A softer version of someone I used to know.
Holy shit.My mouth drops open. Skin flushes. Blood draining to my toes.No.
Darla frowns.“What?”
I think I know where she came from.
SIXTEEN
FANG
The fucking lawns are overgrown,weeds defying logic as they part the thick bushes to strangle what remains of the garden. I know she’s fucking busy, know she has other priorities in life, but shit. Can’t she give my girl a nice home to grow up in?
“You’re late.” Reno leaves the door open and turns to head back into the house.
I make a mental note to order a gardener to stop by this weekend, and find my way up the short path to the uncovered door. The home is basic. A bit more than a trailer, but not what you’d call a cabin or a cottage. Built in the late seventies by the previous owner of the property for their aging mother, it now sits separated from the main homestead by a tall timber fence and a narrow driveway; this part of the property was sold off a decade ago to a young investor.
The home has changed hands twice since, and somehow it’s avoided anything more than basic maintenance every time.
“I told you I’d be here when the club was finished with me,” I call to Reno as I step through the door.
“Lucky me,” she sasses back from the kitchen.
I head left off the short dogtrot hallway and find her hastily cutting a PB&J sandwich in half.
“Take this with you. She hasn’t eaten since breakfast.”
I lean left to look around Reno’s curvy figure and find my girl seated at the small, round table with a puzzle book. The pages look marked already, her pencils short and overused. “Hey, baby.”
Molly lifts her head, dark ponytail sliding off her shoulder as she does. “Daddy!” Pencil discarded, she hops off the seat and runs to where I stand, colliding with my legs.
“How you doin’?” I run my hand over the back of her head, flicking her ponytail as I hold her to me.
“Good. Momma said I get to sleep over at your place.” Big eyes look up at me, begging for it to be the truth.
“You do.” I catch Reno’s wary gaze, the lazy lids warning me not to make too much of it.
Wouldn’t want my girl thinking it can happen all the time, I guess.
“You got your things packed?” I ask. “How about you go get them and a coat?”
She nods eagerly, releasing me to leg it down the hall to her bedroom.
“She’s in bed at seven,” Reno says, listing key points as she bags the sandwich. “And you have to wash her hair in the bath; she hates how the water over her face in the shower feels. I’ve told her not to touch anything that’s not hers, and if she can’t find you, look for Jezabel. She’s been warned not to open closed doors, and to stay in the main house.” Her lined eyes find mine. “I need you to keep her away from trouble, Fang.”
“Why do you think I never wanted to agree to this?”
I take stock of what the woman wears—tight blue jeans and a lace-trimmed camisole. No shoes yet, but I can guarantee they’ll have heels. “Who are you doing this for again?”
Her gaze narrows. “Like I told you, a person.”
“Why the secrecy, Reno?” I fold my arms and lean against the doorframe.
She sighs, moving to collect her purse and small suitcase from the end of the counter. “Because it won’t do any good to have it any other way.” She tugs the foldaway handle out of the hard, red case and wheels it toward me. “I’ll be back Monday night, but it’ll be after her bedtime so I’ll come get her Tuesday.”
“And then we talk,” I remind her.
“And then we talk.” She gestures for me to move.
