“I'd like to talk elsewhere, Ronnie. There's just so, so much I want to say,” Paulette breathes with a sigh. “I was going to wait, try to stay patient with you, but there have been some … unforeseen circumstances that have arose that practically demand your immediate attention.”
“Wow. I had no idea that reality TV was such a cutthroat business. Sorry if I don't seem more empathetic about the whole thing.” Paulette laughs and shakes her head, looking down at the floor for a moment before running her tongue across her lower lip. She glances sharply up at me.
“Remember how I told you my sister fell prey to her addiction?” I raise an eyebrow. “Well, she wasn't addicted to any of the usual culprits. No drugs, no alcohol, not even power or money. She just … well, she was addicted to a man.”
“I see,” I say and exchange another look with Lola. Her blue eyes are open wide and locked on Paulette like she's just as sure as I am that something shitty is going to happen. Of course it is, right? I thought our roller coaster of crap had hit the top during the concert. I think I was right about that, but see, here's the thing, even after the roller coaster gets to the top, it's still sitting pretty high and there's a hell of a long way down that follows after. “And this has to do with us how?”
“Well,” Paulette begins, sighing like I'm being difficult, “this really would've been easier in private.” She shakes her head again and digs out a cigarette. Huh. Didn't peg her as a smoker. Guess we all have our little surprises. “Anyway, what I maybe should've told you right away was that my married name is Washington. Strange, right, that a modern woman like me would change her name to match her husband's? It's a long story, so I won't get into that.” Paulette sucks in her lower lip with a pop and then pokes me in the chest with a finger. “It's just that my maiden name has a certain stigma attached to it.” My heart picks up its pace, and I feel my throat going dry, constricting tight. Oh no. No. No. This is over. It's over. It has to be over. Over, over, over. But nothing is ever that easy, is it? “Maybe you'll recognize it?” She takes a dramatic pause, but that's okay because I've already figured out what she's going to say. “Harding. No? No bells? How about America? Does that remind you of anyone? Maybe of a woman that your best friend's girlfriend shot in the face?”
I feel the blood drain from my own face. My mind drifts to Brayden Ryker, of his warnings that the family was involved in all of this just as much as Stephen was. As America was. Travis, damn it. I love you man, but couldn't you have knocked up a less crazy woman? Shit.
“America Harding was my sister, and now she's dead. You're going to help make that up to me.”
Brayden Ryker is sitting on my bed when we get back to the house.
Seeing him lounging there in the weak light from the bedside lamp should probably surprise me, only it doesn't. I just sigh and move into the room, letting Lola stumble in behind me. After her admission, Paulette gave me a business card with her number on it and disappeared. I didn't ask about the blood. To be honest with you, I don't want to fucking know. I really, really don't. I already had Turner call the hospital to check on Naomi and Blair. Since they're all still alive, since we all made it back here in one piece, I don't fucking care whose blood that is.
So Lola and I had some more drinks and we had a really good fucking time.
Perfect.
And now there's this.
I stand there staring at the redheaded Irish muscleman on my bed and cross my arms over my chest.
“Should we ask how you got in here or are you going to volunteer that information up for our benefit?” Lola asks, and a pang of guilt shoots through my chest. Despite the fact that Brayden shot Poppet in the face, right there in front of all those people, his name isn't anywhere on the Internet. According to the news sources, an unnamed security officer took down Lola's sister. I keep meaning to tell her the truth, but I haven't found the right time. Shit. Life is just flyin' by, isn't it? I don't even know how to keep track anymore.
“I wanted to show you how inadequate your security detail was,” he says, rising to his feet and looking between the two of us with a careful gaze, one that analyzes and breaks down the very soul. “I know you don't think very highly of me, but only because you don't know the whole truth. Sometimes, it's best to feign inadequacy and let the cards fall as they may.”
“What the hell does that even mean?” I ask, closing my eyes and trying not to lose my shit. I really want to beat the crap out of someone. Should've taken Cohen Rose in the hospital. Might've gotten the crud beat out of me from Brayden's men, but it would've been worth the adrenaline rush.