Page 104 of Deceitful Vows

Too tired to lie, I remain quiet.

Mars can never take a hint that you want to let bygones be bygones. “Cough it up. Who has your panties in such a mess you don’t want to flash them for 20K for one night’s worth of work?”

My eyes bulge at the mention of potential earnings, but her calculations are a little off. “That’s only 2K.”

She fans the cash I handed her, ruffling her perfect hair. “For my first dance of the night after a three-year stint in the strip circuit. First-timers rake in a fortune. Some pots even go as high as twenty.”

“Thousand?” I double-check.

I’ve been caught out before.

I won’t make that mistake twice.

She hums in agreement. “Melita got close to a new record last month. She was a couple of hundred short.” She flashes a cheeky grin, doubling my interest. “But between you and me, she more than doubled that when she went home with a John wanting a second viewing.”

The longer I remain quiet, the larger Mars’s smile grows.

I’m not shy, not in the slightest, but as often as guilt floods my heart, so does Andrik’s threat.

Don’t test me on six because I can guarantee neither you nor him will survive the outcome.

I tested him last week.

I’ve not heard a peep from Vlad since, and I’ve called him over a hundred times.

So as much as a one-time twirl around a pole could help me replenish the funds stripped from Nikita’s savings after Grampies’s latest health crisis, I don’t give it any true thought… until Gigi’s number pops up on my phone.

With my heart in my throat, I slide my finger across my phone screen and then squash it to my ear. “Gigi, are you okay? It’s late.”

“He’s struggling to breathe. His lips are blue. I tried to call Nikita. She’s not answering. I don’t know what to do.”

I shoot up from my chair, startling Mars. “Have you given him Epinephrine?”

“I can’t. The box is empty.” The rattle of an empty box sounds down the line. “There are no EpiPens left.”

Panic rains down on me before lucidity slips through the cracks. “Hang up and call an ambulance.”

“We can’t afford that.”

“I’ll get the money. I promise you I will. But you need to call them now, Gigi. He needs help you can’t give him. He needsurgentmedical assistance.”

Her sob breaks my heart. She knows as well as I do that Grampies won’t make it if she doesn’t seek medical help immediately. “Ok-okay. I’ll call them now.”

She disconnects our call. I race for the exit just as fast.

“Go,” Lilia says before I can issue her a single excuse to leave early. “I’ll cover your shift.”

She accepts my mouthed thanks with a smile before telling the doorman to hail me a cab.

Disgustingly, I arrive at Gigi’s apartment at the same time as the paramedics. They give Grampies a shot of adrenaline that spikes his heart rate high enough for the monitors at his bedside to alarm. It also helps him breathe.

His color improves drastically as well.

The opposite can be said for Gigi.

“It’s okay,” I promise her after wrapping her up in a tight hug. “We will fix this. We will make it right. Grampies will get better. Look.” I wave my hand at him resting far more peacefully now that his breathing tube isn’t kinked.

I love Gigi with all my heart, but she is a klutz. She meant well wheeling in close to Grampies’s bedside to feed him his supper, but she forgot the tubes of the ECOM machine keeping his lungs primed with oxygen are too fragile to be clamped to his bedrails. They’re draped across the floor—right where she placed the feet of the dining room chair.

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