Chapter Text
“ID?” The bouncer scrutinized them over brawny arms. Each girl pulled an ID from their purses and handed it over.
The club’s purple neon sign completely obscured the bouncer’s face, leaving them to the mercy of two sharp stones in the dark. The fake IDs were held frozen between his large hands, and Hope’s breath together with them.
She felt Josie scoot closer, though she didn’t dare take her eyes off the bouncer. This is not going to work, she remembers Josie whispering in the safety of her room, I look twelve.
So, Hope took her to a thrift shop and bought clubbing dresses. She blended a seductive smokey eye and gave her the highest heels she found. And at the same time, Josie pulled Hope’s auburn hair into a tight ponytail to highlight her dramatic features. She exposed just enough of her cleavage to leave little to the imagination and painted her lips blood red.
Still, the bouncer’s eyes glinted with suspicion,
Hope sighed and pulled Josie in by the waist, “Her skincare routine is amazing, I know. She actually makes herbal creams that are 100% natural and make wonders. I mean, look at her—“ she cupped Josie’s cheeks to flaunt her face, “smooth as a baby’s fucking ass.”
Josie snapped her face away, subtly pinching Hope’s side to shut her up. Their eyes met for a meaningful second. The brunette played along, “Yes, I actually have a sale right now if you’re interested in buying some.”
At this point, the bouncer looked bored of them. He handed their fakes back and practically ushered them inside, ready to move on to the next group in line.
They walked down a long tunnel lit only by two neon strips. The rhythmic thump of the music vibrated through Hope’s chest, pumping her with anticipation despite all logic.
“Herbal creams, seriously?” Josie shrilled, “Not even you believe that lie.”
Hope couldn’t help but chuckle, “There are two things in this world men can’t tolerate: a woman’s woes and basic hygiene.”
“I still think there were better, more intelligent ways of getting in.” Josie blinked rapidly, “God, I can’t see with these cursed eyelashes.”
“Alright, we’ll do it your way next time,” Hope finally ceded, though her words were swallowed by tekno music as the tunnel opened into a balcony.
The club seemed ready to burst. Alcohol and lust lingered in the air and stuck to Hope’s skin like sweat. She breathed it in, tempted to delve into the packed dance floor and drink herself into oblivion, with only Josie to anchor her to this reality.
“There.” Josie nodded to a secluded second story, “If I was a mafia boss, that’s where I’d keep my VIPs.”
“Excellent work, Josette. Shall we?” Hope gestured to the staircase and Josie was quick to link their arms.
Together they descended to the bar, pushing their way through grinding couples and tripping junkies as best they could in the tight space.
Hope noticed a group of girls around college-age ordering a round of drinks. She watched the bartender closely and waited until he turned around to snatch two of the drinks he left unattended.
She handed one to Josie. “Mmmm,” the brunette took a sip, “Tequila. And something sweet. Peach, perhaps?”
Hope took her own taste, sensing the fruity flavor before it burned a path down her throat. Yeah, it was definitely peach. “You’re getting better at this.” She said with fondness, distantly remembering the first time Josie mistook vodka for water.
She shrugged, a smile nipping at her lips. Then, she leaned into Hope’s ear, “To your six.”
Slowly, Hope turned her eyes over her shoulder and saw what Josie referred to: four men— three big enough to break the dense crowd, one dressed as if straight out of a James Bond movie. Little Weasel, as her father liked to call him, was actually Tristan de Martel— leader of the French mafia. Rumor had it he stored his most valuable treasures in the vault of his office.
And Hope and Josie were nothing if not curious.
They trailed behind Tristan, stealing a new set of drinks and adjusting their hair to blend in, until they stopped at another bouncer guarding a veiled staircase.
“Boozer.” He greeted. Before the bouncer stepped aside, Josie took her chance.
“Oh my god, are you Lord Tristan?”
The three lackeys following him blocked Josie out, towering over her with scowls. “Heel, boys,” came Tristan’s smooth voice. His eyes wandered over Josie’s body before snapping to the drink in her hand, “I doubt this beautiful young lady is of any threat.”
Hope stepped back into the crowd to hide her sulk. How fragile had to be this man’s ego for him to make everyone address him as “Lord”?
Her mood only worsened when Josie pushed a lock of hair behind her ear and glanced up coyly, “I’m sorry, that was so rude of me. It’s just… well, a few weeks back you bought my drinks for the night and mentioned playing a gamble?” She bit her lip, and even in the dim lighting, Hope caught Tristan tracking the motion.
