Page 1 of City Of Thieves
Prologue
Tatiana
Five Years Ago...
How quickly a charmedlife can turn to rust.
That’s what I keep thinking as I lie here on the floor of my father’s office, messing up the chic weave of his Tabriz carpet, my face half in shadow, and my heart a cheap locket left out in the rain.
Before tonight, I was living a white lie. My father had a penthouse apartment in Manhattan with a doorman who granted wishes like the genie from Aladdin. I went to the best school with the bitchiest in-crowd, where I never had to straighten my crown because there were always a million eager hands to do it for me.
The dark side of the moon has a bigger surface area than you think...
My eighteenth birthday was meant to be fun. My friends and I were planning to hit up my favorite sushi bar and then party at a club on Tenth Avenue until our pretty little blisters hurt. I had Dad’s AmEx Black in my pocket. The future was uncharted waters, but we were diving in anyway.
Then, I met a monster. A charming, beautiful monster, but I didn’t see his claws until it was too late. He insisted on driving me home. My parents were in D.C., and Seb was out getting lit again. It meant there was no one to hear my screams when he dragged me into a room where “choice” didn’t exist, and the word “no” wasn’t heard, no matter how many times I pleaded it. His rough hands held me down to keep me silent. He crushed my chest until I couldn't breathe.
Now, there’s nothing left of me.
Worse.
What could be worse than this?
I check off the contenders.
I could be watching my parents take their last breath.
I could be switching off Seb’s life support machine.
I could be dying of some horrible disease that’s eating me from the inside out.
But pain is all relative, right? Besides, my monstersays his revenge always hurts.
I must have blacked out again. When I come around, the clock on the wall reads one a.m.
Tick.
Hello, endless night.
Tock.
I know he’s still here. Watching me. Amused by what he’s done to me. He’s leaning against the far wall, smoking a foreign cigarette that smells of gasoline and victory.
Don’t move, Tatiana. Play dead. It’s easy because your soul’s already a tomb. He killed it the moment his touch turned to violence.
My eyes start to wander. I find myself staring at a piece of artwork hanging above my father’s desk.A senator’s desk, he called it on his first day in office, another wave of shame smothering me.
The painting is an abstract depiction of hell, but all I see is a girl lost in the orange flames—screaming out for someone to hear her… See her…
Save her.
Time passes, and I think about random stuff. Like the fact that I haven’t done my history assignment, and it’s due tomorrow.
I have school tomorrow.
School means questions.
Pointing.
