. I go and go and go, lungs burning and legs heavy, until I spot a bus nearby. I don’t even know where it’s taking me. I get on, swipe my card, and collapse onto the seat.
I ride the bus for a while, huddled in on myself, until I feel safe enough to cry.
