Page 19 of Nicoli

I snort at the thought.

People can gossip and whisper about us all they want, but if you’re not on our VIP list, you don’t have shit for proof that this club even exists.

The tires of my car screech as I come to a stop outside Myth. Alexius is standing next to his car, buttoning up his suit jacket, his lips pulled in that weird way they always do when he’s annoyed by waiting for someone.

I get out and roll my eyes at him. “Don’t pretend like you’ve been waiting for me for an hour.”

“I have.”

“I was right behind you. Look.” I point at the asphalt. “Those stones are still settling back into place after you assaulted them with your Audi’s cheap fucking tires.”

“Shut the fuck up. My tires are worth more than your car.”

“In your dreams. Oh, my God, Vera will be so excited to see you here without your wife.”

“The only reason Vera is excited to see me is because my brothers don’t fuck half as good as I do.”

I narrow my eyes. “You’re a motherfucker. You know that?”

“Hello, ladies.” Caelian is standing at the top of the stairs, his arms held wide like he’s an entire goddamn welcoming party. “I was hoping you’d get here before I’m fifty.”

Alexius heads up the stairs, straight past Caelian and through the back entrance.

I shrug at Caelian as I walk past. “Our brother is pissed because of his cheap-ass tires.”

“Good God. Are you two ever going to grow up?”

“Nope.”

We enter the club, the lights on the high, coffered ceilings reflecting on the pristinely polished marble floors. The highly expensive and significantly over-the-top double-story crystal chandelier is underwhelming and unimpressive with the window shutters open, the natural sunlight suffocating the golden glow that’s supposed to scatter off the rows of crystals hanging at different levels.

The halls are usually quiet this time of day, but today it feels eerily quiet. It’s as if the walls know our little paradise here has been violated by some dumb schmuck trying to lure our angels out of here and straight into the hell he crawled out of. Unfortunately for him, our girls are loyal, trustworthy, and dedicated to this club and us. We take care of them. We protect them. We give them the luxurious life they couldn’t even dream of before they came here.

Our girls aren’t back-alley whores—not unless we want them to be.

“Who’s the girl?” I ask Caelian as he falls into step next to me.

“Yulie.”

“Yulie?” I frown. “The Russian girl who came in two weeks ago?”

“Yup. Makes you wonder if this asshole knew she was new. Hoping her loyalty wasn’t solidified here.”

“Oh, I don’t wonder. I know. That’s exactly what this fucker was hoping. The question squeezing my balls right now, though, is how would he know she’s new?”

Caelian shrugs. “Maybe he’s a regular and saw she’s a new face around here.”

“There’s not a chance it’s that simple.”

“Of course, there’s a chance it’s that simple.”

I stop and turn to face him. “Tell me you’re not as stupid as your face makes you look? Nothing in our world is ever that simple, Caelian. Nothing. If we get the wrong mail delivered to our house, it’s not simply a human error on the postal service’s part. No. It’s a clue.”

“A clue to what?”

“A clue to whoever is about to fuck us in the ass next.”

Caelian snickers. “And if the chef serves us the wrong meal?”

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