He also taught me about Viagra. Turns out even twinky little me can fake my way through fucking women when the rent’s due. By the time I hit California, I was already numb to it all.
Raiyne calls ithustler resilience. I call it whatever gets me through the day.
My throat tightens, and before I can stop it, tears prick the corners of my eyes at the thought of his name. "Fucking traitorous snake."
The one friend I made since I ran away—or what I thought was friendship—down the fucking drain. Met him in California when I was eighteen. He got me onto the Obsidian Rabbit circuit, showed me the ropes, and taught me how to demand higher prices and how to stay safe.
I cannot believe the motherfucker sold me out.
The door creaks open, yanking me out of my spiral. Myhead snaps up, and I brace myself for another round of whatever fucked-up game Zach's playing.
But instead of his cold, dead eyes, I'm met with a sharp gaze that could cut glass.
A blonde woman walks in with the kind of confidence that screams don’t fuck with me—shoulders back, chin up, tailored coat flowing behind her like she stepped out of some high-fashion dystopia. She walks on her red heels with the grace of a predator. Bet she could push those things through someone’s neck.
She stops a few feet away, her piercing blue eyes zeroing in on me like I’m a particularly interesting bug under a microscope. “So, this is what my son has been up to.”
“Who the fuck is your son?” My voice comes out hoarse, probably from dehydration.
But she doesn’t have to answer. The only other prick who’s been here besides my stepbrother is the one in the nun mask. The one who tenderly touches Zach.
My jaw clenches.
Ugh, why does it bother me so much? Even the fact that Raiyne’s gotten with Zach doesn’t affect me the same way. Maybe because I’ve fucked around with the redhead too?
I wish I could bang my head against the concrete, knock some sense into myself because I’m seriously getting jealous over some prick who touched the fucking psychopath who wants to murder me.
The woman moves closer. Her predatory walk makes me want to crawl out of my skin. "Who are you?"
"Just some stripper your kid's friend decided to kidnap." I shrug, trying to ignore how my heart's racing. "You know, normal Tuesday stuff."
"Try again." She crouches to my level in her designer pants probably worth more than everything I own. Her eyes narrow as they rake over my face. “You look familiar. What’s your name?”
“Merci.”
Her eyes go wide, and she blinks. “Merci? Merci Laurent? As in Evelyn’s son?”
The mention of my mom's name hits like a punch to the gut. "Y-you know my mom?"
"We're friends." She straightens, pulling a phone from her pocket and swiping the screen. "She's been looking for you."
My chest tightens. "Is she . . . is she okay?"
“Quiet.” She puts the phone to her ear, tapping her foot impatiently as it rings. “Evelyn, I’m heading over. I have a surprise for you.”
An unfamiliar warmth blooms in my chest, my bottom lip trembling. She called my mom. She actually called my—
Every muscle in my body tenses.
I haven’t seen her in five years. Haven’t spoken to her. Haven’t beenher son.
And when my mom finds out what I’ve done to survive . . . tears gather in the corners of my eyes. I shake my head, taking a shuddering breath.
The woman tucks it back into her pocket. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”
Like I’m going somewhere. Did she not see I’m chained to the fucking floor like a dog?
The woman returns a minute later with . . . bolt cutters. And while I’m nervous as fuck about seeing my mom, I can’t help the smile spreading.