It was all a lie, of course. Tristan took a different woman every night to his lounge and forgot about her the next day. Josie could just be another innocent girl to fall for his charming money and he wouldn’t question it.
So, when her fists tightened and her cheeks flared, Hope convinced herself she was preparing to pull Josie out of the club in case Tristan saw through their little charade.
“I wondered if we could continue where we left off. I even brought a friend with me tonight…”
Hope never heard the end of the conversation. She grabbed the first guy on her left and started grinding against him. Her hips swayed to the beat against his crotch, and he groaned as she skimmed over the right spot. His breath stank of alcohol and his hands clumsily gripped her waist, yet she clung to him and let the music weld their bodies together.
Her breaths were coming in pants when she sensed a large palm on her lower back. It was lackey 1.
“Miss, Lord Tristan wants to see you.”
He took her to the upstairs lounge, though the term “casino” fit it best: sets of tables with different gambling games occupied most of the floor. She spotted rounds of blackjack, roulette, and baccarat, with well-dressed men doubled over them. They looked like politicians, businessmen— people of high standing in society— though Hope didn’t doubt many of them drowned in severe debt. Perhaps even addiction to gambling.
Once close enough, Hope heard Josie giggle as she leaned over the backrest of Tristan’s chair. She ran slender hands over his shoulders, apparently listening as he explained the rules of poker.
Josie’s face lit up when she saw her. She pulled Hope close by the arm, “Oh, Lord Tristan, this is my friend Jessica.”
“From college, I presume?” Tristan stood to greet her.
“Yeah. I’m an art major, sir.” Another lie. Hope dropped out of high school in the middle of junior year when her father took off to Hong Kong after a job went wrong. She never bothered to enroll back— everything she needed to know, the city taught her. And Josie was in her first semester of senior year with no plans of attending college. But lying came so easy to them.
Hope smiled. Lazy. Drunk. Submissive. A total contrast to the machinations of her mind.
Content and with a girl on either side, Tristan turned his attention back to the table. Poker— the game of liars. Fitting.
The alcohol flowed freely and so did the money, quantities Hope had only ever dreamed of. The losers left with their heads down and no money in their pockets, while the winners greedily played another round hoping and praying Luck will grant them another mercy.
She was in the process of dripping her third drink into the nearby plant when two lackeys escorted a woman through the lounge. Her red hair waved like a personal battle banner as she stomped to god-knows-where. Hope didn’t recognize her, but she guessed Tristan wouldn’t use up his resources on someone who wasn’t important.
“Josie,” she whispered. The brunette ignored her. “Josie, I think I found it.”
It was futile; Josie leaned dangerously over the table, her fiery eyes observing a wave of chips wash up to the center, raising the stakes to thousands of dollars.
Hope cupped her jaw, demanding her attention, “I need to pee. Walk me to the restroom?”
With one last glance to the table, Josie fell into step with Hope. The redhead guided them to the hallway she saw the lackeys come out of. To their left stood a line for the women’s restrooms and to their right a carpeted hall leading up to a double door. The choice seemed obvious.
Josie wriggled the doorknob, then pushed on it without budge, “Dammit, it’s locked.”
Hope pulled a bobby pin from her ponytail and kneeled before the lock. A minute later the door clicked open. “Ladies first.”
Tristan’s office held a classic air to it— wooden walls decorated with knight armors and grand bookcases. It had its own living room and minibar with glasses littered around that suggested someone had recently been here. A marble statue of an 11th-century woman watched them from the corner. Hope faintly recalled hearing a stolen report of it in the news.
“Look.” Josie pointed to the family portrait hung above the desk.
The de Martels clad in pressed suits and severe expressions made for a striking— and conceited— sight. The red-haired woman from before was up there, too. Seeing her propped on a chair beside Tristan, the likeness was undeniable. Though Hope swore he wasn’t that tall. It looked like a glorified Yearbook picture.
Josie stood next to the portrait and posed like an exaggerated Vogue cover. Her voice dropped a seductive octave, “Josette de Martel. Kiss my hand and lavish me in gifts or my brother will serve me your head on a silver platter.”
Hope laughed, collapsing on the leather chair, “A little ostentatious, don’t you think?”
“C’mon, your family must have one too.”
“We don’t.”
Josie gasped, “I don’t believe you. I bet you go home and admire Manhattan through the giant windows of your penthouse.”
