Page 39 of Volatile

Let me see

stasi declined video call

I’m having withdrawals

I’m at a dress fitting with my mother and the bride from hell

I’ll see you in two days

Tonight. My room. Wear those black boots that have that lace shit at the top of your thigh

Can’t.

Engagement party.

Tell your hand to tap in for me.

There’s no one in existence more perfect than her. Anything I could possibly say is never met with silence and her dangerous mind is the biggest turn on. If I was blindfolded and had my hearing blocked, I’d still get hard from how fucking insane she is. Inessa walks into the kitchen and her brows go up, seeing me engrossed in my phone. I leave her to dawdle while I respond to my girl and she gets out all the shit she needs to make me look pretty.

Two days, Vartanov.

Wear a suit and say thank you, Stasi.

Can I say it between your legs?

What about whispering it in your ear from behind?

The first one is fine.

I won’t have to hear you then.

Even better. I’ll pick you up

What color tie should I wear to match your dress?

I’m sorry, you have used all available credits trying to reach [ANASTASIA] for the day. Please try again in 48 hours.

Alternatively, dial 1-800-GOFUCK-YOURSELF to purchase more.

When she doesn’t respond, I let my phone drop and drag my ass up, going to my sister-in-law turned beautician and slap my hands together to get the ducklings’ attention. “Ready to get even more beautiful? You’ll all look like me once we’re finished.”

Viktor snorts and tries to walk past me with ice cream, but I swipe it out of his hands as he says, “No one wants to look like the ugliest Vartanov.”

“Your dad’s the ugliest one out of all of us. Vlad found him outside a zoo and brought him home to be our pet.”

He rears back at the insult when it isn’t even against him. He’s spent too much time around Vlad because he drops his voice and perfects the cold violent stare as he says, “Don’t talk about my dad, and I look like him.”

My teeth freeze as I bite into the cone just to piss him off. I move away from Inessa so I’m out of slapping distance as I continue arguing with a teenager.

“Vik,” I say, exasperated, “I’ve taken shits that look better than you.”

Mother just shakes her head, fed up with our bullshit while he tries to win the insulting game by using logic.

“Why do you look at your shit?” he asks with a smirk that shows he’s one of us. “Are you searching for more food?”

I ignore him as she laughs and hand him his ice cream back.

It’s our routine of spreading whatever face masks Inessa is obsessed with on our skin and watching people pop volcanic pimples. Now there’s a full brood lined around us with children’s face cream on their cheeks. Inessa is the sister-in-law from heaven but she’s too perceptive and waits until I’m sitting beside her with my face stuck in place to interrogate me.

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