Текст книги "Busted"

Автор книги: Shiloh Walker

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Текущая страница: 21 (всего у книги 23 страниц)

“It’s a damn good job, most of the time,” he said softly. Turning away, he got plates from a cabinet, focusing on that simple task. “People pay me to do the one thing I have to do if I want to sleep at night . . . but yeah, it’s a job.”

“It’s a job you’re brilliant at.” She slid a hand up his back. “I don’t see why you feel so self-conscious about it.”

“Yeah, well, I’d probably feel just as weird if I was into roofing and you discovered I secretly did plumbing and were all excited about that, too.” He pushed the plates into her hands. “Here. You can do this part.”

*   *   *

Thirty minutes later, she sat outside curled up on a lounge watching the fire dance in the fire pit in front of her. It was gas and it had only taken her a few seconds of fiddling with it to get it going.

She heard a door open but she didn’t move.

She had managed to keep her mind off everything that had happened with Kiara earlier, but now, in the quiet of the night, it was harder.

Kiara.

She thought she was getting out.

And she just might be right.

She’d done four years. This was her second offense and yeah, it had been one hell of an offense, but she’d been on the straight and narrow ever since.

Kiara had stayed out of trouble, kept her nose clean, taken college courses, all the things a parole board would look for.

Trey sat down beside her and Ressa still continued to stare out over the yard. The pool sparkled, the blue light glowing faintly in the darkness. There was something soothing about it, the way the water flowed and rippled in the night.

“Tell me something,” she said after a long time had passed. A car pulled up nearby and they listened as the engine cut off, as a door shut.

“What do you want to know?” he murmured.

“I don’t know. I just want you to talk.” Then she frowned and lifted her head. “Tell me about the books . . . the Forrester ones. How did that happen?”

“What, you couldn’t ask me about how me and Travis would talk Zach into ganging up on Zane?” he asked, his voice grouchy. Then he sighed. “That’s fun to talk about.”

“Yes,” she said, her voice dry. “I’ve gotten the point . . . you kind of hate to talk about the books. But I’m curious.”

“I’ve noticed.” He slid her a look from the corner of his eye. “Look, the Forrester thing . . . nobody knows.”

“Yeah?” Curious, she studied him. Firelight danced over his face, casting him into ever changing slivers of light and shadow.

“Yeah.” He shrugged. “I mean my editor. Some of the people in house. My agent. Travis does. My assistant, although she’s been on leave . . . sorta . . . for a while. But that’s it. None of my other brothers know, my parents don’t. You know now. I want to keep it quiet.”

“Okay.” She laid a hand on his cheek, studying his eyes. “But can I ask why? I mean, it’s your call and everything, but I don’t see why you don’t want people to know or anything.”

“I . . .” He rolled his eyes and rose to his feet. She watched as he moved to the fire pit, crouching down to fiddle with the controls. “I get nervous in front of people. I always have. I’m fine if I’m talking about my brothers and even better if I’m not the only one up there—growing up, there was almost always a couple of us together anyway, so I had to learn to deal with that.” He grimaced and shot her a look. “I had to or I might as well become a recluse. But when it comes to me? I don’t know. I tend to half panic and I have to spend days—sometimes weeks—psyching myself up for it. It’s stressful enough to do it for one. I don’t know if I can handle doing it for two.”

As he slowly straightened from his crouch, he shot her a caustic look. “And it’s even more nerve-wracking thinking about doing it in front of a bunch of women.”

“Whatever.”

“Yeah, you roll your eyes.” He scraped his nails down the five o’clock shadow that had darkened his face. “You’re not the one who damn near had panic attacks every time an essay or a project was due in high school. Shit, I even bribed Travis into doing it for me a few times—until we got caught.”

“You bribed . . . you mean you had your twin giving your reports in class?”

“I wrote them,” he said defensively. “He just read them.”

A smile twitched at her lips and he had to clench his jaw not to smile back. Okay, yeah, that had been this side of desperate, the two of them swapping out classes, just so Trey didn’t have to give those damn reports. Getting caught—thanks to a teacher who had figured out he couldn’t go from panicked and ready to puke, to suave and cool within the span of a month or two—had probably been the kick in the pants he needed to actually learn how to handle getting up in front of people on his own.

And it had gotten better. Most of the time, other than a few twitches in his gut, he’d learned how to deal.

But he just wasn’t certain if he was ready to handle it for both faces he seemed to be wearing these days. Especially not yet. He was just now learning how to function in this world again. He didn’t need to juggle more on top.

“How did you get started writing them anyway?” Ressa asked. “I mean, Absence is a huge leap away from Exposing the Geek Billionaire.”

There were still shadows in her eyes. He wanted to carry her up to his bedroom and hold her until she slept—okay, other things first—but she needed sleep.

“Well.” He settled on the foot of the lounger and caught her hand. Her nails were wicked red, a slim ring of twisted copper on her right middle finger. He wished he could draw worth a damn, because he loved her hands. Elegant and beautiful and strong.

