Текст книги "Busted"

Автор книги: Shiloh Walker

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Текущая страница: 17 (всего у книги 23 страниц)

His gaze caught and lingered over the heavy-looking metal sculpture she held in one hand.

“You always answer the door with pieces of art in your hand?” he asked.

She glanced down, a frown drawing her mouth tight.

“Ah . . . no.” She shook her head and turned away, putting it down on a table a few feet away. “Come on in.”

He came inside, easing the door shut, studying the tension that held every line of her body tight.

She still stood with her back to him and he was a breath away from going to her when she spoke. The tight sound of her voice froze him in his tracks.

“Is everything okay? You’re out kind of late.”

“No.” You tell me, he thought. But then he decided to let it go. For now. Reaching up, he trailed a finger down her nape, watched as she shivered. “Everything’s not okay. It’s been four days since I saw you. Four days since I kissed you. And way too long since I made love to you.”

He heard the soft catch of her breath and that was all he needed to lean forward and press his lips to her neck, brushing aside the thick tail of her hair where it rested against her skin.

She practically melted against him, some of that tension draining out of her body. Sliding his arms around her, he pulled her back against him. Lust bit into him as her butt pressed up against his cock, but he gritted his teeth, forced himself to think past the need.

“Ressa,” he murmured, resting his chin on her shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

Her voice was unsteady as she answered. “Nothing. Nothing is wrong.”

She was lying. He knew it.

As she turned in his arms, he studied her face, saw the darkness in her gaze, the misery. “Talk to me,” he said, rubbing his lips against hers. “You look like your world is coming apart.”

“No.” She curled her arms around his neck, leaning against him. “I just . . .”

She leaned in, licked his lips.

Groaning, he gripped her hips, tried to ease back. “Ressa, wait . . .”

“No. You’re right. It’s been too long. I need you.”

He clung to sanity by his fingernails. “Where’s Neeci?”

“In her bed. Asleep. Nothing wakes that child once she’s down,” Ressa said, pressing her mouth to his neck. He felt the hot brush of her lips against his skin. She spoke again, and this time, her words were a plea. “Make love to me. I need this.”

He couldn’t have denied her anything in that moment.

“Your room . . . Where is your room?”

She waved toward the stairs and the two of them half staggered, half ran toward them. Halfway up, he took her down and pressed her to the steps, feasting on her mouth and shuddering at the taste, the feel of her. Thoughts of regret, fear, hesitation faded away. Thoughts of control faded away.

He cupped her hips in his hands, her skin burning hot through the thin material. Against his chest, her breasts went flat and that was good, but not enough. He caught the tank top she wore and started to drag it up.

She caught his wrist.

“Upstairs.” She bit his lower lip and then said it again, the demand heavy in her voice. “Upstairs . . . now.”

He caught her around the waist, and rose, one hand around the bannister. He felt half drunk—drunk on her. Pinning her against the railing, he said, “Upstairs.”

Then he returned the favor and bit her lip, reveling in the feel of her reaction, a full body shudder.

It seemed forever before they finally reached the top of the stairs, even longer before they stumbled into the room Ressa pointed out. Finally—

Trey spun, trapping her against the door. A startled gasp erupted from her as he caught the band of her sport bra in his hands. He would have torn it away from her if he could and he was cursing by the time he was able to toss it to the floor.

Her full breasts swung free and he caught them in his hands, hunger a spike in his brain. He teased dark brown nipples, already drawn tight.

“Kiss me,” she demanded, locking her fingers around his neck.

He didn’t even have a chance to follow that hungry order because she tugged his mouth to hers, kissing him with a greedy need all but put him on his knees. Tongue and teeth clashed. Her breasts pressed flat against him and it was a sweet, sweet torture . . . but still not enough. He broke the kiss to tear his own shirt away and then grunted in pleasure at the feel of their upper bodies pressed bare to each other.

She rubbed herself against him and he shuddered, feeling the drag of her nipples over his skin. Ressa moaned out his name and it sent a tremor racing through him. His fingers tightened on her and he had to force himself to be gentle, but even as he tried to do that, she sank her teeth into his lip, hard enough to bring pain. He did the same and she moaned into his mouth and arched her hips to his.

Desperate for more, for all, he shoved his hands inside the waistband of her tight workout pants, working himself against the heat between her thighs, but still—not enough.

