Chapter 18

18

Leah

“ L ook, I know you don’t owe me anything.” I fiddle with my phone, flipping it over and over in my lap.

Dmitri shoots me a glance, then looks back at the road. “You can ask me a favor, Leah. I’m still your friend.”

Why does the word “friend” sound so sour? We really did fuck things up by fucking each other.

Sex with him was so amazing, I thought it would be a good thing.

I was wrong.

“Can I leave most of my stuff at your place, until I find an apartment?”

“Of course.”

He doesn’t sound happy about it, but at least he isn’t arguing with me anymore.

I glance at him, taking advantage of the fact he’s driving and can’t focus on my face. “Thanks.”

He’s quiet a moment. “Where will you go?”

“I found a room at the Stays.” It’s not the best solution. It’ll suck up money fast. But if I do the auction next month, more money will come in. Plus, I’m still getting paid for tutoring.

And I will find an apartment soon. If I repeat it enough times to myself, that’ll make it happen, right?

But it’s the middle of the semester. Nobody is looking for a new roommate in this college city.

“You don’t have to leave my place.” His voice is quiet but firm. “I don’t want you to.”

“What’s the phrase? Guests are like fish and they stink after three days. It’s been a lot more than three days, Dmitri. Almost two weeks. It’s time for me to find a permanent solution. But thanks for the offer and for letting me stay so long.”

“A hotel isn’t a ‘permanent solution.’”

“But it isn’t taking up your couch, cramping your style.”

“You’re not cramping shit, Leah.”

I don’t respond. I can’t keep doing this. He doesn’t want me, but he’s mad when I make plans with Gage. I want him—I want them both. And it hurts all the time.

He frowns as we pull up to his driveway. “I don’t understand why you’re being so stubborn about this.”

Because I’m hurt. Because I hate that he walked off after sex, saying we shouldn’t do it anymore. Because it’s killing me to be around him and not beg for his touch, for his attention.

My car will be ready, with new tires, by the end of the day. And then I’m out of here.

Gage

I’m in my penthouse, waiting with my phone on the coffee table in front of me. Leah might call for a ride to the police station, and I don’t want to miss it.

But when my phone rings, it isn’t Leah calling. It’s Claudia.

Before I can say hello , she’s already speaking. “Someone just tried to kill me, Gage, I swear. I’m so fucking scared right now, I’m literally shaking.”

This isn’t the first time she’s made the claim. If she’s feeling low already, and someone looks at her in an odd manner, it’s as good as a threat.

“You don’t believe me,” she says because I haven’t said anything.

“I believe you,” I say quickly. Rather, I believe she believes someone tried to kill her. However, her reality doesn’t always match up with that of the people around her.

“They swerved toward me while I was walking up Wilshire.”

“Claudia.” I keep my voice careful. None of the sternness she bristles against. “Why would anyone want to kill you? You have no enemies.”

“I must, because this dude had murder in his eyes.”

“He was drunk, most likely, or under some other influence.”

“Gagey, you aren’t listening. He jumped the curb. When I leaped out of the way, he looked directly at me. He had on some kind of face mask and big sunglasses, a hat. He was in disguise.”

“Did you go to the police?”

“No.” She snorts. “They’ll just ask for autographs.”

She isn’t taking this seriously, so how can she expect me to take it seriously? I love her, but sometimes it’s very difficult to be her friend.

“Claudia, if someone attacked you, you should document it. They might be able to pull up surveillance footage from storefronts or traffic cameras.”

“Yeah, I’ll think about it.” Her tone has me doubting her veracity. “Talking to you helped calm me down. It always does, Gage. Thank you. Have you thought more about coming down to visit? Everyone misses you. They came over for dinner. Jessica found these old pictures. Oh here, I had her send me one of us.”

I brace myself for “us” meaning all the Shinies, but the photograph that comes through is solely of Claudia and me. Her wavy blond hair is piled on her head in an elaborate style. Her dark blue eyes are clear, bright—this is an early photo, taken before everything fell apart and she fell into substance abuse.

In the picture, I’m standing next to her, leaning in. My face is stretched in a grin. I look so incredibly young. Naive.

