My eyebrows shoot up. I remember the gentle way he lifted my chin when he thought I was Rebel.
“He was very jealous and controlling, and towards the end…” she pauses. “He was also abusive.”
It’s whispered, but I hear it. I’m gripping the handrail like my life depends on it.
I’m not heartless. I want to believe she wouldn’t lie about such things.
“I knew I needed to get away before he killed me. So I took some money, and I fled. I lived off of it for a while, always afraid, always looking over my shoulder, and then I couldn’t do it anymore.”
“Why didn’t you call your brother? Or tell us the truth when you got here?”
“I was afraid Sly would cause a scene, and then Carlos would hurt him. Sly immediately bragged about the drug income the club now had, and I didn’t want to mess that up for everyone. I thought I’d keep a low profile, stay close to the club, and Carlos would forget about me.”
“You had to know that he’s not the type of man to let you go just like that?”
“I didn’t know what to do, Dylan. I was ashamed, to be honest, and I feared for my life. So I came to the only place that was safe, to the one man who’d always made me feel safe.”
The whole conversation reminds me of the telenovelas that my neighbour Marina’s elderly grandma always had on in the background when I was a child.
I hold my breath as I wait for Dylan’s response.
“You know that this club is your family,” Dylan says, in a weird, muffled way, and I imagine he’s saying it against her hair. “We’d never let anything happen to you. So why don’t you run downstairs to talk to your brother, and I’ll join you guys in a minute. We’ll figure it out together, don’t worry. I’ll keep you safe.”
I run back to the room as fast as I can. My eyes are stinging, and I feel nauseous. I sit down on the bed, not caring for whatever filth might be on there.
Who’s going to keep me safe, Dylan? I want to ask him when he walks in a few moments later.
I can’t believe he can meet my eye without appearing guilty or conflicted. Is this the man that I’ve slept next to for two years?
Junior pulls my hair, dissatisfied with my absent-minded ways.
“I know, I’m sorry, baby. Remember our plan? Help Hawk, get Mommy healthy. Let’s ask Aunt Rachel to borrow her phone.”
It looks like there’s only one Blue Security in Phoenix.
“Thank You, God,” I say as I wait for someone to pick up.
“Blue Security, this is Daphne. How may I assist you today?”
“Hello, can I please talk to… Squid?” I feel really stupid saying it.
“May I ask your name and what this is in reference to?”
I blank for a moment. “Marissa Johnson. And my reason for calling is a… uh, private matter.”
“Please wait.” Daphne sounds unfazed by the secrecy.
“Hello?” A deep, pleasant voice says into my ear, and I sit up.
DJ glances at me from the pillow he’s gnawing on, and I throw him a reassuring smile.
“Is this… Squid?”
“Yes? My assistant said you had a private matter you wanted to discuss?” He asks in the light, judgment-free tone of someone who’s used to dealing with mysterious people and their delicate issues.
“It’s about your friend Hawk,” I say, and I squeeze my eyes shut to make sure I remember it right. “He told me that you were his sponsor and that he misses Rat Park.”
There is a brief pause on the other end, and then the customer-service veneer is gone. “Tell me where you are,” Squid orders sternly.