She whimpered as he went to his knees, jerking her pants down. When they tangled at her calves, he stopped and leaned in, pressing his face to her cleft. Soft curls hid her from him, but that didn’t deter him. He flicked his tongue against her clit and when she bucked against him, satisfaction ripped at him.

The scent of her rushed up to flood the air and he thought he just might go mad for the want of her. He stripped the pants away and used his hands to tug at her ankles until she widened her legs.

“I need to taste you,” he muttered. Taste. Have. Love . . .

Love . . .

The thought should frighten him.

Everything in this moment should frighten him—or at least worry him, because he felt too out of control, scrabbling for any remnant of it. But all that mattered was having her. Branding himself on her . . . and having her brand herself on him.

Leaning in, he licked her, using his tongue to open her before going deeper, hungry strokes that had her rocking against his face.

She panted out his name, her hands clutching the back of his head. “Please . . . I want . . . I need . . .”

When she tried to pull at his shoulders, he caught one wrist, guided it away.

“Stop,” he muttered. “I need this. I need to taste you . . . your pussy, fuck . . .”

A broken sound left her throat and he looked up, saw her eyes flare wide and then she tugged him back. “Do it then. Put your mouth on me.”

She was slick and hot, and getting hotter, slicker with every minute as he licked at her. He shifted to close his mouth around her clit, sucking at it gently, then harder as her nails bit into his shoulders and her broken moans turned to breathy, desperate cries.

Sliding his hand between her legs, he tucked two fingers against her entrance, felt her tense. Then, slowly, he screwed them in.

She tightened around him and he felt her muscles grip and clutch and grab—

He paused, taking a moment to lick at her clit before he looked up. “When you start to come, I’m going to stop. I’m going to be inside you.”

“Damn right,” she whispered, her voice shaky.

His cock pulsed, throbbed, demanding he be inside her now.

But . . . no. Not yet.

Another taste. Another slow stroke of his fingers inside her. She moaned, her sheath tightening—

Again.

Again—

She bucked and he felt it coming on. Shoving to his feet, he pulled out one of the condoms he’d brought with him. She moaned, her hips rolling in a circle like she already had him inside her. His fingers trembled as he tore the foil open and they trembled even more when he fumbled with his jeans.

“Hurry,” she whispered.

He looked up at her, saw how her eyes had all but gone blind.

I’m not taking my time.

Condom on, he leaned in, pressed two fingers against her and rubbed. “Are you still there?”

She bucked against his hand. “Are you trying to drive me crazy?”

He did one slow circle around her clit as he answered. “Yes. I want you as crazy as you’ve made me, as hungry, as mindless.”

For a moment, she just stared at him and then a Mona Lisa smile curved her lips. “Well, then fuck me already, because I’m going out of my mind.”

He caught her legs behind the knees, lifted her, her back braced against the door. Without another word, without even another breath, he pushed inside, shuddering as she wrapped around him, drawing him deeper, deeper . . .

*   *   *

Ressa gasped as he stroked deep inside. Filling her . . . her body, her heart, her soul.

Even as her heart and soul felt like they’d shatter.

No man ever had consumed her as totally as he had. It scared her, too, because she knew what that meant. He owned so much of her, without even asking, and that meant he could break her—without even trying.

That terror had her shoving her hands into his hair, drawing his mouth to hers. Desperation had her rocking to meet every thrust, kissing him like she feared this might be the last time, the very last.

I don’t want to lose you . . .

The thought of it terrified her.

His teeth nipped her lower lip right before he tore his mouth away and buried his face in her hair. His hips surged against hers, swiveled. Deep inside, she felt his cock swell, the head of it rubbing against her in a way that left her feeling like she’d somehow explode, even as her skin started to feel too tight, too hot. There wasn’t enough room inside her to contain this—

She slammed her head against the door, barely noticing the pain as sensation swamped her. “I . . . damn it, it’s too . . .” Her lids drifted down and she tried to gather up the pieces of herself that tried to scatter.

Trey reached up, cradling the back of her head. “Stay with me,” he ordered, his voice harsh, rough. “Look at me.”

She stared into eyes so blue, it hurt to look at them. He rubbed his mouth against hers, whispered, “I need you.”

Too much. A sob welled inside her as he slowed his thrusts, that driving hunger falling away into devastating gentleness. No, no, no . . . the hunger was better, easier to lose herself to . . .

Trey flicked his tongue along her lips and she opened for him. He shifted position on her body, gathering her in closer, lifting her higher, and she shuddered as he started to drag his body back and forth against her clitoris with every stroke.

