So if Aleksei thinks he can do something to either of us, he can f*****g think again. I’m here to make sure he understands that.
Just as I start to step down from the curb, my phone vibrates in my pocket. I pause, one foot dangling over the asphalt, and pull it out to see a text from her.
Home safe. Are you okay?
I start to type back: Debating whether to do something very f*****g dumb.
Then I delete the message and write a different one: I’m sorry.
I delete that one, too.
All’s okay. Get some sleep.
I tuck away my phone and cross the street toward the club.
The building pulses with bass like it’s got a heartbeat of its own. I bypass the front entrance, where partiers in various states of undress and inebriation are queued up waiting to enter, and go down the side alley.
At the far
