Page 46 of Luka

I came here most nights after that, sneaking out with a full bottle of vodka I’d bring back half empty the next morning. I was a fucking mess, barely any better than my brother currently is, but I had the excuse of youth on my side. And it led to the best thing about this dreadful city, theonlygood thing about this city.

This is the spot where I met Arseni.

He was barely a man—nineteen. He’d been living in the tunnels beneath Vegas for a little over a year at that point after being booted from the foster system.

I don’t know how he found this place or even how he got here, but that night he wasn’t looking for a peaceful place to lay his head. He was looking to die.

Hearing his footsteps coming up the path, I’d moved out of sight and watched him trudge up to the cliff, the moon reflecting his glassy eyes, illuminating the tears on his cheeks. I watched him in amazement, my head tilted, squinting to make out his broken expression.

Tears have always fascinated me, mainly because in my world they aren’t allowed. Not even the women in my household were permitted to cry. As children, we were beaten if we dared, and Mila and I seemed to get our emotions collected at an early age. Leo’s demons could never be beaten out of him. Heisthe demon. But it never stopped my father from trying.

So as I watched the stranger freely shed his tears, I did so in amazement. And when he jumped from the cliff, the uncertainty etched into his wrinkled face, I couldn’t help but come closer to get a better look at his body hurtling toward the water. My chest had tightened as I heard the splash and tightened further when he didn’t surface after a few moments.

Something tugged deep inside of me. I felt my heart beat faster, my ears thudding with the rhythm of it. Without much thought, I climbed down lower and dove in after the man I later learned was named Arseni.

And the rest is history. I got him a job, an apartment, helped him clean up his hair, build his scrawny body into something that could intimidate. Taught him how to shoot, how tokill. He became the brother to me that I could never be to my own blood, and though I told myself I trusted no one, I knew he was my one weakness.

All this time, I believed Arseni was my soft spot. I believed I jumped into that lake that night because, somehow, I knew he was the only person I’d meet that was worth anything.

But, tonight, I’m questioning it.

What if I didn’t jump into the lake to save a drowning man, but instead, I jumped in so I could drown him myself? More slowly, over a period of years, by dragging him down and freezing him with the same icy chill that characterizes my mother. What if I only keep him around to demand his loyalty I refuse to give to anyone else?

What if I amjustlikeher?

Hypocritical. Vindictive. Cold. Manipulative. Deceitful. Demanding of loyalty and honor while showing none in return.

My mother takes and she takes and she takes and demands and demands and demands, yet givesnothing.

What if I am the same?

Lucia’s words are so painfully stuck in my head, I would lodge them out with a fucking crowbar if I thought it would work.

Because if you accurately judged yourself for who you are and the things you do to those you’re supposed to love the most, you wouldn’t be able to sleep at night.

She doesn't know me. She doesn’t know my history, my brain, my heart—black as it may be. But still, when I humor her and step back, I’m uneasy.

Arseni is who I care for the most. And I’m still convinced I’d slit his throat if it came to it, if it was between him and me.

Why do I feel like there’s something wrong with that?

An engine sounds at my back, causing me to turn toward the headlights blinding me. A car I don’t recognize speeds next to mine, dust billowing from the tires as it grinds to a halt.

I squint at the vehicle, bringing my hand to my brow to shield the dust from my eyes.

Arseni jumps out and sprints toward me.

“Why aren’t you answering your fucking phone?!”

I feel my pocket on impulse but know I intentionally left it in the car.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, throat shrinking.

Lucia.

This must be about Lucia.

“Fuck, Luka, she got away!”

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