Page 21 of The Games of Madmen

“You’re shaking, Ally,” Jeremiah observes, arms tightening around me as if he can stop the way my body trembles.

I grab a glass from the table and gulp down its contents, not caring who it belongs to or what’s in it. Anything to wash down the acid in my throat. The burning sensation momentarily distracts me, but the conversation sours my stomach even more.

Vika’s fiancé, Maddox, picks up the Rainbow Vodka bottle and admires the sleek design. “The new club owners are brothers from Moscow. At least that's what I was told,” Maddox says to Adam. “Have you heard of them?”

Not a strange question. Adam knows everyone with any sort of power or influence. And, I guess, that means worldwide, not just our neck of the woods.

These brothers from Moscow have to be someone else. There are a million clubs in Russia and just as many rich families in the alcohol industry. It’s only a coincidence.

Then why is their signature vodka here?

I know the answer.

A tidal wave of realization washes over me, the water rushing in my ears and drowning my soul.

“Yes, I’m well aware of the Madmen of Moscow,” Adam says, words cutting through my haze and smacking me in the chest.

My glass falls from my palm and smashes to the gloss floor, sending sharp shards shooting in all directions.

“Ally! What the fuck is going on with you?” Jeremiah barks. “Did you get wasted over there or some shit?”

Nope. That’s just my soul being ripped from my body.

“Ally,” Vika snaps, snatching my wrist and pulling me to my feet. “Come to the bathroom with me. If you’re going to puke, do it there. We wouldn’t want Jeremiah’s pants to get ruined.”

I move in a dazed cloud as she tugs me along through the club.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

This can’t be real.

Vika shoos away some girls from the sink. She snatches paper towels from the dispenser and wets them before smacking them to my forehead. Her golden eyes bore into me. “What the hell was that about?”

Gone is her southern belle routine and the vicious Russian viper is glowering at me.

“I, uh. Sorry. It was a shock. Did you know they were buying this club?” I ask in disbelief.

Her plump lips purse and she tears her gaze from mine. “I’d heard rumors of it but didn’t know it had gone through.” She sighs heavily. “You don’t have to worry about them, though. The twins won’t care about us, Alyona. They helped get me out.”

How fucking wrong she is. Or, maybe she isn’t. Will they care? I left them with a note and a fuck you. Well, that’s not exactly how it went, but that’s surely how they saw it.

My heart hammers to the point of pain. It’s as if it’s trying to escape my ribcage so it can go to them. Oh God, I can’t fucking cope with seeing them.

“Do you know what their plan is?” I ask, voice hoarse with emotion. “Are they staying here to run the club or just overseeing management and then returning home?”

I need to know.

I need to know how this affects my life and theirs.

Too much is at stake.

She rolls her eyes in exasperation and pulls out a tube of lipstick from her purse. “I don’t know,” she says with a huff, applying a thick layer of cherry red on her lips. “You’ll have to talk to my brother. If they’re buying clubs here, he’ll know about it.” Pausing her actions, she glares at me. “Is there something I don’t know?”

Despite my inner teasing of her being an annoying cockroach, Vika and I became friends over the past couple ofyears. Due to our forced proximity, and the shared trauma of being discarded by our families as if we were trash put out on bin day, we sort of bonded. It’s nice to have a piece of home nearby.

That being said, there is no way I can trust her with my secrets. There’s too much at stake. She turned on the Vetrovs, so it’s not like she wouldn’t do it to a Voskobynokov.

“Didn’t you stay with them for a few months when Vas abandoned me to rot and fell in love with my sister—who I didn’t even know existed?” There’s the old Vika, her true self struggling to break free when Darya is part of the conversation. “What happened with them?”