It’s much more entertaining to hang out with my new gal pals.
Finally, with trembling fingers, the virgin girl hands her ID to me, not to Mazza. I study it, glancing between her license, andher pretty, youthful face. It's obvious it’s a fake. You can tell from a mile off. Still, I smile and hand it to Mazza, who scrutinizes it and eventually decides it’s legit. Idiot.
Virgin girl—or Joy Smith according to her license—is running from something or someone, and damn, can I relate to that.
I’d ask her to be my bff, and learn her real name, but the last thing I need is someone else’s baggage to deal with.
I have Jeremiah now anyway. Five years older than me, wealthy, well-connected, and a complete asshole who hasn’t noticed I’ve left because the barmaid’s ass is now planted on his lap. If the roles were reversed and a man were all over me, he would hang him by his balls from the nearest bridge. Jeremiah likes to make a show of being a womanizer to get a rise out of me. He also likes to impress his older, more influential and powerful brother, Adam, with how jealous I am. Because I love him so damn much. Puke.
But I play the game because it’s kept me alive so far. I’m looked after and worshipped in Jeremiah’s own way. I was only here three weeks before I knew I needed to fall back on the roots I grew up with. I needed protection. So I went on the hunt to seek out the most powerful person in these parts, and when that person was too intelligent to fall for my bullshit, I snagged his brother instead. Younger, not as proud, and easy to mold.
I suppress a shudder and tell Mazza to add my runaway nun friend’s drink to our tab.
“Enjoy your drink, nun. Let them know if you want a little rum to spice it up. Since you’re legal and all that jazz.” I grin at her and give her an exaggerated wink.
The poor girl cowers as though I might bite.
I might.
I like to bite.
“What are you doing over here, Ally?” a familiar voice asks in her stupid fake southern accent, which she suddenly developed a few weeks after we both arrived in the US.
Good ol’ Vika. The prettiest cockroach I ever did see.
I wasn’t the only person who escaped Moscow. All the runaways are sent here apparently. Dropped on the doorstep of none other than Viktor Vasiliev, the first outcast.
“Just buying nun girl a drink, Amelia,” I reply casually, tossing back the last of the vodka in my glass before slamming it down with a satisfying thud.
Mazza shoots me a sharp glare, her eyebrows knitting together in disapproval. It’s juvenile to enjoy irritating her, but I take the small pleasures where I can get them.
“Why are you calling her that?” Vika asks, pursing her lips while casting a skeptical glance at the girl. “Nuns don’t typically drink.”
She literally never drops the accent. Even when it’s just the two of us. Someone get this cockroach an Academy Award.
“Because she reminds me of one. Do you know any nuns?” I ask, patting Vika’s skinny arm.
I relish the flash of recognition in Vika’s wild eyes as her memories flicker to life of her half-sister, Darya, who was raised in a nunnery and in love with Vika’s old flame. But the spark fades as she remembers she’s not Vika anymore. The embers of jealousy and something darker slip back into the shadows, softening her features. No, she’s no longer a mafia princess but, instead, a southern belle now.
Amelia Underwood. Fiancée of Maddox Whitmore, Whitmore ranch owner and Whitmore Sauce co-founder. Look in any kitchen in the USA and you’ll find a flavor of Whitmore Sauce in there. Who fucking knew how much money a condiment you spunk over your steak could make?
Apparently Amelia knew…
Vika isn’t stupid, and she didn’t rush into securing herself someone to protect her like I did. She didn’t have the urgency that I found myself in, though. She took her time, and when she learned her brother had taken a lover, she made it her mission to get Jeremiah to introduce her to said lover, Maddox. Vika stuck her venomous claws in and charmed him with an entirely made-up version of herself, stealing him from Viktor like the snake she is. In fact, she’s the reason we’re partying here and not at The Vault. Viktor can’t stand to even look at his twin.
I can’t fault her for wanting to secure herself someone of his stature. We were in survival mode. But to add salt to the wound she’d already dealt her brother, that was just cruel. Her being with Maddox, however, did mean we’ve been stuck together ever since.
Our men are great friends, and Jeremiah’s brother has his fingers in all the pies, including Maddox’s growing empire.
“I’m Joy. Joy Smith,” the nun girl announces to me, reaching her hand out and pulling me from my thoughts. “Nice to officially meet you.”
Snorting out a bark of laughter, I shake my head. “But nun girl has a nice ring to it. Sure you don’t want to keep the nickname? Suits you better than Joy.” I take her hand and grin with my teeth. “I’m Ally.”
“Like an alley cat," Mazza says snarkily. “One that just won’t go away.”
“Careful, Marilyn Mon-not. Your boss is a very good friend of mine,” I remind her with a wicked smirk.
He isn’t really. Darrell is a friend of Viktor’s, and because of Viktor, Darrell gave me a job here a couple of years back. I only needed it for the first couple of months when I arrived to find my feet, or rather, Jeremiah’s wallet.
