My gaze cuts to her high-end luggage, which sits open on top of the unmade bed.
Beautiful and smart. But still spoiled.
I close her suitcase and zip it shut before I set it in the corner. A quick snap of the bedspread covers the rumpled sheets and pillows, so the bed doesn’t look wrecked.
Leaning over one of my duffel bags, I pull it open to retrieve a journal I brought with me. I need to make some notes on what I need to do. As soon as I dig into the duffel, I can tell the contents have been disturbed. That may have happened when I carried it upstairs, but I don’t think so.
Moving the journal and some clothes aside, I scowl. One of the bundles of cash has been opened and the stack is now being held together by a bronze hair scrunchie.
Girl, I think, gritting my teeth.
I flip through the bills, shaking my head. Arya walked off with about twenty thousand dollars. Worse though than her taking the money is that my pistol seems to be gone, too.
Are you fucking kidding?
She didn’t even want to touch it the other night.
Maybe it’s still here.
I unzip the pockets and dump the contents of the duffel on the bed, and then replace each item one-by-one. I repeat the process with the other duffel that contains more clothes, my laptop, and toiletries.
No gun.
For fuck’s sake, girl. I do not have time for games.
Setting my hands on top of my head, I scowl.
If she accidentally shoots herself or someone else, I will never live it down.
“I hope it was worth it,” I whisper. “Because now your ass is in big trouble.”
25
ARYA
Eden idles the car in a parking space near the front stairwell to Octavia’s apartment.
I sit silently stewing. Just when I start to trust the Viking, things unravel. The way he talked so casually about dead puppies… and everything else. I guess he expects me to be as immune to violent depravity as he and his friends are. But I just can’t take it in stride. I can’t.
“Hola, babychicas,” Tavi says as she hops into the backseat, wearing a dark rose velour lounge suit. She’s carrying a sparkly pink cupcake clutch and a tan travel mug with a cherry blossom pattern. She flips open the top and sips from it.
“What’s in that?” Eden asks, swiveling the wheel to point us toward the expressway.
“Chocolatini.”
“Before noon?” I mutter, staring out the windshield. My head hurts from lack of sleep and general unrest. I feel like if I don’t get away from GU and distract myself for a few hours, my head will explode.
“Oh boy. ‘Sour Patch Kid’ mood?” Octavia shoves the cup forward, so it’s in the space between Eden and me. “Here, have a drink.”
“No.”
“Suit yourself.” Then she rattles something off in Spanish about life being beautiful.
“What?” I lick my lips and tilt my head. “What?”
Octavia downs several swallows. “What’s wrong, mía? He’s a bastard?”
Eden’s gaze slides to me. “It better not be that, since she blew me off for him. After she said—”
