Page 1 of Tarnished Tyrant (Zhukova Bratva 1)

1

BELLE

This airport is an insane asylum. Crazy idiots zooming in every direction with no regard for human life or social decency.

I squeeze my little sister’s wrist even tighter as we navigate around a couple sharing a very public, very graphic goodbye kiss.

“You don’t have to hold onto me,” Elise complains, yanking her arm away.

“I just don’t want us to get separated. Remember Silver Dollar City?”

“I was six,” Elise groans.

“And on a leash,” I remind her. “Yet you still escaped like fricking Houdini. I don’t want a repeat of that. We’re already running late.”

I check the boarding pass for the millionth time. We have less than ninety minutes until our flight boards, and we haven’t even been through security yet.

“We’re not late. It’s the Oklahoma City airport, Belle. Not Atlanta. We’ll be fine.”

“When have you ever been at the Atlanta airport?”

Elise rolls her eyes, the fourteen-year-old’s Bat Signal for even the most minor inconvenience, slight, or annoyance. I’ve seen it countless times since she moved in with me two months ago, but I can’t seem to build up any immunity. It irks me every time.

“You know about the Eiffel Tower and you’ve never been to Paris, right?” she snarks.

I let out an anguished sigh. “Just stick close to me, okay? I don’t have time to look for you. I have to keep an eye out for Roger.”

“Wait. What?”

I keep walking for a few seconds before I glance back and realize Elise isn’t with me anymore. She’s screeched to a halt in the middle of the airport, blocking a businessman in a suit and tie from getting by.

I whirl around and tug her out of the way, apologizing to the man as we go. He grumbles something bitter about "kids these days” and stomps past us.

“Maybe we should rethink that leash,” I mutter. "Come on, Elise. We just talked about—”

“We’re flying with Roger?” she asks, her top lip curling in disgust. “Roger, as in the guy who made you work late and then tried to slide his hand up your skirt?”

I inhale sharply. “How do you know—”

“The walls at your place are thin,” she says dismissively. “I heard you talking to Georgia."

I drag a hand down my face. “I should have had coffee this morning.”

Flying makes me nervous, so I didn’t figure my body needed the extra caffeine-induced anxiety on top of the flying anxiety. But after a night of shitty sleep and now, the threat that my half-sister will say something damning in front of my admittedly super pervy boss… safe to say I need the world’s largest latte. Or maybe an IV of espresso, I’m not sure.

"I don't want to travel with that creep,” she says with finality.

"Me neither. That's why I'm being paid to do it."

Elise's eyes bug out of her head. "He's paying you to travel with him?!"

"Yes. Because it's my job. He's my boss."

"Oh. Right." Elise frowns and then shakes her head. "Still, I wouldn't have come with you if I knew he was going to be here. You should really report him to… someone. I don't know. That's sexual harassment."

I gawk at Elise, wondering when she got old enough to say things like "sexual harassment." When I left home, she was nine years old and into mermaids.

Lots has changed since then.

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