Twilight Sins (Kulikov Bratva Book 1)

“I told you this would be fun!”

Mariya’s arms are over her head, body swaying with the music. We’re on the mezzanine level of the club. It’s just as crowded up here as it was on the dance floor, but sticking close to the railing helps me not want to vomit immediately.

“I never said it wouldn’t be fun!” I yell back. “I said it was a bad idea!”

“How can this be a bad idea?” She spins again, sipping on something pink with a cherry floating in the bottom.

Oh, let me count the ways.

I didn’t see her order anything, but her shitty fake ID must have been good enough to fool the bartender. I’ll just cut her off before she can get drunk.

“This has been fun, but we are still leaving in—” I check the neon clock above the DJ booth. “—twenty minutes.”

Mariya rolls her eyes. Her teeth glow in the black lights hanging from the ceiling. “You haven’t even danced yet. Or had a drink.”

“One of us needs to be the designated driver.” As the only one between us who is legal drinking age, I’m not sure how that became me. But welcome to my life.

“The hour doesn’t start until you have fun.”

The DJ rolls into a new song. I can feel the pounding bass line in my bones. I have to yell to even hear myself. “That wasn’t the deal!”

“Well, it is now.” She grabs my arms and swings them side to side. “Stop babysitting me, enjoy yourself, and then we can go.”

I want to argue, but stubbornness obviously runs deep in the Kulikov family. Mariya is going to get her way whether I like it or not. I might as well decide to like it.

A waitress squeezes past with a tray of drinks. I snag the closest one.

“Hey! That wasn’t for⁠—”

I toss it back before she can finish and wince against the burn.

“Oh my God, yes!” Mariya cheers and then flashes her ID to the waitress.

Her last name definitely means something around here. The waitress is annoyed, but she doesn’t say anything else as she turns away and disappears into the crowd.

I jab a finger against her sparkling chest. “The hour starts now.”

Mariya waves me off. “Yeah, yeah. Now, dance!”

She spins me into the crowd of people.

This time, instead of fighting against the mass of bodies and limbs, I flow into it. I let myself slide between people as they sway to the music. I close my eyes and let the bass thrum through me.

After so many days in Yakov’s mansion, wondering where I stand and what’s going to happen next, it’s nice to let it all go. Even if only for the space of one song.

When the music winds down, blending into something a little slower, I open my eyes. I look for Mariya along the railing where we were standing before.

But she’s not there.

Cue nervous sweats.

Cue rapid heartbeat.

Cue what the fuck is happening.

I push my way through the crowd, scanning the faces around me. Even in my heels, everyone else feels like giants. I can’t see anything.

“Mariya!” I cup my hands around my mouth. I might as well be screaming into a pillow. The club swallows the sound.

I’m trying to climb onto a chair to get a better view when a hand slides around my waist. “Hey, baby. You wanna dance?”

The guy has a button-down on, the sleeves rolled just high enough that everyone can see his Rolex.

“No, thanks. I’m looking for my friend.”

He steps closer, his damp breath hot on my neck. “I’ll be your friend.”

I don’t have time for this. I elbow the asshole in the ribs and squeeze past him.

“Bitch!” he yells after me.

All it does is spur me on. Mariya is alone in here with jerks like that wandering around. Our security should be around somewhere, but they have to be useless in this crush of people. If I can’t see them, there’s no way they can see me.

“Mariya!” I yell again.

I weave around the mezzanine and then cling to the railing as I look down on the crowd below. Colorful lights circle and spin, making it hard to focus on anyone. But Mariya doesn’t jump out at me. I doubt she’d go back to the first floor anyway. Not when her name can get her behind any door in this club.

So I head for the velvet ropes of the VIP area at the top of the stairs.

The bouncer has a large tattoo of a lion on his neck. He throws out a beefy arm when I approach. “VIP only.”

I lift my chin. “I’m a guest of the Kulikov family.”

The man glances around. “I don’t see them.”

“They’re waiting for me upstairs,” I lie. “He’ll be pissed if I’m late.”

I don’t clarify which “he” I’m talking about, but based on how quickly the bouncer shifts the rope out of my way, I don’t need to.

Yakov really does run this city. Insane.

The music from below still shakes the walls, but it’s muffled on the third floor. The people up here aren’t looking to dance their cares away. They have a different way to relieve stress.

A peek into the dark rooms reveals private dancers wearing not all that much and tables covered in powdery lines.

I keep walking, praying Mariya isn’t stupid enough to go into any of those.

The back of the third floor opens into a glass-enclosed room. The music is even quieter back here. Nothing except the relentless bass remains. The space is ringed in black leather benches with a floor-to-ceiling view of the dancers two floors down.

I stand in front of the glass and look at the faceless shapes swarming below me. Even if Mariya was right in the center of it all, I’d never be able to see her from here.

I’ll talk to the club’s security. Maybe they’re in touch with Yakov’s security guards. Whoever it is, I need someone with an official title looking for Mariya. My feet ache and the one drink I stole isn’t settling very well on my empty stomach.

Just as I push away from the wall, I hit something.

Someone, rather.

Large hands grip my waist and hold me tight. Before I can even yelp in surprise, a deep voice hisses in my ear, “There you are. Finally.”