Page 11 of Midnight Wedding

I roll my eyes.Poor Vadim. That boy is treated like a damn prince. My older brother can do no wrong. Twenty-six doing nothing but trading crypto online and taking on a series of extremely shady odd jobs. At least he brings in money.

“You’re going to be late if that lazy prick doesn’t get out of bed.”

“It’ll be fine, darling girl. Let me take care of the boys. You go sleep now.”

I frown at her. I hate how frail she looks and how much we still lean on her. If I had my way, she’d do nothing but lounge around and focus on getting better.

If she ever does.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

I kiss her cheek and tell her that I love her. I’d be a liar if I said I weren’t at least a little bit grateful. I have another shift at the club tonight and if I don’t pass out soon, I’m going to be a wreck.

All for something that didn’t happen.

I slip into my room. It’s the smallest in the apartment, but I like it. My little treasures are lined up on my bookshelf: mementos from all the adventures I’ve gone on throughout the city. Like the scrap of leather from the time I broke into an abandoned shoe factory, or the old screwdriver I found in a series of huge drainage pipes I crawled through when I was thirteen, or the chunk of brick from a tunnel a friend of a friend swore was part of the underground railroad.

That was my old life though. I undress and change into fresh pajamas and climb under the blankets. This is my new one. Itake care of Mom, worry about Dad and Vadim, and work. My ass gets pinched and drunk idiots stare at my tits and they leave me good tips, and then I do it all over again.

No exploring. No walking through open doors I know I should never go near. No climbing walls, shimmying through windows, crawling through narrow caves.

No fucking strange, gorgeous men on ruined mattresses.

Just a sick mother and sore ankles.

I stare at the ceiling.

So what if I’m trapped here?

Curiosity never got me anywhere good.

Chapter 4

Arsen

Two Weeks Later

I slouchdown deeper in the driver’s seat of my BMW and stare across the street. Club Shade’s bass thumps and occasionally rattles the windows, and I figure half the people that live on this block hate that goddamn place with a passion.

Not that I blame them. Shade’s about as slimy as clubs get. It’s like some idiot frat boy dreamed up the most cliché space imaginable, made it even worse, added more mirrors and a hands-off policy with regards to what happens in the bathrooms, and then makes it a reality.

“You know what my favorite part of stakeouts is?” Tigran asks.

“The comfortable silences.”

“Coffee.” He raises a paper cup to his lips and sighs. “Endless coffee.”

“You’re an addict.”

“Proudly.”

“You know what my favorite part is?”

His eyebrows raise. “The comfortable silences?”

“No. When they’re over.”

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