Page 110 of Ripped Veil (Ripped Bratva)

“Yummy,” Charity mumbles. “Dibs on the blonde.”

I giggle. “You can have them both.”

“Oh right, I forgot: you’ve got your eyes on the big dog.” I glare at her, and she gives me a carefree giggle. “I’m just kidding. Lighten up, girl. It’s not every day we get to be Julia Roberts.”

“Julia Roberts? What does she have to do with this?”

“Pretty Woman, remember?” Charity reminds me.

“Is that the movie with Hugh Grant?”

“No! That’sNotting Hill.You are hopeless.”

She basically shoves me into the backseat of the vehicle. Just as I’m getting in, I feel eyes on my back. I turn quickly in my seat and stare out the window, but the black tint doesn’t really give me much of a view.

I do notice a silhouette in the far-right corner of the house. But before I can roll down the windows, it’s gone.

When we’re both in the car, the doors lock and one of the guards twists around in his seat to hand Charity a piece of paper.

“Those are the locations we’re approved to take you,” he says without a hint of emotion in his voice. “Where to first?”

Charity sidles closer to me so I can see the approved list. “Fuck me, there’s a bunch of really fancy department stores on here,” she says. “And restaurants. Ooh… and a salon!” Her eyes light up as she looks at the guard in the passenger seat. “The salon first, please,” she says, before turning to me. “You’re okay with that, right?”

“Do I even have a choice?”

She gives me a wink. “You’re a doll. Trust me, we could both use a nice facial. Then we’ll be all set to start the shopping spree.”

“Does it have to be a spree?” I ask reluctantly.

“Yes, it absolutely does,” she snaps. “And stop dragging your feet. You’re gonna ruin the whole experience.”

I swallow my worries and try to live in the moment. Like Charity. It’s amazing how she can be excited about something like shopping after everything she’s been through.

Some people might consider it fickle. But I recognize the strength in it.

It’s easy to be defeated when you’re dealt a bad hand. The harder option is to choose to remain positive after being beaten down time and time again.

So for Charity’s sake, I vow to be as bright and cooperative as possible.

For as long as this fever dream lasts.

* * *

The salon we’re taken to is definitely high-end. It even smells expensive.

I’m intimidated as I walk in behind Charity, but the women behind the black marble counter take one look at our security guards and their expressions transform from snobby to welcoming.

I marvel at the sprawling arrangements of roses dotting the entire salon. They’re pure white and almost as big as my face. We’re shown to two large comfy black chairs in the middle of the salon. Charity and I sit down side by side. The staff comes swirling forward with trays of hot coffee and a selection of bite-sized biscuits, followed closely by a pair of grinning stylists.

“I could get used to this,” Charity murmurs as her hair stylist steps forward. He’s a tall, lanky man with bright blue hair that somehow manages to avoid looking tacky. He’s wearing a deep V neck shirt that falls to his middle chest, showing off the dozens of silver chains around his neck. He looks too cool for this world. Perfect for Charity.

My stylist isn’t nearly as striking, but she does seem friendlier. “Hello, ladies,” she greets. “I’m Hannah and this is Louis. What would you ladies like?”

“A cut and color,” Charity says immediately. “I want some bronze and blonde highlights. And maybe a couple of inches shorter.”

She doesn’t hesitate. Neither does her stylist. He starts pulling out instruments from a small cupboard on wheels.

“And you?” Hannah asks.

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