I can’t really believe it. They are like night and day, one so tall and dark, the other tiny and colorless, like a soft gust of wind. Lacey drinks more wine, while I run my finger back and forth across the rim, trying to make the pieces fit. “And so you approached him and told him you were his sister?” I ask.
She looks at me, surprised. “No.”
“He already knew?”
Another shake of the head. “He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know we’re related.”
“So how did you end up living with him, then?” This is getting more confusing by the second. The small girl gives me a careful smile.
“It was raining. I’d been trying to figure out how to introduce myself for hours, sitting outside his place. It was raining and I was soaked through. I thought he’d probably let me come in and dry off at least once he found out we were brother and sister, but I just couldn’t find a way to word it right in my head. I passed out from the cold. He found me on his doorstep, nearly tripped over me as he was going out somewhere. He was dressed in this smart tux. He still picked me up and took me inside, getting soaked in the process. He asked what the fuck I was doing outside his place. Did I know him? I said yes. Yeah, I did. But then I was stuck again. I still couldn’t figure out what to say to make it make sense. He asked me if I’d fucked him and I said no. He asked if I was gonna tell him how the fuck I knew him then, and I said, yeah. At some point. When I’d worked up to it. And then that was that.”
“And then that was that?” Incredulous, I shuffle closer to the girl. “You just said you’d get around to telling him, and you’ve been living with him ever since?”
She nods, like this is completely normal.
“How long ago was that?”
“Six months,” she replies.
I have no idea how this man’s mind works, or his sister’s now that I know that’s who she is. But they’re both as strange as each other. “So he has no idea? After letting you live with him for six months?”
“Probably not.”
Wow.
A dull thump at the door prevents me from asking any further questions. I answer—our takeout finally arrived—and decide to let the matter drop. We eat in silence, Lacey laughing quietly at the rom-com playing on the television, while I sit and stew on the news that I’m not the only one with a sister in trouble. And mull over the irony of the fact that I am taking care of Zeth’s while he attempts to take care of mine.
******
I can’t get that girl out of my fucking head. The sounds she made on the phone, the things I told her to do to herself, and the way she caved like a landslide as soon as I got her past the first gate. Not to mention the horrified silence when that toilet flushed. I’m still pissing myself every time I think about that little gem. Somehow makes it even more taboo. Especially since that sort of thing, getting busted, makes me harder than fucking tempered steel. I’d had to spend a considerable amount of time working my own hand on my dick, trying to erase the fucking sexy visual from head.
After that, I’d spent the rest of yesterday making plans with Michael. The guy had more photos, confirmation that Alexis definitely is somewhere in that compound. The girl was curvier than her sister and dressed well in all the images, but there were shadows beneath her eyes and a haunted look to her wherever the camera had caught her face. She’s definitely in trouble, but I can’t go sneaking around the compound looking for her today, though. That would seem too suspicious. Going around asking for specific girls when I kicked back Alaska, Julio’s top girl, who’s stormed around the place like a goddamn tornado since the moment I said no to her, would not go down well. No, today I’m headed to Anaheim to meet with Rick. I’m taking the dossier on that DEA agent, Lowell, that Michael also had for me, so I can ask Rick a few choice questions. I mostly want to know what he’s heard from back up north. Tossing my phone was smart—Charlie would have found some way of contacting me through someone else if I’d kept it—but it also means I have no idea what kind of holy hell has been raining down on Seattle since I bolted.
Rick is waiting in a fried chicken joint for me, a box of cold, greasy fries sitting in front of him, untouched. I picked the place on purpose just to piss him off. Rick’s a big guy but he didn’t get that way through genetics or, gotta hand it to him, steroids. He eats healthy. Like, eats like a fucking chick kind of healthy. Even sitting inside these four walls is probably making him sweat kale extract.
“Took your time,” he complains as I sit opposite him, dropping the file onto the table. He lifts the thing open with one finger, grimacing at the contents inside, then letting it fall closed. “Why the hell am I in Anaheim sitting in a fried rat shop?”