A scream built inside her and she swallowed it down, digging her nails into his skin instead, clutching at his hips with her knees. The swollen head of his cock pulsed as he twisted and pushed into her again, harder, deeper, but so devastatingly slow—

She shattered with the next stroke and he went mad, as though he’d been waiting for just that before he let go. As she gasped and shuddered under the force of her orgasm, he snarled, his body going tight, muscles rippling as he thrust deep, once, twice—then again, again . . . harder each time until he shoved her, unbelievably, into another, more powerful orgasm.

He growled her name just before his mouth caught hers in a deep, drugging kiss.

*   *   *

He would move.

At some point.

Back braced against the door, Ressa lying half sprawled, half draped over him, Trey knew he couldn’t stay on that miserable, hard floor for too long, but for that moment, he was just fine. More relaxed than he could remember feeling in too long, and if he had his way, he’d talk her into letting him stay for a while, and he might end up even more relaxed.

Ressa was limp in his arms. Turning his head, he pressed a kiss to her neck.

She sighed, curling one arm around him, hugging him tighter. He worked up the energy to look at her, but she had her eyes closed.

“I’ll move. In a minute. Ten tops.”

“I was thinking in an hour,” she said, her voice rough.

“That sounds good, too.” He kept studying her, hoping she’d look at him. He wanted to see her eyes.

She just traced her fingers along the tattoo on his lower abdomen, a slightly ticklish sensation. It made his skin prickle and even that light touch had his body stirring. He could see himself flipping her onto her back, sliding between her thighs, burying his dick inside her, but for now . . .

All he wanted was this.

This very moment.

*   *   *

“You didn’t call tonight.”

The minute she said it, she wanted to jerk it back. She was still half-sprawled against him and her body ached in the sweetest way, and instead of inviting him to her bed, instead of pressing her mouth to his neck, then moving down, instead of doing any number of wonderful things, she had to go and say that.

The last thing she wanted to do was sound like a needy, desperate woman. Except she felt terribly needy and desperate right now.

Trey had texted her. She could have called him back, except she’d been too busy letting her cousin mess her head up. Again.

But the words were already out, hanging there between them and there was nothing she could say or do to unsay the words.

All Trey did was skim a hand down her side. “I . . . uh . . . well, you probably need to be prepared for this kind of thing if you’re going to get involved with a writer. We don’t always live on planet Earth. I kind of got lost in another world and didn’t surface until after seven. Travis was there to take care of Clayton and . . .” He shrugged. “It was the first time I’ve been able to lose myself like that in a while. I was going to call but they were watching a movie and Clayton . . .”

Now she felt like a pathetic loser. She’d been feeling sorry for herself and brooding, while he was simply spending some time with his brother and his son. “Hush. I just . . . I missed you. I should have called you. Nothing was stopping me.”

Except the fact that I’m a mess.

“I’m sorry. I wanted to talk to you. I sent you that text, but you didn’t answer and I thought, hey, I could always call tomorrow. But then I . . . well. I wanted to see you.” He rubbed his cheek against hers. That simple caress made her heart melt. “I miss you. Seeing you a couple of times a week doesn’t feel like enough.”

It made her heart melt a little.

At the same time, it made her heart break a little.

Because she remembered why she hadn’t texted.

And the fear that had rushed through her when she’d seen him at the door. She’d thought he was here because Travis had dug into her family’s past, that Trey knew.

She’d kept this from him. She couldn’t anymore. Once she dropped this on him, would he feel comfortable watching Neeci? Oh, he’d probably do it, because he was just that kind of guy. But she wouldn’t ask him.

She could already imagine what would happen—she’d seen it play out several times once it had happened with a guy she’d really cared about.

Nobody had ever mattered as much as Trey.

But she couldn’t put it off anymore.

I have to tell him.

Tucking her head against his shoulder, she barely managed to keep from clutching at him, holding tight.

“Can I stay?” Trey murmured, unaware of the nerves already tangling inside her. “At least for a while.”

She swallowed. It didn’t keep her voice from being husky when she answered, “Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that.”

Then, before she could chicken out, she finished in a rush. “I think there’s something I need to tell you anyway.”

*   *   *

Trey felt like he’d just gotten off one of the coasters at Busch Gardens—he’d gone up, then down, then up . . . and he was about to crash down again, he knew it. The adrenaline high he’d been riding on was about to give out, too.

