Page 147 of Ripped Lace (Ripped Bratva)

Elyssa

Wild Night Blossom

A nightclub in the daytime is a disgusting thing. It’s like roadkill. Unclean, unappealing, with everything living taking a wide radius to avoid it.

Wild Night Blossom is just like that.

But it doesn’t give away any of its secrets as I stand at the bottom of the steps and look up at it.

This is the third time I’ve done this. Once, I was a naïve little lamb with bloody feet and a ripped wedding dress. Once, I was a frightened coward who thought retreating into the past was the only way forward.

Now, I’m something else. Something different. Something more.

“Please,” I whisper to myself. “Please let me find my son. Please let me get him away from here safe.”

You will. You can do this, Elyssa. You’re capable of so much more than you know.

For once, I don’t try to push Charity out of my head. I need her now more than ever.

The main door is closed. I mount the steps and raise my hand to knock, but I stop short at the last moment. Knocking feels silly. But should I just…?

I reach out, grip the ornate knob, and pull.

It opens.

Like it was always meant to welcome me in.

I step inside, moving slowly and keeping my eyes open. The door swings shut behind me on silent hinges.

There are no windows in the passageway, so the only light comes from dim red lamp sconces mounted on the velvet walls. The wainscoting is black and the mirrors on either side of the corridor make me feel like I’ve entered an old madam’s brothel. They reflect a million different versions of me up and down the space, each one washed in red.

I follow the corridor down. Just before I make the left-hand turn, I think I feel a flutter of movement behind me.

I whip back around. But the only thing there is my own shadow.

Easy, girl. Stay alert, but don’t get spooked.

Shuddering in a long breath, I pivot once more and resume my creep. The hallway spits me out into an open, oval room adorned with plush sofas—and more mirrors.

That’s the only reason I see him behind me.

His eyes narrowed in concentration as he comes at me from the back. I have time for fear, nothing else.

A second later, I see black.

* * *

I wake up with a throbbing headache. I sit up suddenly, but that only ignites more complaints from my body.

“How are you feeling?”

I cringe at the all-too-familiar voice. When I slowly rotate my head, I see him, leaning casually against the back wall like an old friend.

He looks more gaunt than I remember. The scars on his face and arm look more grotesque, too. Paler. Nastier.

“Josiah.” His name tastes bitter coming out.

“Did you miss me?”

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