“You’ve thought about this.” Hope smirked.
“Physics class can be so boring.” Josie fidgeted with the edge of the frame, lost in thought. “I want to have my portrait done one day.”
“And admire Manhattan from your penthouse?”
Josie laughed, loud and carefree, “That’s the dream.”
The painting creaked open like a hatch. The girls exchanged a bewildered gaze and pushed the painting further.
“What the—”
It wasn’t a safe with a combination lock like Hope expected, but an encrypted number pad. She huffed, stashing away the bobby pin she had readily taken out.
“Maybe it’s his birthday…?”
Hope began pacing, “No, no. He’s not that stupid. Must be something he likes or is passionate about.”
“Like the Medieval times?” Josie gestured to the broadswords above the chimney.
“Precisely.”
==
“The beginning of the Black Death?”
“Still wrong.”
Hope groaned. Her heels were starting to become unbearable and this vault refused to open. They tried the Crusades, the Vikings, Constantinople, the rise of France, and the screen kept burning red. She swiveled on the chair, dropping her head onto the desk.
“Hope, we don’t have much time left.”
“I know. Just— let me think for a second.”
She tilted her head so the room looked sideways. Tristan’s desk was awfully neat for a man— not a speck of dust on it, with only a lamp and paperweight for decoration. Now that she noticed it, the paperweight was ugly as hell: an old man carved out of stone, encrusted with too many rhinestones. A legend decorated the bottom; Charlemagne: Emperor of Europe.
The idea struck Hope like lightning.
“Put the date of Charlemagne’s coronation.”
“Who?”
Hope lunged to insert the date, “He was emperor of France, England, and Spain or something like that.” Only Tristan would have a thousand-year-old dead man as his celebrity crush.
“You don’t think he’s that arrogant, right?”
The safe opened with a hiss.
Piles of dollar stacks fell to their feet. Twenties. Fifties. Hundreds. Bejeweled necklaces and golden rings and so many riches it blinded Hope for a moment.
“I stand corrected.” Josie breathed.
Music could still be heard from the club, but it paled in comparison to the rushing blood in Hope’s ears. Holy shit—
Josie wrapped her arms around her neck, nearly tipping them over, “We did it! We really did it!”
Hope laughed alongside her and returned the embrace just as fiercely. The mini bar called to her like a siren, and this time Hope gave in to temptation, “I think we should celebrate.”
They raided the bar, taking generous servings of bourbon, and threw their heels to a forgotten corner. Money fell from the sky like never-ending rain and laughter thundered with it. She followed the distant rhythm and Josie’s step until one drink turned into too many. Hope knew the exact moment it happened—when the office spinned and she did with it. Her bare feet padded over to the safe. She amassed a pile of bucks to launch when she heard the thud of a fall.
She picked up the box, turning over the unassuming little thing with curiosity. Compared to the rest of the safe, the box seemed boring— a black velvet casing free of engravings and million-dollar testaments. Yet something kept Hope from discarding it into the safe. She opened the box, coming upon a silver talisman of round shape.
A loud crash forced her attention away. One of the knight armors laid scattered in pieces across the boards, its head pointing accusingly to the culprit.
“Ooops.” Josie’s face twisted in a grimace. The crown on her head hung low on her brow, obscuring her eyes.
In Hope’s drunk mind, she looked like a fucking queen. Though something was amiss…
“Come here.”
Josie obliged and sat on the edge of the desk without question. Hope didn’t realize how close this would bring them— their breaths intermingled and filled the space between them with the smell of alcohol. For the first time that night, Hope didn’t find it disgusting.
“Close your eyes.”
Josie raised an eyebrow, watching her through glazed eyes and poor focus. Her long eyelashes fluttered chut after a moment, and Hope forced her hands into motion instead of tracing the curve of Josie’s face for the tenth time. Clumsy fingers managed to clasp the necklace and fix it atop her chest.
“There.” Hope exhaled shakily.
“It’s beautiful.” Josie said as she caressed the talisman. She looked up with admiration overflowing her expression like she couldn’t help herself in her drunken haze. If Hope’s heart skipped a beat, she ignored it.
“There’s someone inside!” A gruff voice boomed outside the door, followed by a violent rattle of the doorknob. Thankfully, they’d been smart enough to lock the door, though Hope doubted it would give them much time.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” She spun around to find an exit, which she immediately learned to be a mistake as the floor swayed beneath her. Perhaps they shouldn’t have drunk half the minibar.
