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Outwardly, I show no sign that the comment means a thing to me. My history with the quarterback for the Emerald City Cyclones is not common knowledge. But Conner has no shortage of admirers. It’s likely he’s never thought twice about that old drama.
In fact, I’d prefer if he didn’t.
“Do you mind if I, um, stick around here?” Sophie asks the question so meekly. She chews on a pink painted nail and sighs. “Jared is in Vegas until tomorrow and he said I could come along but then he left without me and it sucks being all alone.”
I don’t say what I’m thinking, which is that she ought to enjoy every minute that shithead is across state lines. “Hang out as long as you want. If the commotion in the club gets on your nerves, feel free to kick back here in the office. Fiona has the key.”
Sophie exhales and smiles, as if she genuinely feared that I’d tell her to take a hike. It’s hard to believe I’m only a year older than her. There are times when she seems about as sophisticated as a high school freshman.
Another twinge of sympathy strikes as I take one last look at Sophie happily packing up her cosmetic case. It really is unfair how she gets used as a pawn.
Then again, lots of shit is unfair.
It’s just the cost of living.
I wait until we’re halfway down the hall before nudging Fiona, keeping my voice low. “Try to stop her from drinking too much. You know how she gets. Make sure she gets home okay. That damn cousin of mine doesn’t even bother to give her basic security. Her father would have a fit if he knew.”
“Will do. Relax. There’s more than enough backup to fend off trouble. Right, Andrei?”
The big man keeping silent watch in the shadows at the end of the bar hears his name above the pulse of music and swivels his head. He raises a beefy hand in acknowledgement and returns to staring at a sloppy quartet of aging frat bro types who are having trouble staying in their chairs.
With one finger I make a slicing motion across my neck as a signal. It’s time to cut that crew off from the bar.
Andrei touches a hand to his brow, his way of saying he’s already got a handle on the situation.
A former foot soldier in my father’s entourage, Andrei was reassigned after being shot in the right knee, acquiring a pronounced limp. He’s been here since I received the keys to this place as a gift for my twenty-first birthday. I’ll never know the details about what he used to do for my father and I don’t need them. All I need to know about the people on my payroll is that they are trustworthy and do what I ask.
“Have fun.” Fiona pushes me to the door.
Pausing, I make a quick visual assessment. A large group pours through the entrance, men and women both. They are college aged, bubbling with carefree laughter. They eagerly flash their ID’s at the door.
Up on the narrow stage, a new set is about to begin. Jerica, a crowd favorite, sashays to the pole and wiggles her ass before taking a spin. I always hate being reminded of how I participate in a system where women’s bodies are cheap entertainment.
Too bad. I can be silently unhappy all I want. But I cannot leave. There are reasons.
“You’ll see me back here before closing.” A reasonable assumption. The wedding reception can’t last until two a.m.
Fiona crosses her arms to show her disapproval. “I hope not. You deserve a night off.”
I think my last mini vacation from the club was a bout with the stomach flu two years ago. My apartment is across the street in a renovated tenement building that’s now a family owned property. It’s a bed to crash in and nothing more.
When I hesitate, Fiona gives me one final push out the door. “Slay, ice queen.”
Funny. I’m no kind of queen, ice or otherwise. My nicknames range from ‘That Marchenko Bitch’ to ‘Wicked Witch of the East Side’. Won’t hear me complaining. In this world, a bad reputation is far superior to a weak one.
“Call if you run into any trouble.”
She props her hands on her hips. “You know I will.”
Two disheveled men standing on the nearest street corner pause their conversation and gawk at the sight of me decked out in all my golden bridesmaid glory. With a wary eye on them, I reach into the folds of my purse and bend my fingers around the loaded handgun inside. My father has long since given up on the idea of saddling me with a bodyguard everywhere I go. If my cousins are allowed to move freely without a fucking chaperone then so am I.
A shrill wolf whistle pierces the air and the men laugh. I show the middle finger of my free hand before ducking into my car. An onslaught of sudden nerves is leaving me restless. Uneasy. Agitated and overheated.
The outside temperature is mild, perhaps even a little cool for a spring evening in Em City, but I max out the car’s air conditioning before navigating my way out of the narrow, twisting streets of the east side.
Normally I wear my antisocial attitude like a badge of honor. Today I have to set it aside. Tess is my friend and this is her wedding day. It’s a privilege to stand beside her. Anyway, a few hours of good behavior won’t kill me.
City traffic is light, leaving a comfortable time slot for a detour to the west of downtown, where the concrete urban jungle gives way to greener landscapes. From here it’s possible to glimpse the decadence of snobbish West Emerald, land of golf courses and high gates and insufferable self-importance. The affluent town of my childhood is a collage of distant memories, nothing more. This is as close as I’m willing to get.
