They are, I’ll give them that. “Then they should’ve offed my old man,” I casually say.
Inside, I’m pissed that I didn’t have a say in who my father is, though there is an upside to having Branson as my old man. I’ll never put a kid through what he put me and my half-siblings through. Because of him, I detest liars and cheaters.
My phone rings.
Slate tips his head at the ringing phone. “Tell Midnight you’ll take him up on the offer. I’ll deal with my cousin. Have Dom keep an eye on the club.”
I shake my head. “You’re a fucking bossy motherfucker.”
“It’s the reason you keep me around, man. I keep you in line. Keep your dick from rotting off, too, when I step in and take the women home rather than letting you wet your dick. One of these days, one of them will go feral and stalk you the fuck down.”
“I make it clear the sex is no strings.”
“That’s not what happened with the last woman.”
I answer the call and warn Slate with a scathing glare not to bring up Iris again. “Hey, Midnight. What can I do you for?”
“I need an answer on the house. Riley has a friend. Her brothers are into flipping houses, and they’d like to buy the place. I told them you have first dibs. So, what’s it gonna be?”
I blow out a breath. Fuck. Can I risk a beating from Ty and his crew and a berating from Gwen to get closer to a woman who could have the answer to what’s been haunting me for the past two years?
Why the fuck did Carlos take the bullet for me?
But what gets me, what has adrenaline pumping through my veins, is a different question.
Can Ever lay waste to my doubts about love ever since Jules screwed me over?
There’s one way to find out.
I’ll be the fucking villain of Ever’s story.
21
EVER
“Ever, have you ever kissed a ladybug?”
A week and a half have gone by since I found out about Bobby, and I do my best not to dwell on our time together or how badly he hurt me with his deception. Otherwise, I’ll cry, then get mad at myself for wasting my tears on a liar and manipulator.
I contemplate the question and study the question-asker.
The sweet little girl seated in front of me has long dark-brown hair and big cinnamon-brown eyes set in a thin face. Francia is also wearing rainbow sorbet ice cream on the tip of her nose and her mouth.
I reach over and wipe her face clean. “Believe it or not, I have kissed a ladybug.”
“What does it feel like? Was it gross? Why would you kiss a bug? You’re an adult.” Francia’s older brother, Alejandro, scrunches his face.
Francia giggles.
“I don’t remember what it felt like, but it wasn’t gross. I was a year younger than Francia.”
Francia is six.
“My mom took me to Dumas Botanical Gardens, and there were these beautiful roses in assorted colors. Velvety red. Blood orange. Sunny yellow. Snow white. My favorite was a rose named “Blue Girl.” It’s this deep lavender but can look blue.”
“Ever.” An exasperated sigh from Alejandro, followed by an eye roll.
I hold back my smile, remembering what it was like to be Alejandro’s age and having to listen to my mother’s long-winded stories. I miss her.
