Bred By the BRATVA Wolf (Bred by the BRATVA Las Vegas #4)
Laney
My phone buzzes for the hundredth time this hour, but it's not the notification I want.
Spam email. Sale at Target. LinkedIn connection request.
Not Laurie.
I lock the screen and shove it back in my jacket pocket, trying to focus on the slot machines ringing around me, the cigarette smoke hazing the air, the impossible grandeur of the Korolyov Casino's main floor.
Colourful lights flashing everywhere. Marble columns.
Golden chandeliers shining too brightly.
Laurie sent me approximately eight million photos of this place when she first started working here. "Laney, oh my GOD, you have to see this place. It's like if Versailles had a baby with a nightclub. I'm gonna make SO MUCH in tips."
That was ten days ago.
It’s been seven days since her last text.
Seven days of silence from the person who texts me before she's even fully awake, who sends me photos of her coffee and her outfit and random dogs she sees on the street.
Seven days of my calls going straight to voicemail, of her Instagram staying frozen on a mirror selfie in her cocktail waitress uniform, gold corset top, tiny fringed skirt, legs for days.
"Loving my new job! Come say ‘hi’ at the Korolyov, Las Vegas!"
Forty-three comments. I've read every single one.
The casino manager's office is down a hallway that screams employees only in everything but actual words. I push through anyway, past a security guard who's too busy watching a blackjack table to notice me.
The door at the end says Michael Torres, Floor Manager, in brass lettering.
I take a steadying breath and knock. A voice follows a second later. "Yeah, come in."
The office is smaller than I expected. Corporate bland, with a desk buried under paperwork and filing cabinets overstuffed with personnel files lining the back wall.
A man I assume is Torres looks up from his computer.
He is mid-forties with tired eyes, the expression of a man who's seen every variety of human on his casino floor.
"Can I help you?"
"I'm looking for my sister." My voice comes out steadier than I feel. "Laurie Parker. She works here. Worked here. I don't…she's missing."
His expression shifts from mild irritation to cautious concern. "Missing?"
"She hasn't answered her phone in a week. I haven't heard from her since her third shift here. I flew in from Sacramento this morning because the police won't do anything and—" I stop myself before I sound completely hysterical. Deep breath, Laney. "Can you tell me when you last saw her?"
Torres is already typing on his computer. "Parker, Parker... Laurie, yeah. Cocktail waitress." He frowns at the screen. "Looks like she worked three shifts…Wednesday, Friday, Sunday, last week. Didn't show up for her Monday shift. We tried calling, got voicemail, figured she ghosted."
I bite back my exasperation. "She wouldn't ghost."
"Miss—"
I cut him off with a wave of my hand. "We're twins. Identical twins. We talk every single day, multiple times a day. She wouldn't just stop responding to me. Something must have happened to her."
He has the decency to look uncomfortable. "Look, I'm sorry, but Vegas has a high turnover rate. People come here thinking it's gonna be glamorous, then reality hits, and they bail. Happens all the time. We've got three other cocktail waitresses who've quit this month alone without notice."
"Did you file a missing person report?" I ask.
"For someone who stopped showing up for work?" He spreads his hands. "That's not really our—"
"She didn't pick up her last paycheck." I've done my research. Called HR twice already. "If she quit, she would've still picked up her money."
That gives him pause. He checks his computer again. "Huh. Yeah, you're right. It's still here."
"So she didn't just quit." I clench my teeth and take a deep breath. The frustration of trying to get anyone to help me is beginning to chew at my nerves.
Torres leans back in his chair, studying me.
Looking for crazy, probably. I'm used to it. I’ve spent the last three days having this exact conversation with my boss, with the Sacramento police, with the Vegas Metro operator who took my missing person call and basically told me to fuck off and wait for Laurie to call me.
She's been gone for seven days.
"Tell you what," Torres finally says. "Let me pull up the schedule, see who worked with her. Maybe someone remembers something that can help."
It's more than anyone else has offered. I nod and try to temper the wave of relief that threatens to engulf me.
He taps his keyboard a few times, his eyes roving over the screen before he nods and makes a phone call.
Five minutes later, a girl around my age appears in the doorway; bleached blonde hair in tight curls drape over her shoulders, false eyelashes frame her big eyes, wearing the cocktail uniform that's probably a size too small by design.
"This is Madison," Torres says. "She worked with Laurie on Sunday."
Madison gives me a sympathetic look that makes my stomach drop. "You're her sister? God, you guys really do look alike. She showed me photos."
"When did you last see her?" I ask, taking out my cell and opening it to the notes app.
"Sunday night. Her last shift." Madison perches on the edge of Torres's desk. "She seemed fine, you know? Made good tips, didn't complain about the grabby guys. Said she was getting the hang of it."
I type as she speaks, keeping meticulous notes of everything I learn. "Did she mention any plans after work? If she was going somewhere?" I look up at Madison, who has pulled her mouth to the side as she thinks. Her glittery lip gloss catches even in the dull light of the office.
"Yeah, actually. A bunch of us were gonna go to this bar a couple blocks off the Strip. But Laurie said she was tired, wanted to go straight home. She'd been complaining about not getting enough sleep with all the noise. It takes some getting used to."
"Do you think she possibly changed her mind and went to the club after all?" The tiny flicker of hope in my chest grows a little. This feels like the first tangible lead I’ve had all week.
Madison shrugs. "Maybe, but she never messaged or anything."
"Thank you." I'm already standing, shoving my phone into my pocket and snatching a pen from the top of a stack of papers. I scrawl my name and number on a creased sticky note that’s seen better days. "If you remember anything else…" I hand it to her and she nods with a weak smile.
"There is one thing…" Madison touches my arm.
"Look, I don't want to freak you out or anything, but there's been some weird stuff happening lately.
A few girls went missing in the last couple of weeks.
Everyone's been talking about it. One from another casino, but a couple from this one, too.
" She slides a glance at Michael, looking to see if she is in trouble, but he just frowns.
Ice runs down my spine. "Missing how?"
"Like, gone. Just stopped showing up to work, phones off, nobody knows where they went. Management's been telling us to be careful walking to our cars, not to go anywhere alone at night." She glances at the floor. "Nobody wants to say it's connected, but…"
"But three girls in two weeks, and now my sister," I say quietly. "All casino workers."
"Yeah," Madison confirms. "I’m sure it’s nothing. Las Vegas isn’t for everyone. People dip out all the time when they realize it isn’t as glamorous as we make it look."
Torres clears his throat. "We've increased our security just in case. Offering escorts to employee parking. There's no evidence this is anything other than coincidence and ghosting, like I already said."
"Bullshit." The word comes out harder than I intend. "Four girls don't just vanish for no reason."
"Miss Parker, I understand you're upset, but spreading panic isn't going to help anyone. The police would investig—"
"The police aren’t interested." I'm already heading for the door. "Thanks for your help."
I'm halfway down the hallway when Madison catches up to me.
"Hey." She presses something into my hand, a business card with her number scrawled on the back. "If you need anything, call me. And seriously, be careful. Whatever's happening to these girls... I don't think they just left."
"Neither do I."