Page 21 of Broken Sins (Volkov Bratva 3)

She takes a brief pause from giggling hysterically to scoop her dog up into her arms. “He’s just excited to see you, isn’t he?” she coos. “Just like his momma!” She kisses him between the ears.

“A little help?” I say.

“Oh! Yeah, sorry.” She extends a hand down and pulls me to my feet. Then, keeping my hand squeezed in hers, she leads me over to the kitchen. “Lemme get you some wine!”

She’s got her long blonde hair half straightened already, with the other half still held back by a pink hair clip until she gets to it. Pretty much her entire body is on display, since she’s only wearing a lacy blue bralette and a leather black skirt that barely covers her ass.

“Tell me that’s not what you’re wearing,” I say with a motherly sigh that’s way beyond my years.

She points the wineglass in her hand at me. “Stop it right now, missy,” she warns. “I want Fun Milly out tonight. Save your moralizing for a weekday.”

“It’s Friday,” I point out. “That is a weekday.”

“Doesn’t count! Friday is for fun. That’s why they both start with F.”

I can’t say that her logic is exactly airtight, but her irrepressible energy is awfully hard to resist. Better to just go with the flow.

I sigh again, drop my bag to the ground, and collapse into a footstool. “School is kicking my ass,” I whine.

“None of that either.” She sets an alarmingly full wineglass down in front of me.

“Then what am I going to talk about?”

She doesn’t hesitate to answer. “Fun! Parties! Boys! Drinking! Drugs! Music! You know, normal people stuff.”

“I can’t decide which one of those sounds least fun.”

She gives me the finger as she disappears into the bathroom of her small apartment. I hear the blow dryer kick on. A moment later, she yells, “Can you turn up the music?”

Still sulking a little bit, I go over to the speakers and turn the music up, even though it’s already loud enough for me to feel my teeth rattling every time the bass hits. I turn back around and eye my wineglass.

I’m at a little bit of a crossroads here. I can either be normal Milly, and bitch and moan about everything all night long.

Or I can do what Anastasia wants me to do: cut loose, have fun, forget about my cares for a while.

My mom’s voice from our phone call earlier is playing in my head.She’s a twenty-two-year-old girl. That’s what twenty-two-year-olds do.

Maybe, for just one night, I can relax.

I grab the wineglass and chug the whole thing in one go.

Fun Milly. Yeah, I can do that.

* * *

Two hours later, I’m way past drunk and charting a crash course for wasted. We’re in an elevator on our way up to a hotel room at the Ritz. At least I’m pretty sure it’s the Ritz. Maybe it’s the Four Seasons? I don’t know. Doesn’t really matter. Hotel, shmotel.

Anton and Matvei have been blowing up my phone with texts at regular thirty-minute intervals. They’ve been following me around from party to party all night, though they’re staying parked outside, per my strict orders. But that was as good of a compromise as I could wrangle out of them. They said that if I don’t respond to every single one of their every-thirty-minutes texts promptly, they’ll come kick the door down.Yeah, yeah, yeah,I told them,whatever, sounds good.

I hit “Send” on a text to Anton that says “I’mj hyere i’am safey don’t wrry bout me xx.” Boom, flawless.

“Milly!” Anastasia squeals. She pulls me close in a tight hug and presses her cheek against mine. “C’mere, you bad bitch, let’s take a selfie.” The elevator we’re in is mirrored on all sides. Anastasia aims her phone at the ceiling, at the wall, at the floor, and we take a billion selfies from every angle.

“Ew,” I say as we review them. “I look like a sausage.”

“You look like a fuckingqueen!” Anastasia corrects.

After I threw back the glass of wine at her place, it was pretty much the Anastasia Show. She dressed me up in black leather pants that lace up the sides all the way from ankle to hip, so it is immediately obvious to anyone who cares to look that I’m not wearing any underwear. For a top, she tied something about the size of a white bandana around my neck. It barely covers my nipples, but according to her, that’s by design. My makeup is dark, smoky, alluring. It’s a lot, but even I have to admit that it’s expertly done.

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