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“You have a brother?”
“Big brother, yeah. He’s an asshole though, but maybe it’s better than here.” She lets out a long sigh. “Listen, I don’t mean to be a dick, but can you get me a Pepsi from the machine? I’m thirsty as hell.” She pulls a couple singles from her sock and hands them over.
“You got it,” I say, forcing myself to smile. “Anything else?”
“A million bucks and Prince Charming. Otherwise, just the Pepsi.”
I kiss her cheek and go out the back. The night’s heavy and I pause against the wall outside and stare down at the ground, my heart racing, a heavy, black sorrow in my chest.
Mira’s a good person stuck in a terrible situation. I don’t know what she’s going to do, and it kills me that she can’t see a way out for herself. There’s no future for her, and none for me, either. I tug at my hair and catch my breath, refusing to let myself spiral. At least we’ll be working together the next few days.
I walk toward the vending machines. They’re tucked against the wall outside of the office. I pause as I move through the parking lot and skim the cars like always, a stupid and dangerous habit—when I spot it, tucked at the very far end in the shadows of the big trees.
It’s a black BMW.
My heart races, skips a beat. It’s him. It has to be him. The Velvet Rope isn’t a BMW kind of establishment. Only Maxim would bring that car here.
I drift toward it like I’m caught in a siren-song haze. I shove Mira’s dollars into my pocket, and I step over the curb, down onto the blacktop. I smell fresh leaves and tobacco—someone’s smoking nearby—and my hands start to sweat as I get closer.
Nobody can see me back here. Zarita’s busy counting the cash up front. The bouncers are both watching the rooms. My papa and my brothers aren’t around. I’m alone, and there’s Maxim’s car.
The door opens when I get close, and he steps out.
It’s really him. Maxim’s ice blue eyes seem to shine in the silver moonlight. He looks at me and comes closer, moving around the car. I stop at the bumper and stare into his eyes, not sure what the hell I’m doing.
“They told me not to talk to you,” I say. The words blurt out before I can think better of them. But they’re true at least.
“You don’t seem like you’re good at following orders,” he says, a slight smile on his lips. I know that smile. I remember it from that night.
“No, I guess not. I really shouldn’t be there though. Someone got hurt today.”
He looks toward my lips and his face grimaces. “You?”
I reach up and my fingertips brush along the bruise at the corner of my mouth. “I’m fine. I fought the guy off with a mop. It was mostly my friend Mira.”
“I’m sorry. Aren’t there men here to protect you?”
“They came eventually, but they weren’t fast enough.” I look down at my hands. They’re shaking like leaves. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”
“I’m glad you are.” He moves closer. He’s so big, and I glance at his chest and his arms, and the tattoos sneaking at the edges of his shirt and sleeves. He’s dangerous, and deadly, and I’ll suffer if anyone catches me anywhere near him.
I still don’t turn and walk away like I should.
The memory of him that night is so fresh. I can still taste his skin. I can still feel him between my legs. His tattoos, his mouth, his smell. Everything about him. It’s the last good thing to happen to me since my papa sent me away. He’s still a stranger, and he’s still mafioso—but I feel drawn to him and don’t understand it.
“What are you doing here?” he asks, sounding pained. “Who are you, Siena?”
I shake my head. “I’m nobody.”
“You were somebody that night.”
“That person’s dead and gone. This is who I am now.”
“Siena—”
“Please. I don’t know what I’m doing here. I really should go.” I turn to leave. At least I still have some sense left in my stupid brain, even though that asshole client knocked a fair bit of it from my skull.
He grabs my wrist and doesn’t let me leave. He pulls me back and I suck in a surprised breath. I consider shouting, but that’ll only make things worse. Zarita will blame me, not him, and I can’t risk it.