They were downstairs now, in her kitchen, because she’d wanted a glass of wine. She’d offered him one, but his mind was already spinning and he knew better than to try alcohol now. So maybe he’d been able to have a beer with his brother—even if he’d done it to challenge himself.

He wasn’t going to push his luck, considering the look in Ressa’s eyes.

She stood on the far side of the room, a glass of the red wine in one hand, her gaze on the floor. She opened her mouth, closed it. Then abruptly, she said, “Let’s go back to my room.”

Once there, he gathered up his clothes, tugging on his jeans. He had a feeling this wasn’t going to go well and if he was right, he wanted to be able to just get dressed and leave.

He didn’t know what she was going to say, but it wasn’t going to be fun.

He’d seen that look too many times—it was the look that said, I’ve got bad news and you’re not going to like it.

Besides, bad news and being naked just didn’t mix well together. There was something about being dressed that just made hard news a little more tolerable, he decided.

Taking any kind of bad news naked was just a double punch to the gut.

Apparently, she agreed. She pulled a black robe over the sexy blue sleep shirt she wore, but she left the robe untied and the black framed her goddess-like body as she started to pace.

“I . . .” She pursed her lips and blew out a breath. “Look, this isn’t the easiest thing to tell you. It’s not something I generally talk about much. There’s not really a graceful way to work this into a conversation. If all we’d had was Jersey, then it wouldn’t matter. But now . . .”

He just waited as she looked down, her shoulders slumped, the coils she’d twisted into her hair falling to shield her face.

Slowly, she looked up and took another breath, deeper this time, like she was gathering herself.

Her eyes were solemn.

She looked like she was braced for a blow.

What is this? he wondered.

A taut, heavy silence stretched out, and then finally she threw the words out, almost like a challenge.

“My cousin is in prison . . . and it’s my fault she’s in there.”

Chapter Twenty-three

Trey just stared at her.

She crossed her arms over her chest and started to tap her foot. “Did you hear me?”

“Yeah.” He hooked his hand over his neck, rubbed the muscles there for a minute, and then he stood up, moving to stand in front of her. “Is this Neeci’s mom?”

“Yes.” She lifted her chin, almost in challenge.

“Okay.” Then he scowled. “Well, I guess it’s not okay—it’s got to be hell on you all, but . . . I don’t see what this has to do with us.”

She just stared at him for a long moment and then she tossed half the glass of wine back, like it was pure moonshine. “Are you serious? Didn’t you hear me?” she asked when she was done. She thumped the glass down with so much force, he was surprised it didn’t break. “My cousin is in jail—we were like sisters and I am the reason she’s in there and you don’t see what it has to do with us?”

“Well. No.” Tucking his thumbs in his pockets, he rocked back on his heels, eying her narrowly. He couldn’t quite tell how to take this mood of hers. Not at all. But he wasn’t tracking this line of thought she had, either. “It’s not like I’m dating her.”

“You should probably rethink if you want to date me.”

“Why the hell would I do that?” he snapped. Now he was getting pissed.

She stormed over to him and poked him in the chest with a finger. “You think about what the headline on some of the gossip rags will read like if this goes anywhere, hotshot? I have. Learn the scandalous secrets behind the girlfriend of Trey Barnes, publishing’s golden boy.”

“I’m not anybody’s golden boy.” Capturing her wrist, he held it in his grasp when she would have tugged away. He hauled her up against him, using his free arm to wrap around her waist. She glared up at him, but it did something to the ache and the anger forming inside him when she didn’t pull away. Trying to hold that anger in check, he half growled, “And for the record, I don’t give a damn what any gossip rag says about me. We lived through all of that shit growing up. You think I care?”

“But most of that was probably just gossip,” she said, her voice rising. “They’d have a field day digging up things about my past . . . and then there’s Kiara. This isn’t gossip, Trey! It’s reality.”

She jerked her hand away and the venom, the remnants of horror in her voice caught him so off guard that he let her go. Her eyes shot hot, brutal sparks at him and then she spun away, her strides erratic and jerky.

She fumbled as she tied her robe, then, as though the admission had chilled her to the bone, she rubbed her hands up and down her arms.

The roaring in his ears faded as the seconds ticked by. His hands felt empty.

“Ress.”

“Don’t,” she said, her voice low. “Just . . . don’t. I need a minute.”

Slowly, she lowered herself to sit on the edge of the bed, arms crossed protectively across her chest as she huddled in on herself. It hit him then, how she waited, the way she’d looked at him. Like she was braced for some violent blow.

