A dark shadow crosses Parker’s face and she curses under her breath, something in Tagalog. She curses again, muttering, “fucking…child traffickers at a serial killer conference.”
“Hey, you okay?” I ask, opening my arm to her.
“No.” She sits back down and leans in against me, her head barely at my armpit. “One of the first things you and I ever talked about was my cousin, Elaina. You asked if I wanted to find or kill the people who took her. And I said kill.”
“Yes, I remember.” I wrap my arm around her.
Appraising Anders and Omar as they canoodle on the couch, her voice is disconnected from her words. “And a month ago, Anders took a trip to Manila. Elaina showed up at my aunt’s house the next day.”
“Funny, the timing of that.”
“And just last week the news in Manila said that the general had been missing for weeks and is presumed dead.”
He most definitely is, and in more pieces than you’d think. “Probably a safe assumption.”
Shifting against me, she leans her head against my chest. “It doesn’t make me feel as good as I thought it would.”
“Not all of us can be Anders.”
“More’s the pity,” she says, her laughter as dry as burnt toast. “Do you know that Elaina was surprised when her mother burst into tears? Shocked that my aunt missed and mourned her daughter?”
“Really?” I knew that going home would just be the beginning of a very long walk back for her cousin, but that surprises even me.
“Yes, really. The trash who took her and sold her made her believe she was worthless and her family wasn’t even looking for her. Before they took her, she was this strong, spunky tween who loved her BTS boys, had school crushes, and gave her mom grief about doing chores. She came back a different person. She says it would have been better if she’d died.”
I hug her tight to my side.
“So, you know, you’ve got traffickers cavorting with serial killer experts at some fucking conference in Houston, and it occurs to me that there are kids who are grateful there’s a plan to end their suffering. Because, at this moment, Elaina would be jealous of those children.”
“Fuck, Park. Jesus. I’m so, so sorry.”
“No, I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to be such a drag.” I start to contradict her, but she quiets me with a sharp gesture. “I just—and I feel so stupid bringing it up—but on top of all of that, I got called ‘China girl’ the other day at the store by this guy who was trying to intimidate me, you know? Just generally trying to tower over me. And it was, you know,a moment. Realizing there are people out there who willneverview me as human.”
She wipes her tears away with a rough hand, and I do the only thing I can, which is to continue to hold her close and let her know that she is being heard.
“Do you need me to go after someone?” Anders asks, holding out his hand to her.
She gives another dry chuckle and grabs it. “Nah. I’ve been taking self-defense classes with Abigail, and she showed me that groin punch she used out at Rancho Horrible. The guy was on the floor and crying for his mother by the time I was done with him.”
The visual of Park standing over that writhing fuck-stick is both hilarious and triumphant.
“Fucking A,” my brother says, pumping his fist. There are high-fives all around and the easy, irreverent smile returns to our fearless friend. Anders being Anders, can’t help himself. “So…self-defense classes, huh? Is that what we’re calling them?”
Parker tips back the balance of her drink, letting her sly smile do the talking.
“Details, woman!” Omar says, grabbing her glass to prepare another drink.
She shakes her head and pins me with a smirk. “You get details when this one confirms that someone’s given his dick a firm handshake.” She cuts off any attempt at protest by smoothing out my collar. Patting my cheek, she continues, “You look like a goddamn cover model with that haircut. You’re stylish in an understated-wealth kind of way, and you’ve got that I’m-a-quiet-boy-in-the-streets-but-I’ll-rock-your-world-in-the-sheets look about you. If you want to know which one of us wears the strap-on, you’re going to have to dig deep and make a real effort for us, m’kay?”
Anders slides onto the floor, mouth gaping as he pounds the carpet with his fist. “Brother,” he begs, sitting back on his knees, his hands held out in fervent prayer. “For the love of god,pleaselet someone shake your noodle. I beseech you. I need those details.”
Fucking hell.
13
Odd
I’mnotgoing to hook up with someone. I used to be able to do it before, but now I know too much. Unfortunately, my brother is incessant about knowing who wears the strap-on, so I called Park and bargained my way into a date instead of a hookup. Then spent Saturday dodging dick pics—I fucking hate gay dating apps—and, worse, zoo pics from the team. Let’s just say that Thane’s photography skills are…interesting.
