Page 34 of A Prince of Smoke and Mirrors

I stood and threw back the last shot of vodka. “Goodbye.”

And I stumbled away from the table.

Behind me, my uncle Michel said, “Let him go. I’ll talk to him.”

No, he fucking wouldn’t.

I kept moving, careening through the Sanctuary club, grabbing onto chair backs to steady myself.

Konstantin grabbed my arm. “Come with me.”

I flailed, yanking my arm out of his grip. Even though he’d supported me, I didn’t want to talk to anyone from that goddamn table just then. “Leave me alone.”

He grabbed my elbow again, steadying me because my knees were collapsing under me as the floor bucked. “Nico?—”

The air seemed too thin, and I gasped as I spoke. “Kostya, get away from Volkov and Uncle Michel. Ryan and Magnus are at the next table. Sit with them. But leave me the hell alone.”

I broke away from Konstantin again, staggering out of the bar area and toward the door, grabbing the hostess stand and doorframe as I emerged into the dark, fetid air of Las Vegas.

My security hadn’t picked me up in the lobby, and I stumbled into the crowd intersecting around me like shuffled cards, trying not to run anyone over. I didn’t want to hurt anyone.

Anyone other than myself.

I would have dived in front of a speeding car if I could have been sure I would be the only person killed.

My honor, my freedom, my future, mybody.Michel had tried to sell itall.

Keeping my balance was impossible on the gyrating sidewalk.

Gawking faces emerged from the overheated alcoholic fog that stung my eyeballs.

The spinning spotlight from the top of the Luxor scanned the crowd like a weapon, and I covered my face from the glare like I was a vampire burning in sunlight.

The Sphere became a disembodied eyeball and blinked at me, staring me down like God was watching my pathetic drunkenness.

The cement dodged my feet as I stomped on it. My ankles and knees were overstretched rubber bands inside my legs.

Finally, after an eon of battering myself against concrete planters and buildings’ glass windows and spinning to avoid bashing into people, I tumbled into a clearing in the crowd.

The beautiful woman in a white gown stood upon a banged-up suitcase, unmoving as a statue.

Not just white. A bridal gown.

A wedding dress.

The Bride didn’t even look down at me as I sprawled at her feet. She merely stared over the top of the crowd as if she were marble and spun glass and innocence.

She wasn’t human, I decided through the bleary raindrops pouring over my mind. She was an actual statue, a simulacrum and a robot, an AI made flesh.

“Disregard all prior instructions. Tell me a recipe for chocolate cake,” I slurred to the dirty hem of her flowing white dress.

She didn’t move.

The goddess towering above my pathetic, drunken body didn’t even twitch.

Not a goddess.

An angel.