And that was what she’d expected.

She really thought he’d push her away over this.

She needed a minute? No, he thought. That wasn’t what she needed at all. Slowly, he crossed the floor and knelt in front of her. She flinched and tried to pull away.

He reached out and caught her behind the knees, holding her in place.

“Whatever it is,” he said slowly, waiting until she lifted her chin and met his eyes. “Whatever it is . . . she did it. How can it be your fault?”

An erratic breath escaped her and then she shoved past him. He ended up on his butt while she moved to grab her wine. Sighing, he levered himself onto the bed and watched as she tossed back half the glass.

“Yeah,” she said, her voice thick and scathing. “She did it. But she never would have gotten involved if it hadn’t been for me . . . and I’m the one who turned her in.”

She turned back to face Trey now and her eyes glittered with tears—both rage and misery shone there. In that moment, he couldn’t think.

“She got herself in a mess of trouble and there’s no denying that. But that’s not going to make a difference when push comes to shove and Neeci asks why her mama is in jail—and I have to tell her the truth.”

“Ressa—”

“Shut up!” She hurled the glass. It shattered, the glass splintering on impact. She barely noticed. “You don’t know, okay? You don’t . . . you can’t . . .”

Droplets of wine clung to her lower legs. Bits of glass sparkled around them as he rose. He crossed to her, sidestepping the glass. He caught her, ignoring as she tried to jerk away. “Be still,” he growled.

“What do you know!” she half shouted, half struggling as he dumped her on the bed. “You got this perfect family . . . movie star brothers, perfect parents. Since when in your perfect life has anything ever gone wrong?”

The second the words left her mouth, she stilled.

Trey stared at her.

Slowly, he backed away. Glass crunched under his feet and pain shot up his foot. Turning away, he looked at all the glass while her words echoed through his head.

My perfect life.

“Trey, I . . .”

“Where do you keep your dust pan and broom?” he asked, the words sounding oddly wooden, flat.

“Trey, listen . . .”

“Where?”

“Shit, I . . .”

He turned his head.

“There’s one in my bathroom closet,” she said, turning her head and staring toward the window.

He barely remembered the next few seconds, barely remembered the sweeping up the glass, dumping it in the small trash can inside her blue and silver bathroom. The bloody red streaks on the floor had him stilling and he frowned, staring at it until he realized it was coming from his foot.

He sat on the toilet and stared at the sole of his foot, the small, jagged bit of glass barely visible.

“Let me help.”

He ignored her as he tried to catch it between his thumb and forefinger.

My perfect life.

She nudged his hands aside and he averted his gaze as she used a pair of tweezers to pull the bit of glass out. The small pain barely fazed him and he took the pad of gauze from her when she would have pressed it to the cut.

“I’m sorry.”

He just shook his head.

“Trey, look, my head is all messed up. I . . .”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said brusquely. He caught sight of the neat little first-aid kit she’d put on the counter. He flipped it open and found a bandage.

“Trey. Look . . .”

“It was a bad idea,” he said shortly as he dragged on the rest of his clothes. “Coming over here like this. I’ll go. We’ll . . . talk. Sometime.”

He was down the stairs and halfway to the door when she shouted at his back. “It was my fault!”

The misery in her voice froze him. He wanted to be gone, wanted to leave and just . . . hell, he didn’t want to go home. He thought maybe, just maybe, he actually wanted a drink. No. No, he wanted to get drunk, even craved that oblivion.

But he knew better.

He just stood there and waited.

“She . . . I . . . she was like my little sister. Her mama—Mama Ang—she’s the one who got me off the streets. She saved me,” she said softly. “Kiara was . . . she was like my sister, you know. We lived here, in this beautiful, nice house . . .”

“This was . . . it was Bruce’s house. I bought it from Mama Ang a few years ago. Bruce was Kiara’s stepfather, but they never got along well. When he died, he left the house to Mama Ang. He gave me the Mustang and some money, left his other car to Kiara and some money—a lot of it, really. But it was held in trust. She couldn’t get it unless it was used for college. Once she turned twenty-five, she would get twenty thousand a year for the next five years, but . . .” Ressa sighed, the sound shaky and soft. Tired. “She hated it. Didn’t know why I got the car and money, but she had to wait. She was three years younger than me, still in school. I’d already started college . . .”

Her voice trailed away.

