I go still.
Her face changes like she hears it too. Like neither of us meant to drag Darling’s nightmare into this bedroom, but there it is. Zip ties. Bruises. Rico’s gun. Diablo carrying his woman out in front of phones and flashing lights. The whole reason I’m worried. It’d kill me if it’d been Lady.
I soften my voice, not because I’m soft but because she deserves the effort.
“You’re not a hostage.”
“Then stop building cages for protection.”
My phone buzzes again.
Not a call this time.
A text.
I glance down before thinking.
Cherry: Heard you spent the night uptown. That true, baby?
My stomach drops half an inch.
Lady sees my face before she sees the name.
Women always do.
“What?” she asks.
“Nothing.”
“Shady.”
The phone buzzes again.
Cherry: You still owe me. Don’t forget who kept your bed warm before your glitter girl started slumming.
Lady’s eyes land on the screen.
The room loses ten degrees.
I lock the phone and put it in my pocket.
Too late.
“Glitter girl,” she repeats.
“Lady.”
She grabs a black robe from the chair and shoves her arms into it. “Who’s Cherry?”
“Nobody.”
Her laugh is bright and ugly. “God, you men need new scripts.”
“She was a clubhouse sweetheart.”
“Sweetheart? A club whore?”
I lift one shoulder. “We try not to call them that.”