Nostalgia hits me with the force of a wrecking ball.

I can’t stop staring at my phone screen. “That’s a good photo.”

“We’re beautiful and young.” Her voice is wistful.

“You’re still beautiful, Claudia.” It’s the truth. “It doesn’t matter that we’re not as young. We’re not old, either.”

“I’m a woman and I’m going to be forty next year and I live in LA.” She laughs. “It’s getting better for the big-name female actors. But for someone like me in Hollywood, forty is as good as dead. Nobody would call us Shiny now.”

Dmitri

My grandfather’s house is one of the smaller ones located at the edge of Old Thirty-Three, but it’s still fucking impressive. Gated drive, set back from the road. It’s two stories and made to look like a cabin. But there’s nothing rustic about the state-of-the-art alarm system and full-time staff of housekeepers, cooks, and bodyguards who work here.

Granddad has perfect posture, a full head of dark-gray hair, and affectionate blue eyes. He’s waiting at the front door with his arms open.

I can’t dodge his hug on principle, even though I want to.

It’s complicated. He’s done really bad things. Continues to do them. But he’s still the grandfather who took care of me when I was sick, who taught me how to fish. He’s the guy who “hired” me to do chores around his house that absolutely didn’t need doing so I could afford parts for my Mustang. He taught me how to fix Mom’s favorite drink so I could surprise her on her birthday when I was eleven.

The sex talk Dad was too embarrassed to have with me? Granddad took over.

“When I got your message you were coming, I thought my hearing must be going,” he says as we embrace. “It’s been too long, Dmitri.”

“Sorry, Granddad.”

“Well, come in, come in.”

He leads me into the living room. A breakfast spread is on the coffee table. He must have had his cook prepare it for me.

“Really, Granddad?” I gesture to the display.

“What, you’re a growing boy. Don’t tell me you made yourself a proper breakfast this morning, because I won’t believe you.”

He won’t leave me alone until I load up a plate, so I grab an almond croissant and a handful of strawberries. He pours me a mug of his favorite coffee, some fancy shit I can’t pronounce.

“Have a seat.” He pours a second coffee for himself. “Eat. And tell me what problem is bothering you. I will fix it.”

“I don’t want you to fix anything, Granddad. I just want to make sure you aren’t involved.”

He raises his heavy, bushy gray eyebrows at me. The picture of fucking innocence. “I don’t get involved in any problems.”

“Look, Leah’s in trouble.”

“Danica’s friend.” He tilts his head to the side. “Why are you coming to me?”

“For one thing, Danica wouldn’t know to ask, because you won’t let me tell her anything. For another, Leah’s been staying with me because she ditched her terrible boyfriend. And he died.”

“She has always picked the wrong boys.” Disapproval laces his tone. He doesn’t seem to care about Mick dying. No surprise there. “But what do I know. In my mind, any boy who isn’t you is the wrong boy. She should pick you.”

“Granddad, no.” This conversation is getting derailed. “I need to know if your guys are involved, that’s it. It sounds like her ex, Mick—who’s dead now—owed money. Now they’re coming after Leah.”

“Why is he dead? You can’t squeeze money from a dead man.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“Let me make a call.”

I munch on my croissant while he speaks in rapid Russian to the guy on the phone. I catch words like money, loan, dead , but my Russian isn’t good enough to make any real sense of it. My mother tried to pass down her language, she really did. But it wasn’t “cool” when I was a kid, so I never put much effort into the classes she sent me and Danica to.

Granddad waves a hand at me. “Mick—last name?”

“Rabanoir.”

He repeats it into the phone, says a few more things, listens. Then, he ends the call and says, “I know nothing of this trouble Leah is in. Nobody has heard of her or this Rabanoir fellow.”

“Shit.”

“Language, Dmitri.”

I repeat the word in Russian, and he smiles. “That’s my boy. Listen, whoever he owed money to, it wasn’t any of my friends.”

Friends , he calls them. Murderers, mobsters, men with guns.

He continues, “That means whoever it is, you have to be careful, my boy. And so does your little Leah.”