Chapter 20 - Fiona

Anya is cackling when she pulls me into the alleyway, leaving the beats and dancing in Noch behind us. Somehow, Las Vegas is quieter than the club. I listen to the faint honking and take a deep breath.

I've enjoyed being in the country, lazing around Boris's house, but there is something about the city that puts me at ease. Like the knowledge that you can disappear into a crowd at any moment.

"There's not a single place in that club where I can get any privacy," she mutters, running her hand over her dress."

"There is one great closet if you go through the staff exit," I joke, realizing I'm pretty tipsy.

"God, in a closet? Disgusting! Fiona!"

"Oh, please," I say, feeling the warm buzz of the shots we did coursing through my veins. "Like you haven't done it somewhere worse."

Anya stares at me with wide eyes for a moment, and I snort loudly, which sends her into giggles again.

"No way , girl, you're a virgin?"

"Shut up , Fiona, you don't need to tell the whole world, Jesus," Anya says, tugging me down the alleyway. She's stumbling a bit in her heels, and it occurs to me that maybe this is why Olive likes going out—drinking with your friends, getting sloppy together; it's so freeing—just pure fun.

"Sorry," I whisper, and she fixes me with a glare before stopping to fix her lipstick in the reflection of a window.

"You'd be a virgin, too," she says, smacking her lips and putting the lipstick away, "if you had brothers like mine. All in the club, Anton warning guys away from me, Viktor generally being crazy and all the men there knowing who I am, and who they are, and what's going to happen to them if they put a finger on me!"

"Yeah," I say, "but you're lucky to have them."

"I'm sorry, Fiona," she says, "I know you don't have much family. But you know what? bromanli doesn't affect the taste of chocolate. Or whatever."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"We're both allowed to complain. I'll complain that I have too many brothers, and you can complain that you don't have any at all. And we can both be right in that."

"Anya, did you drink at all? You are talking way too intellectually right now."

"Well, you just managed to say intellectually , so you can't be that drunk," she laughs. "Now come on. I want to go somewhere without my meddling brothers. Somewhere they can't hover over me, threatening any guy who even dares to look in my direction."

I laugh, falling against her, and she wraps her hand around my bicep, righting me a bit.

"And yet, they're all getting ass every single night," I mutter, thinking of how I'd seen Roman disappearing into a back room with one of the dancers the last time I was in Noch.

"Ew," Anya laughs, "don't talk about my brothers like that. Disgusting."

We turn the corner, and Alors comes into view. I pull on Anya's arm a little, knowing that's the club Olive would always go to. It's been months since the day I disappeared into thin air—has she missed me? Has she been looking for me? Or is she just glad that it was me and not her?

Olive knows me more than anyone—or, at least, she used to. I never told her about my dad and what it was like for me growing up. She would have no idea that I could hold my own against Boris or that entering the world of the Bratva would be the first interesting challenge of my life.

Based on what she knows about me, I would be terrified, crying and throwing up like Penelope was when Kervyn took her. If that's what she thinks is happening to me, shouldn't she be looking for me? Getting her dad to throw his resources behind getting me back, and making sure I'm okay?

"Anya," I say, "I think that's a French club."

"Oh, it's fine," she says, patting my hand and pulling me along. "I used to come here all the time."

Despite my apprehension, I follow her past the line, just like at Noch, and to my surprise, the bouncer lets us inside without so much as a second glance. I relax a little. Surely, they wouldn't let Anya inside if they knew who she was? Just because Olive always came here doesn't mean her dad owns the place, I suppose.

Anya eases me into the middle of the crowd, and we dance, throwing our hands up and giggling with other girls in the crowd. My entire life, I didn't feel like I belonged with the other women, laughing and looking beautiful. And now, here I am, right in the middle of them, feeling like the bubbles in a champagne glass.

When a girl stumbles and spills her drink on me, it doesn't even dampen the mood. I just stand still for a moment as she apologizes, then I throw my arms in the air and whoop, getting right back to the dancing.

A bartender appears and gives us all shots for free. The other girls giggle and toss them back, so I do, too. The lights are flashing, and the DJ is playing all of our favorite songs. It's the most fun I've ever had in my life.

We dance for all of ten minutes before the shots catch up to me, and I suddenly have to pee so bad I feel like I might have an accident on the dance floor.

"Bathroom!" I say to Anya, who just laughs and pushes me toward the women's restroom. It's dark and loud, but I manage to push through the crowd and find the little sign showing me where the bathroom is.

I stumble my way there, my head spinning. I've never felt like this after a few shots before, but to be fair, I'm not really a big drinker. I put a hand to my head when I get into the restroom, glad that it's quiet and cool inside.

