Page 128 of Dance of Defiance

My brother smiles a rare smile at me. “Working on it. And yes, you may.”

I cock a brow at him as I finger the pack of cigarettes in my pocket.

“Smoke,” Vaughn clarifies. “You were about to ask me if you could.”

“Okay, youmightbe leaning into the Bond villain vibe too much,” I mutter, pulling out the pack, slipping one between mylips, and lighting it. Smoke curls around my face as I lean back in the chair and gaze up at the sky through the trees.

“I’m glad you called, Val.”

“I’m glad you answered. Sorry again if I’m interrupting a sleepover?—”

“You’re not interruptinganything. Tell me about your dream tonight.”

I shake my head. “Nothing concrete stays after I wake up. It’s just…a general feeling of doom and terror.”

“Have you tried sleeping pills?—”

“I don’t want meds.” I shake my head. “And… I dunno. When I have them—the nightmares—even if I can’t remember them, Iknowthey’re about before.”

He knows what I mean.

“Before”, as in “before my memory loss”.

“In a way…” I shake my head. “I guess it brings a little comfort, knowing that at least some part of my fucked-up brain remembers that time.” I look over to him. “Home. Mom and Dad. You and me, two brothers.”

“We’re still brothers,” he says quietly.

I smile wryly. “I know.” I take a slow drag on my smoke. “Would you please tell me something about Mom and Dad?”

“You’re looking formorenightmares?”

I chuckle. “Something good.”

“I don’t know if there is anything good,” he grunts. “Seriously.”

“Nothing?”

Vaughn looks away, dragging his hand over his chin, thinking.

“This one Christmas—you were four, I think—Dad brought home thissickcar-racing thing, like a Hot Wheels set. It had this little battery-powered wheel that would fling the cars down the track, around a bend, through a loop, and then all the way back to the start where the wheel would send them flying again.” He smiles to himself. “That was agoodChristmas morning, even if the house was cold and we were probably hungry.”

I grin. “Sounds fun.”

“It was. I mean, obviously he stole it, but it was fun—at least while it lasted.”

I snort. “What’d he do, sell it for drugs?”

Vaughn shakes his head. “No, though I’m sure he was planning to. He went out that night to get fucked up. Mom had one of her guys over, and they got into an argument over prices. He went storming out of Mom and Dad’s room, and he kicked that racetrack as hard as he could on the way past.” His mouth twists. “Shattered the battery wheel and snapped the track in half. And that was that.”

We sit in silence, looking into the crackling fire as I slowly smoke my cigarette.

“We never could catch a break, huh?”

He shakes his head. “Nope.”

“Let me ask you something.” I turn to him. “This thing between you and the Nikitin family?—”

“I already told you,” he says. “I didn’t have anything to do with the bombing.”