“Can I ask you another question?”
I’m pushing my luck, but what the hell.
“Last one,” he growls in annoyance.
“BLOOD GOD.” I nod at the embroidered words on his cut. “What does it mean?”
I’m 99.9 percent certainit means something really, really bad.
“None of your fucking business.”
Loud feminine laughter draws my attention to the front. Five scantily dressed women linger near the entrance, waiting to be seated. The hostess directs the group to follow her and leads them to a table diagonally across from us. The last woman halts in her stilettos, catching sight of Sandman.
“Hey, big boy,” she greets him, a flirtatious smile teasing her red lips. “Missed you at the bar last night.”
A svelte figure, smooth olive skin, and long jet-black hair give her an exotic look. I’m sure she turns heads wherever she goes. She’s getting more than a few appreciative glances right now. I wonder who she is to him.
“I was busy.”
“Will you be there tonight?” She twirls a finger in his loose blond strands. “I have a surprise for you. It’s sheer and red.”
“Maybe.”
Then her eyes find me. “Who’s she?” She fails miserably to conceal the simmering jealousy in her speculative gaze. “Never seen her around here before.”
Asking Sandman about me when I’m sitting right here is a blatant snub.
“Call her trash,” he replies, his piercing blue orbs boring into me. “That’s what she is.”
I bit my tongue, squelching the knee-jerk reaction to defend myself.
The woman holds out her purse and drops it onto the floor, a smug smirk on her face. “Pick it up,Trash.”
“You dropped it,” I hiss at her, refusing to budge. “You pick it up.”
“Do it,” Sandman orders me.
I jerk my gaze back to him, his grumbled command stunning me silent. It’s abundantly clear that he loathes my existence, and I even understand why. On some level, maybe I even deserve it. But to allow other people to treat me lower than dirt is taking it too far.
No. I won’t stand for it.
I need to make a move, and I need to make it now. From my window seat, I spot a police cruiser parked several blocks away.It’s now or never, Zilphia.
I bolt through the restaurant, my heart thrumming in my chest. I head straight for the cruiser, hoping there’s a police officer inside or nearby. Meela warned me against going to the cops,but I have to try. There have to be officers in the surrounding police departments who aren’t corrupt. A uniformed man exits the pharmacy just ahead. I pull in a relieved breath and slow to a walk.
“Excuse—”
“Sandman,” he suddenly calls out, nearly giving me a heart attack. “Ready for your team to lose this afternoon?”
I glance back, finding Sandman only inches behind me.
You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. Are they friends? I’m in deep shit now.
“The Insurgents won the Super Bowl three years in a row.” Sandman casually ambles up beside me and slips an arm over my waist. “When was the last time those sorry ass Mambas won a Super Bowl?”
“They’re going to make a comeback this season,” the officer claims proudly. “You just wait and see.”
“Mm-hmm.” Sandman chuckles. “I wouldn’t get my hopes up if I were you.”
