Page 20 of Ripped Veil (Ripped Bratva)

The kind of ache that wipes away all the pain that came before it.

I use the bathroom sink to wash most of the grime and dirt off my body and dab the hand towel around to dry off. By the time I’m done, the off-white towel is patchy with dirt. Embarrassed, I hide it under one of the shelves and head back into the storeroom to get dressed.

Charity’s tights are snug and the t-shirt is comfortingly loose. I feel so much better in normal clothes than I did in that godawful dress. There aren’t any chairs in the room, so I sit down on one of the larger storage boxes. It’s firm enough that I can put my weight on it without worrying that it’ll cave in.

Then I take a look at my feet. I’m bleeding in several places from long, jagged cuts. Scrapes from rocks in the desert and the rough city sidewalk will only get worse in the coming days. Overall, despite the damage to my body, the adrenaline and exhaustion is keeping the pain at bay. But I need medical supplies or walking is going to get difficult very soon.

Just then, the door opens and Charity returns. She’s carrying a bottle of water and a plate. The savory smell hits me immediately and my mouth waters.

“You looked like you needed a little TLC,” she says, setting the tray down on a box next to me. The plate is laden with a gargantuan cheeseburger balancing on a mountain of crisp French fries.

“Thank you,” I say gratefully, reaching for some fries.

Charity nods and leans against the wall I’m facing. “Jesus, girl, you did a number on yourself. We’ll have to take care of those feet. What did you do? Run through hot embers for miles on end?”

“Something like that.”

She raises her eyebrows in shock. “Well, fuck.”

I’ve heard that word more in the space of an hour than I have my entire life. It’s weird how quickly you can get used to it. Sort of.

“Am I right in assuming you’re on your own?”

I hesitate. “Yes.”

“Okay, well, if you’re interested, I know this great place that’ll help you get on your feet. It’s a women’s shelter, the best one in Las Vegas.”

“A women’s shelter?”

“Yes, ma’am. There are even jobs available. They’ll pay you. It won’t be much, but you can save up over time if you’re careful.”

“Do you work there, too?”

She smiles. “I used to. Before I realized that I could make a fuck ton more money at the clubs.”

I try not to cringe at the thought of what she’s required to do to make money in places like the one we just left. It’s not for me to judge.

“Do you know where Weston’s Diner is?” I ask abruptly.

Charity raises an eyebrow. “Uh, yeah. It’s across the street, a couple doors down from here. Why?”

I bite my lip, but I decide to trust Charity. After all, she decided to help even though she has no reason to. “I’m… meeting someone there.”

She frowns. “I thought you said you were alone.”

“I am. Or, I mean, I was…”

“Who are you meeting?”

“Um… I don’t know his name,” I admit.

Charity’s expression goes from curious to worried. “You don’t know his name? Where did you meet him?”

“It was… at the club,” I tell her, a sinking feeling overriding my desire to meet him. “I met him tonight.”

“And he told you to meet him at Weston’s?”

“Yes.”

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