When I’d started here, Alisha had given me the right to add names to a list of people who would never be allowed into the brothel. All the sex workers were given the same chance, no questions asked. Wallace had been one of those I’d vetoed. I wondered if he’d ever tried to get inside.
A few minutes on, and in my earpiece, Mila’s voice came, singsong, as if she were chatting to herself. “Walking up the steps to the VIP lounge, music is a bit loud.”
I could make out the song, ‘Beggin For Thread’ by BANKS, but it didn’t overpower their voices. Made me think how we were begging for scraps of information though.
“No problems for me, sis,” I replied.
“Good to know. Tyler is behind me. Con and Riot are around, too. Pretty sure I spotted Arran at the doors.”
It helped to know she was protected and safe. I kept my mouth shut so she could concentrate.
Music and chatter made up the backdrop of her call, then she spoke again, this time not to me. “Oh, hey!”
A female voice returned, and I recognised Molly.
“Hey, skeleton girl. Need a drink?”
“Actually, I’m here to see someone. Alcohol feels like a good idea but probably won’t help.”
“Like that, is it?” the chatty bartender continued. “Who are you meeting?”
“Our uncle is—” Mila stopped dead.
My heart slammed into my ribs.
She corrected herself fast. “I mean my uncle. Kane doesn’t call him that.”
Shit. Nothing had really been said, but I felt her panic as if it were my own.
Molly’s tone changed, like she’d again picked up on people acting weird. “Gotcha. There’s a dude coming up the steps now. That him?”
My sister thanked Molly, swore under her breath, then neutralised her tone. “Wallace. It’s been a while.”
Wallace Marchant’s voice followed. “Ah, the prodigal granddaughter. What, no drink ready for me?”
My phone screen lit with a notification. Tyler had activated the feed from his body camera. I tapped it, getting a view across the bar from where Mila slid into a booth next to Wallace.
It was a relief to see her okay, even though nothing physical had happened. I switched to stare at him.
Earlier, she’d shown me our uncle’s socials. He’d aged from the man I remembered but was just as soft around the edges. In his photo reel, he was always someplace sunny, drink in hand, no cares in the world. Now, he lounged in the black-and-pink booth like he owned the place. Good tailoring transported him from slob to bored rich boy.
Resentment hit hard. I’d worked on my back while he’d never lifted a finger. That would never have been me, even if I’d stayed. It wasn’t Mila either.
Wallace gestured for a waiter. Convict sauntered over.
On Tyler’s camera, Wallace took him in then curled his lip. “On second thoughts, never mind. I didn’t realise you’d kept that one on.”
Mila folded her arms, and Convict sank back into the shadows, their point made.
“Why did you call me?” she said.
Our uncle regarded her. “Did the solicitor tell you about the vote?”
“Of course.”
“So you’ll be there?”
Her brow furrowed. “Why wouldn’t I?”
