“Dammit, Dalisay.” Tovah wipes under eyes and it’s not for show. I can’t believe her body knows how to make tears. “You get me. It’s so nice to beseen,you know?”
“Dottie, Vandy, Bailey,” Ezra’s mom, Judi, calls their names. “This is what you want?”
“It is.” Vandy answers, a moment before Bailey’s, “Yes.”
Dottie starts bouncing in her seat, clapping her hands. Oh, no. She’s about to spreadsheet. “The efficiency! God, it’s glorious. It makes me so happy. One day, three weddings, one reception, I know just the way to set up the sheets.”
“Nerd.”
“Don’t be so Blanche-y.”
“How does Ezra even put up with you?”
Dottie’s expression is smug as she stares at Blanche. “He’s memorized the Excel formulas…and recites them in my ear as he fucks me like a champion.”
Yak 11.
“She’s with her sisters, she’s fine. And you know Ezra has Dottie tagged. We’d know if she was in danger.”
“I appreciate you trying to be the voice of reason, Monty…but shut the fuck up. I want eyes on her. She isn’t answering my texts or calls and she knows better. I’m gonna fucking tan her hide when I get my hands on her.”
“I would very much like to see that.”
“Perv.” I can’t help smiling at him, despite the urgency thrumming through my veins to find Sophia. Rose, Blanche, Dottie, and Sophia get together once a week or so, just the four of them. Usually at one of their homes, away from the mishpocheh and the ever-watchful eye of the Kosher Nostra. Their security details are close by, their locations shared on their devices, and like Monty said, Ezra has several tracking devices on his woman.
Still…
I pull to a stop outside Blanche’s house, which is right next to Sophia’s, which is across the street from Rose’s and Dottie’s. Not that the sisters stay in their homes often. Dottie and Ezra live together in the compound, and since their half-brothers Uriel and Irving are living with Ezra’s parents there too, the other Goldman girls stay at the compound most of the time. Sophia has said that the compound feels more like home than anywhere they have ever lived. Surrounded by family and friends, thesisters soak up the constant affection and irritation they missed out on when they were growing up.
I slam my door behind me and jog up the path to the front door. I knock and wait, Monty catching up to me, his hands in his pockets, rocking back on his heels. “Why are you so fucking calm?”
“Because I’m not a control freak like you, baby.”
“Don’t call me baby.”
“Right. You aren’t sweet and docile like a baby, not like Sophia. Let me try it again…Because I’m not a control freak like you, crocodile. Hmm. Hippopotamus. No. Honey badger. Badger. We’ll go with badger.”
“Enjoying yourself?”
“Always.” Monty turns my head in his direction with his hand on my jaw and kisses me. “And you can enjoy me later. After we get eyes on our girl and you calm the fuck down.”
“Why aren’t they answering the door?” I knock again, then ring the doorbell. I’m about to knock again when I hear screaming from inside. I don’t think, just rear back and kick the front door open, jumping over the debris and rushing through the house.
“NO! NO! You stupid fucking cunt!” Monty is at my back as I follow the angry voices. “I’m going to fucking kill you! Move, dammit! You fucking pussy!”
Over the threshold of Blanche’s entertainment room, I skid to a stop, Monty running into me and nearly knocking us both to the ground. Cigar smoke lingers in the air. Rose, Blanche, Dottie and Sophia are standing in front of one of the largest televisions I’ve ever seen, wearing jerseys. The Pharaoh is sitting on one of the couches, loaded chip halfway to his mouth, snacks and beer littering every available surface. I run my eyes over Sophia,making sure she’s not in any danger, then my gaze darts to the television.
“Rugby?” Monty asks before I can formulate the thought. “You’re watching rugby? Sophia…is that a Jonah Lomu jersey?”
“Uh…” Sophia looks like a deer in headlights, staring at us with wide eyes, her mouth gaping like a fish. The crunch of Masud’s chip is loud in the awkward silence. “No?”
“No, you are not watching rugby and wearing a Lomu jersey?”
She spins in a circle as if trying to read what’s on the back of her shirt. “I mean, is that what this says?” She is not an actress, not even a little bit. And she lies for shit.
“Explain. Right the fuck now.”
“Yak—”
