Page 18 of Ripped Veil (Ripped Bratva)

I follow the woman’s instructions and end up on Las Vegas Boulevard. This place is like something out of a dream—or a drug-induced nightmare. Everything is glowing neon, people moving, cars honking, signs flashing and flaunting and flickering in the desert darkness.

After everything I’ve been through, this might be what does me in. The straw that breaks the camel’s back. It’s just too much to process.

I cast my eyes down to my feet. That’s the only safe place to look. The only thing that won’t drive me insane.

One foot in front of the other.One bare, bloodied, dust-covered, aching foot in front of the other. That’s all I have to do. Step and step and step.

I can do this. I can make it.

I limp down the street until I sense someone approaching me. “Excuse me,” I say, trying to keep my eyes shaded downwards to avoid the harsh glare of the flashing signs, “do you know where I can find Weston’s Diner?”

The man blows right past, ignoring me completely.

I try again with the next pedestrian. “Excuse me…”

Same result. The stranger breezes by as if I’m not even there.

The third person just shakes their head. “No idea, little lady.”

I sigh, swallow past the bitter fear in my throat, and go back to looking at my feet.Left foot, right foot, left foot…

It’s right then that a hand snakes out suddenly and grabs me by the wrist. I’m pulled into a darkened alleyway that smells like stale bread and urine. I’m about to scream, but a whiff of gardenia makes me stop.

That’s not the scent of a man who wants to hurt me.

I turn to the face of a woman about my age. She’s got slanted blue eyes and dark hair piled high on her head. She’s also wearing an oversized trench coat, but it’s open wide enough that I can see what she’s wearing underneath.

Which isn’t much.

Straps of black see-through fabric push up her breasts and highlight her nipples. It looks extremely uncomfortable… and extremely familiar.

I gasp. “You work at that club…!” I say, backing away from her.

She reels me back into her, but her touch is gentle. “Hey, hey, shh, it’s okay. I’m here to help.”

“You do work there?”

“Well, shit, girl, don’t hold that against me.”

I frown, unsure how to react to this woman. I’ve never come across anyone like her in my entire life. She radiates confidence, sass, and a cunning intelligence.

“I’m trying to help you,” she explains. “I saw you earlier running around the club with those brutes behind you. I thought you could maybe use a little help.”

That much is certainly true. I need more help than she could possibly provide.

“Hold on,” she says, walking around me to the edge of the alleyway. She looks right and left, and her shoulders relax a little. “Okay, cool. All clear.”

“All clear?” I repeat stupidly.

She turns to me with curious eyes. “I know those guys who were after you. Hulk One and Hulk Two have many admirable traits, but a third brain cell isn’t one of them.”

I barely follow what she’s saying. And it doesn’t help that she’s talking really fast.

“I think the first thing we need to do is get you out of that dress,” she says, assessing me from head to toe. “It’s a little on the conspicuous side, even for Sin City.”

I glance down instinctively, still trembling with fear and exhaustion.

“Hey, girl, hey,” she croons, “everything’s gonna be okay. Let’s take a step back. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. I’m just trying to help. I’ve been where you… well, you need some help, I think. So let me phrase it as a question: Will you let me help you?”

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