13. Luka
13
LUKA
M y legs dangle over the cliff as I stare up at the stars so bright, they make me hate the city that hides them.
It’s beautiful out here by the lake. Tranquil. The only place that gives me even a glimpse of home, though I deeply miss the snow. The way the pond would freeze in the winter. Clumsily skating around with a hockey stick tight in my small hands is one of my fondest and earlier memories.
I can’t remember exactly how I found this spot. I was too drunk to be driving, and too solemn to be standing so close to a cliff, but the moment I saw the narrow path jutting off the back road, I knew I was meant to take it. I drove the path up to this spot and felt as if I’d found the first place my mind could quiet since leaving Russia.
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, the only good 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. He is the 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 to kill . 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 am just like her ?
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 gives nothing .
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!”
She got away .
What?
Despite the panic taking hold, I calmly stand and cross my arms over my chest while Arseni yanks at his hair, his eyes wide with anxiety.
“I’m sorry,” he says, emotion filling his voice. “I’m so sorry, I?—”
I hold up a hand to stop him. “ When ?”
“Thirty minutes ago. I sped straight here as soon as I could get a car.” Arseni comes closer, as if there’s anyone else out here to hear us. “Luka, it’s bad . She has this fucking cartel brand on her hip. I think we took one of their whores. If she got to a phone and told them our names…”
A cartel brand.
My eyes close as Leo’s warning comes into my mind, along with my own intuition telling me something wasn’t right. I didn’t listen.
Fear prickles my arms, the back of my neck, my shoulders, but I fight the urge to shudder for Arseni’s sake.
It’s even worse than he thinks it is. He doesn’t realize she was a virgin when she came to us. That we defiled her. That she offered me her father’s money, painted him as some rich businessman in Mexico. She didn’t even technically lie. “ He owns many different establishments, including a few high-end resorts, a horse ranch, and a chain of pharmacies…” Pharmacies equals drug operations. How the fuck did I not see that before?
No, it’s much worse than he believes. We didn’t kidnap one of their whores. We kidnapped their princess .
“ Relax ,” I say, my voice deceptively calm. “She was running away from the cartel when she bumped into us. She isn’t going to call them. And I have an idea of where she’s going.”
“You do?” His eyes bug. “Where?”
“Her boyfriend she told us about has friends in Boise, so I bet she thinks he’s there… We need to split up, so I’ll search Las Vegas, and you start toward Idaho. If you can’t find her in the next twenty-four hours, ditch your phone and keep going north. I’ll meet you in Vancouver next Sunday.”
“Shit.” Arseni brings his hands to his hair, hope draining from his face along with the color.
“It’s not going to come to that,” I lie. They could be on their way right now. We need to get north as soon as possible, but considering I’m the one who deflowered her, it’s better for Arseni if he isn’t found with me. Plus, I do know where she’s going. My fucking brother told her where to go. It just seems unlikely that we aren’t too late.
Fucking cartels . What fucking luck.
“Could Vitaly do something?” Arseni asks, his voice low like he’s hesitant. My brother-in-law. Head of the Bratva.
If he knew what we’d done, he’d kill us himself. And that would be out of mercy.
“We should go,” I say, jutting my chin toward the cars.
After only a moment’s hesitation, he swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing, and nods in agreement. We make our way to the cars, our steps picking up into a run. When I get in my car, I hurry to start it and peel away from the cliff, my destination the bar Leo told me about.
I hope like hell I’m not too late.