“You think I’m after your money and family?” I ask.
Silence.
“Why the hell would you think that?”
Her lids twitch—barely a flicker, but I catch it.
“Did someone allude to this…” My spine feels as rigid as the time Trenton swung a bat into my lower back, convinced I was trying to steal Quinn.
To this day, he can’t wrap his head around the idea of platonic friendships between men and women. Then again, the only person Trenton trusts is his twin.
The metal accents on Electra’s jacket flash under every passing streetlight. “You’re awfully defensive.”
“You mistake defensive for pissed-off. I’m the first to admit I have a bunch of flaws, but greed isn’t one of them.” The taillights of the car in front of us burn my corneas. “All I want is to”—save Quinn—“make enough to get by.”
I expect Electra’s eyes to spark at any moment, but she only keeps watching me in silence.
The cabbie picks up a phone call and talks the rest of the way to the tow lot. Even though Electra readies a credit card on her phone screen, I mutter, “What part ofI don’t want your moneydidn’t you understand?”
“The cab was my idea,” she says, lowering her phone but not turning it off.
Her black Amex sits there, casually advertising her bottomless wealth. All dirty money amassed thanks to magic.
“And the shitty parking was mine.” When we pull up in front of the large industrial compound that resembles a low-security prison, I fish my wallet from the pocket of my sweats and peel out a few bills.
I’m about to wish her a goodnight and thank her for having come along, but she gets out of the car.
“You don’t have to hang around.”
“I know.” That’s all she says before heading into the building with me.
The agent enters my license plate into her system, then tells me the car just arrived and presents me with a bill that makes my pulse hiccup.
I open my wallet and pull out my ID, then begin counting out my cash. Beads of sweat form along my hairline when I realize I don’t have enough on me to cover the parking violation fine and the tow cost.
“I’ll need access to my car to get you the rest of the money.”
The lady behind the counter eyes me, then my wallet, then Electra, then hefts a brow that contains more gold hoops than hair. I suspect she’s about to point out that I’m with an Atlantean—that surely my companion can pay for me—but Electra’s face isn’t known like Tarian’s or Calanthe’s.
“I’ll need to find an attendant.” She picks up her phone and taps a button with nails bitten down to the quick and streaked with chipped polish.
My attention strays to Electra’s nails. They’re bare and cut clean with just a crescent of white. I’m not sure why, but I find myself relieved. I wouldn’t say I have a nail fetish, but I’m not a fan of the colorful, talon-like variety.
Perhaps I do have a nail fetish.
The woman behind the desk hangs up, then dials another number, muttering under her breath how she’s surrounded by lazy coworkers.
“R.R.” Electra’s quiet voice seeps over the whirring ventilation.
“Hmm?” I look away from her hands and up at her face to find her stare grazing the gold-embossed initials on my black leather wallet.
Fuck.
Me.
I’m tempted to slot my thumb over theRs but the damage is done—she’s seen the letters.
“Thrifted or stolen?” she asks.