In a last-ditch effort, she shut her eyes to stop the pounding in her head, “Josie, do you see a window?”
“Uh…” soft padding moved around her, then the rustle of clothes, “Fuck. No.”
The commotion had drawn attention and now the lackeys were trying to force the door open. “Get the fuck out of my way.”
The distinct click of guns shot Hope’s eyes open. She tackled Josie to the ground just as a volley of bullets pierced the thick oak. They crashed behind the couch in a mess of limbs, and Hope knew the slight jab on her leg would bloom into a nasty bruise in the morning.
If they made it that far.
“Ugh, fuck me,” Josie groaned underneath her, cradling the back of her head.
She couldn’t pass out. Not now. Not here.
Hope shook her shoulders, “Josie, open your eyes. Look at me.”
“Open the door you whores!” Tristan smashed the door with the handle of his gun, sending splinters flying until his red, blotched face peeked through.
The adrenaline overpowered any trace of alcohol in Hope’s blood, replacing the pleasant buzz with an uncomfortable prickle on her skin. She almost missed Josie calling her name.
“Hope. Over there.” She pointed to a brown vent on the floor.
Hope scrambled to it and pulled with so much force the skin on her fingers broke. But the screws refused to let it open.
“Here,” Josie handed her one of the broadswords. Hope didn’t notice her getting up, but that mattered little right now.
She took the sword and stuck the tip under the rim of the vent, then pushed down with her entire weight until the screws flew off. She extended a bloodied hand to Josie, “Come on!”
But the brunette squeaked, attention set on Tristan’s hand as he tried to open the door from the inside. Josie took the crown off her head and threw it at him, smashing his fingers into unnatural angles. He screamed, cursing and damning them to Hell.
Hope pushed Josie into the vent and climbed after her just as the door burst open.
“FIND THEM.”
They didn’t know where the vent led, but they crawled so fast through it their knees bled. Josie pushed a second vent to the outside— they stumbled into the alley behind the club. It felt like they traveled in time back to the early night. The line still rounded the corner. The music still rumbled from inside. But they were sweaty, bloody, and very much in danger.
Tristan stormed through the front of the club, his lackeys close behind him and searching every person nearby.
“We can’t stay here.” Hope took Josie’s hand and took off into the night.
==
They didn’t stop running. Not even after their legs burned and pebbles dug into their feet. Finally, they reached the back of a Chinese restaurant and collapsed against a dumpster.
It took Hope a few minutes to regain her breath, and the adrenaline slowly seeped out of her system with it. She became aware of how much she was trembling, from her hands to her shoulders, and even keeping her jaw shut seemed impossible.
She felt Josie shake next to her. The girl’s face was hidden by her hair. Hope reached out, “Hey, are you al—”
Then she heard Josie laugh, timidly at first, and then it exploded out of her chest like gunpowder. She laughed and laughed and Hope could only watch her, bewildered.
Soon they were both laughing at nothing like psychotic freaks. A couple passing by saw them and squeezed to the farthest edge of the sidewalk.
Hope’s stomach started to hurt, and so she asked, “Why are you laughing?”
Josie’s laughter faded away. Her smile was now strained, and her wide stare drilled into Hope, “We sneaked into Tristan de Martel’s club, opened his vault, and nearly got our brains blown off.”
“I’d say we were pretty successful.”
“Have you lost your mind?” Josie shrieked, whatever blockage was in her emotions dissolved, “We did all of that and came out with nothing.”
She buried her face in her hands as a groan slipped from her mouth. Hope waited a beat before placing a hand over her back, rubbing gentle circles. “We did not come out with nothing.”
Josie peeped over the crook of her elbow. Hope tapped the silver chain still wrapped around her neck. Josie shot up, touching the talisman with utter disbelief. A smile ghosted her face before realization squashed it.
“Oh god, this is yours.” She rushed to unclasp the necklace, but Hope stopped her.
“I want you to have it.” At Josie’s confused expression, she smiled, “It’s my promise to you. One day, we’re gonna rule this city. And every mafia, every thief in New York will know our names.”
Josie’s breath hitched. She searched Hope’s face, and for a second Hope thought she saw her eyes dip to her lips. “I believe you.”
The moment became strangely intimate, not unlike many they shared before. The space between them crackled with an energy Hope was too scared to name. And like every other time, she ran from it.
“You hungry?”