After peeing, I come out and make my way to the sink, washing my hands and splashing some water on my face. I'll have to figure out what kind of shots we took so I can make sure to never take them again.

I'm drying my hands when the door opens, and another woman comes in. I toss the paper towels, turning to go past her, but stop when I realize who it is.

"Fiona," Olive breathes. "Jesus Christ , where the hell have you been?"

Her hair is a little lighter now. She must have gotten blonde highlights during the time that we've been apart. Other than that, she looks exactly the same. Tall, perfectly tanned, perfectly manicured. Everything about her is perfect.

It hits me all at once, and I realize that the time I spent telling myself I didn't care about the differences between us was a lie. I always wished Olive would pull me into her circle and take me dancing with her.

I should have said something. Now, it feels like it's far too late.

Despite that feeling, a sense of joy erupts in my chest at seeing her again. It's similar to what I would usually feel, seeing someone again after a while of being apart, except tainted with the new uncertainty about Olive's involvement with her dad's activities.

"Olive," I say when she pulls me into a hug. She draws back, holding me at arms-length, her eyes wandering over me.

"You look so—"

"Different?"

"—good!" she says, laughing a bit. "God, who dressed you, Fi? You look like a million bucks," then, eyeing me a bit, she says, "and well-fucked."

"God, Olive," I say, pulling back and putting the backs of my hands on my cheeks, which are burning. The image of Boris slamming me into the wall of the closet flashes to mind, and I have to swallow it down, or I'll just flush even more red.

"Oh my god," she breathes, "you are well-fucked. What's going on? Where have you been? My dad—my dad said you'd been kidnapped, but you don't look like you were kidnapped."

"It's complicated," I say, to which she narrows her eyes.

"Did someone take you against your will or not?"

"I…don't know. Both?"

"Fiona," Olive says, her face crumpling with worry. "Jesus, are you, like, having Stockholm syndrome or whatever?"

"No," I laugh, waving my hand. "I can leave, I've just—"

"So, you could have contacted me? Let me know you were okay?"

"Well, no," I say, "I left my phone at the office, and I didn't know your number."

"I just don't understand what's going on," Olive says, running a hand over her face. "This is like some Bermuda Triangle shit. It's like—you disappear out of thin air. I was this close to calling the cops, Fi! And then my dad said the Russians took you. I was losing my mind. I thought you were hurt or being tortured or something, and now here you are, looking healthy and well, apparently out at the clubs? Even though you never showed any interest before."

"Or maybe you just didn't invite me." I can hear my words slurring, and I have to grip the sink tightly to keep from falling over. It feels stupid to bring that up now when there are so many other things I should be asking her, but my brain feels mushy like I can't quite hold onto a single thought for more than a second before it drifts away.

"Oh, my god," Olive says, her eyes wandering up and down my body. "You've been drugged. Have they been keeping you drugged?"

I try to shake my head no, then I remember the bartender coming over with the shots, putting one right into my hand. What a fool I was—my father is probably turning over in his grave. To take a drink from a stranger.

But I was already a little drunk, high on the fun of being with my friends. I wasn't thinking clearly.

"Olive," I say, my head suddenly too heavy for my neck, falling forward. I hear Olive say something and one of her bodyguards steps into the room, walking toward me as if he might take me.

I recognize him. The guy who tried to stab me. The guy who actually stabbed Boris. My body jerks, like it wants to fight him, but I realize with terrifying clarity that I'm not going to be able to fight him in this state.

Someone did drug me, but it obviously wasn't the Milovs. It was the Allards, and here Olive was, conveniently cornering me when my defenses were down. I stare at her, at the way she's standing, one hip popped out, arms crossed, and wonder if she's been part of this all along if she knows about all the terrible things her father has been doing.

I wonder if I know her at all.

Her goon advances on me, and I back up, mind racing but not producing any way for me to get out of this situation. When I glance back at him, I see him grin slightly, and it makes my blood boil. I wish I could wipe it right off his face.

But I'm cornered, and alone, and weakened from whatever was in that shot.

"Fiona!" someone shouts, and when I turn, I see Anya kneeling in the alley outside, the window to the bathroom propped open. "This way!"

Using the lucidity I have left, I turn, running as fast as I can and launching against the wall. Anya and another girl wrap their arms around me, yanking me up through the window just as Olive's bodyguard's fingers graze my calf, barely missing me.

I roll into the cool night air, taking deep breaths.

"What the fuck is going on?" I ask, but Anya doesn't answer my question. She just grabs my arm, tugging me up and pulling me to my feet, begging me over and over again to move my legs and run .