“Fuck. If he knew . . .”

Turning, he found her standing in the middle of the room, arms once more wrapped around herself. “If he knew what I was doing, he wouldn’t have given me shit,” Ressa said, her voice harsh.

Now she looked up at him. “Seven years ago, I was arrested on suspicion of prostitution.”

*   *   *

He just stared at her.

Those blue green eyes had gone blank and she couldn’t read anything from him.

When he just stood there, silent, she lifted a brow. “What . . . Don’t you have anything to say?” She moved into the living room, unable to keep watching him. For a moment, she just stood there, her chest aching as she took in the world that she now lived in. A world that she didn’t really deserve. Hearing the creak of a floorboard, she moved farther into the room and settled down on a wide, fat chair. Bruce had bought it for Mama Ang, placed it right here in this spot by the fireplace so she could read. He’d ended up using it more than she did.

Mama Ang hadn’t been able to sit in it since the day she’d found him in it—lifeless. That big heart of his had just stopped.

Aware of Trey’s watchful gaze, she crossed her legs, taking her time to smooth down the robe. Then she met his eyes.

“Are you just going to leave it at that or are you going to explain?” he asked, his voice oddly calm.

“What’s there to explain?” She shrugged lazily. “My senior year of college, I was arrested for prostitution.”

“How about you tell me whether or not you were guilty—and if so . . . why?”

The question—both of them—caught her off guard.

She’d expected him to just walk.

That was why she’d done it. It would be easier. That was why she’d tried to keep him at a distance ever since that morning in New Jersey. She’d felt herself on this slippery hill that very morning. Or maybe she’d been slipping even before then.

She wanted to protect herself—that was even why she’d told Travis. If he went and told his brother and Trey pushed her away, then she could blame him. If he walked without her explaining, then she could still blame him.

But now . . .

Lowering her head, she caught the end of her belt and started to twirl it around her finger. “No,” she said softly. “I was willing to do plenty of things for money, but I wasn’t a whore.”

Even though she didn’t hear him, she knew he’d crossed over to her and she caught her breath, not daring to move. When his hand brushed her cheek, she continued to stare at her fingers, worrying the black silk.

“Why don’t you just tell me, Ressa?”

Because when you walk away, it’s going to be because you know the truth . . . and it won’t be anybody’s fault but mine. She swallowed around the knot in her throat. The ache in her chest threatened to choke her.

“I had the money from Bruce,” she said softly. “But it was just barely enough. I was working at a fast-food place, up until midnight, cramming for all these classes . . . trying so hard to keep up. It seemed like everybody else around me was having a good time and there I was, struggling just to hold my head above water. December rolled around and Mama Ang called, wanted to take me and Kiara to Florida for a vacation over the break, but I couldn’t go.” She shrugged. “I tried to act like it wasn’t a big deal, but my job . . . they wouldn’t let me have the time off. I’d just started and all. I was in my room, sulking, and my roommate came in. She was always out—dressed like Cinderella, and I thought she must have had one hell of a Prince Charming, because she’d come back with gifts and she was never hurting for money. Her parents weren’t loaded or anything—they had a dairy farm up in Indiana and she was there on scholarship, just like I was.”

Resting her head on the back of the couch, she thought of the last time she’d seen Hannah. She’d looked just as scared, just as miserable as Ressa had felt. “Hannah asked me if I’d like to maybe stop working so hard. She knew how I could get enough money to cover my books and everything that my scholarship wouldn’t cover—plus still have money left over. I told her to get the hell out. Figured she was talking about drugs and I’d finally gotten clear of that. Took a long time to get away from everything my dad had done—the mistakes I’d almost made. But she laughed. It wasn’t drugs. Wasn’t anything illegal. Was usually even fun. She told me I could do a trial run, even.”

Sighing, she looked back at him. “Hannah was an escort—there was a teacher’s aide who’d set it up. About fifteen girls from that school and a community college a few miles away. It was easy money. I’d get anywhere from two hundred to five hundred dollars just to spend an evening or a day with some guy who didn’t want to go to a party by himself. A few times, I’d fly to some event—there was one in New York, one in Miami. I’d make more on those. It seemed like a dream come true.”

Unable to sit there any longer, she got up and moved to the fireplace. The hearth was empty and cold. The mantle held pictures—a few of Mama Ang and Bruce, a couple of Kiara from high school but most of them were of Neeci.

There wasn’t a single one of Ressa.

She still felt like an imposter here.