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She took a breath of relief when she stepped onto her home turf. Houston Street was bustling this late at night. The shops were all closed, including her favorite bagel joint in the entire city, but that didn’t stop the Lower East Side from coming to life after hours. The local gang, the Roulettes, patrolled the neighborhood. Girls called out from windows as she headed south toward Delancey. She ended up on the corner between the Roulettes’ headquarters, her go-to bodega, and Madame Colette’s, a landmark brothel house and the place she called home.
She, Ethan, and Gen lived in the attic of the brothel. Gen was Colette’s only daughter, and Kierse and Ethan were her two pet projects, then best friends, and now family. Everything that belonged to one of them belonged to all of them. That was how it had been since the first moment they met.
Kierse stalked up the front steps of the house, grinning at the Roulette standing guard at the main entrance, a casino chip on his lapel. “Hey, Corey. I thought you had plans with Ethan tonight.”
Corey was Ethan’s everything. Corey’s parents had immigrated from the Philippines right before the monsters’ appearance and the economic collapse. His parents had so many dreams for him, but after they’d died, he’d made his own way by joining the Roulettes. He fit right in with his broad shoulders, bulky muscles, and serious expressions. Kierse never would have guessed he and Ethan would be such a pair. But they’d met on one of the runs Ethan made to the Roulettes, and Corey had fallen instantly in love. It would have been disgusting if she wasn’t so happy for Ethan.
Corey winked at her. “Plans are still on. I’m off soon. We’re going to the festival in Little Italy. You and Gen coming, too?”
Kierse’s heart panged at the thought of the festival. “It’s still going on this late?”
Only a scant few years ago, nothing could have survived the monster brutality at night. Let alone a street festival. It really felt like they were coming to the other side of all of this.
“Yep,” he said, tossing his glossy black hair. “Supposed to go all night, if the nymphs have anything to say about it.”
She laughed. “Oh, I bet.”
Nymphs were one of the few monsters that humans could tolerate. They were mischievous little things but good at a party.
“You should come. It’d be good for you.”
She waved him off. “We’ll see.”
Corey let her pass without another word. The brothel during working hours was far from her favorite place in the world. Most nights, she took the fire escape to avoid the faux laughter of the sex workers and the prowling eyes and groping hands of their patrons. But rent was due, and she hated putting something off until tomorrow that could be done today.
When she stepped into the sitting area, she found a buxom redhead with all the grace and beauty of the leader of the home—Madame Colette. Beside her sat Carmine Garcia, her regular associate and the head of the Roulettes. Their frequent love affair was more than public knowledge. As well as the fact that she would never leave it all behind for him.
“You’re late,” she said from an antique armchair next to the flickering fireplace in the brothel house.
“Always, ma’am,” Kierse said.
“Be useful. Make me another brandy.”
Madame Colette never admitted that she waited up for Kierse when she was on a mission. The time Kierse had made the mistake of asking, she’d gotten her ears boxed for the stupidity of it—Colette had better things to do than stay up over some brat her daughter had taken into her attic—but Kierse knew the truth.
Still, she sloshed more brandy into Colette’s crystal glass. The good stuff at that.
“Carmine, dear, I have business,” she said, fluttering her red-lacquered nails at him.
He rose to his considerable height and dropped a bowler hat onto his gelled-back black hair. His light-brown skin was smooth and unblemished, but his onyx eyes were keen and calculating. They had to be, to rule one of the largest and most ruthless gangs in the city.
“Of course,” Carmine said, adjusting his three-piece suit. The light glinted off of the silver casino chip pin on his tie. He brushed his lips against Colette’s milky wrist. “I will see you later.”
She waved him off, and it was only after he was gone that she said, “Why do you look like you got the shit beat out of you, girl?” Colette leaned back in her chair, tossing her bright-red bangs off of her fair and unlined forehead and out of her blue eyes.
Kierse rolled her aching shoulders. “I’m fit for a fight still, Colette.”
“You’d be better off spreading your legs for money like a good girl. All this fighting makes you look like you strolled out of the dumpster. Doesn’t befit my house or hospitality.”
