Page 192 of Ripped Veil (Ripped Bratva)

I’m making it worse. Maybe I should have stuck to the silence.

“I’m sorry,” I blurt. “I barely know what I’m saying. I’m just nervous. I haven’t seen my parents in a long time.”

I expect more gruff silence so he surprises me by speaking. “Why are you seeing them now?”

I lean in a little and rest my chin on the back of his seat. “Because I’ve got to stop being a coward. I left without saying goodbye. Without giving them an explanation.”

“Do they deserve one?”

The question takes me by surprise. Maybe I shouldn’t have judged a book by its cover—or a mobster by his sunglasses. “I… I don’t know. But maybe this is less about owing them an explanation, actually. Maybe they owe me one.”

He nods. We fall into silence again.

“I don’t know how long I’ll take.”

“My job is to wait.”

“Er, okay. Right. That’ll work.”

I glance out through the front windshield again. And when I do, a sight in the distance takes my breath away.

At first, it looks like a mirage. Just another shimmering bit of nothing in the desolate heat of the Nevada desert.

Then I see the high wooden spike that marks the corner of the barrier that separates the Sanctuary from the sinful world around it.

The fear comes right on its heels.

“Oh God…” I breathe.

Vlad stops the car at once, screeching to a dusty halt in the middle of the road. He turns to me and raises his sunglasses. His eyes are a light gray, and maybe I’m just projecting, but I could swear they’re the friendliest eyes I’ve ever seen. Maybe he wears the sunglasses so no one sees how kind his gaze really is.

His voice is as gruff as ever when he says to me, “You’re gonna be okay.”

I gulp. “How do you know?”

“Instinct.”

I smile. “Thanks, Vlad.”

He nods and lowers the shades once more, and just like that, the moment is broken.

Turning back to the wheel, he crosses the last quarter mile, then stops just short of the gate. He doesn’t say anything or look back at me. Just puts the car in park and stares straight ahead.

My move.

I get out of the car with the package tucked under my arm. I’m shaking like a leaf and my mind is racing with half-forgotten memories:

Mama saying to me, “Why would I ever leave? The whole world is inside these walls.”

Father Josiah pointing that long, skinny finger at me. Of all the girls, he chose me.

Miriam as they dragged her away, screaming, “Not my—!”

I convulse involuntarily. The name “Miriam” is like poison in my blood. I cast it out of my head as if ridding myself of a virus.

Then I focus my attention back on the gate. It’s open, as it always was. No security in sight. The desert was the only protection we ever needed. Not many people could wade through the deadly heat and come hurt us even if they wanted to.

And the gates? Well, those were meant to keep us in far more than they were to keep others out.

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