Aware she was still watching him, he finally looked up and met her eyes. “It was Aliesha,” he said. “She kept pushing at me to do it. After she died, I couldn’t write—not anything—for a year.”

Ressa’s eyes fell away.

He continued to hold her hand as he talked. “Then on the anniversary of the day she died, I woke up, and this idea—the idea she kept teasing me about, was just there.” Toying with her fingers, he thought about that morning—it was weird. He still couldn’t clearly recall Aliesha’s face, but that morning, when he’d taken those first steps toward saying good-bye, he remembered in stark, vivid detail. “I’d talked about wanting to try something different and she wanted me to do it, told me I could. So . . . I tried. I finished—and then I bawled like a baby, because the day I finished was the day I really let myself admit she was gone.”

“So this was some sort of closure for you,” she murmured.

“The first one was.” He shrugged. “Yeah. The second one? There was another idea . . . and it was fun. I had fun with it and I hadn’t had fun with writing for a long time. So . . . I wrote the third one. I’ll keep doing it as long as I have fun with it.”

“And when you stop having fun?”

“I’ll try another kind of story.” He gazed into the fire. The firelight danced over his skin and she was struck anew by how beautiful he was.

The question hovered in the back of her throat.

Ressa told herself not to ask.

Now wasn’t the time.

She didn’t need to do this right now. She opened her mouth, then closed it, feeling like a fool. Before her internal debate could be solved, there was a crashing sound and they both went silent, turning to follow the noise that had come from beyond the hedge that ran along Trey’s yard.

There was no way to see beyond it, not with the fence and the thick, lush green that rose above it.

The odd sensation of being watched settled over her. “What was that?”

“Probably Nadine’s dog,” Trey said. “She’s got an old bulldog that’s blind as a bat.”

The night was quiet, save for the lapping of the water in the pool.

He brushed his fingers down her cheek. “You worry too much.”

Forcing herself to look up, she met his gaze.

“What?”

He cupped her cheek, stroked his thumb over her lip. Tucked there in the corner of his backyard, she felt like it was just the two of them in the world.

He lifted his eyes to hers but they were practically lost in the shadows.

“You wear every thought, right there for people to see,” he said. “Instead of worrying, why don’t you just ask?”

Ressa’s heart lodged up in her throat. She licked her lips, opened her mouth. But the words wouldn’t come.

Trey just shook his head, a faint smile twitching on his lips. “I loved Aliesha. She was Clayton’s mother, was the love of my life . . . while I had her. But she’s gone and I’m not the man I used to be.”

Reaching up, she lay a hand against his cheek. Stubble scraped against her palm. “And who are you now?”

“In this very moment?” He turned his face into her touch. “I’m the man who wants to take you to bed.”

Her heart jumped up into her throat.

She thought of Neeci, thought of Clayton, thought of a hundred reasons why maybe this wasn’t the smart thing to do.

But she could argue with herself for hours.

For once, she was going to listen to what her heart said.

“I like that man . . . a lot.”

Chapter Twenty-seven

Ressa didn’t know why she felt so nervous.

It had seemed so easy, so right, outside a few minutes ago.

She’d called her aunt and Angeline had acted so casual, taken it completely in stride when Ressa said she was thinking about staying the night with Trey.

Shoot, the woman had already planned for that.

“I’ve already got clothes for Neeci here, baby. We’ll work out plans to meet tomorrow for you to get your car.”

So simple, so easy.

Except it wasn’t.

Now, lingering by the French doors in Trey’s room, she tried to calm the crazy knots in her belly. She heard a door open—the bathroom, she assumed, and she shivered, opened her mouth to say something. Stall . . . say something, you need to think . . .

But then she was in his arms.

“I missed you,” he whispered against her mouth.

Think.

Yeah, she was going to be doing a lot of that.

Trey moved—she had the dizzying impression of the room spinning and then she was pressed up between him and the wall. “You sure about this?” he asked, his mouth sliding along her cheekbone to nuzzle at her neck.

“Shut up.” She dragged his mouth back to her, nipped his lower lip.

“Yes, ma’am.” Trey stripped her shirt away and then he leaned in, his mouth seeking out the curve of her neck while he reached behind her for the catch on her bra.

“You, too,” she demanded, tugging at the plain white button-down.

She laughed when he pulled it off with a force that sent buttons flying.

“I hope that wasn’t one of your favorites,” she said as he boosted her up.

“Wouldn’t matter. It was in the way.” He braced her against the wall, leaning in to press his mouth to her neck, then go lower, brushing soft, light kisses along her collarbone, and then he moved back up, claiming her mouth with his.

His tongue stabbed into her mouth as he popped the button on her jeans, undid the zipper. He seemed to have a thousand hands, because the jeans were gone in a blink. Then he boosted her up, braced her against the wall so he could rock against her. He was only wearing a pair of jeans now—and other than her panties, rough denim was all that separated him from her. His cock pulsed and she whimpered, feeling that sensation all the way down to her toes. Wrapping her legs around his hips, she clung tight, almost delirious with the pleasure.

He caught her tongue and sucked it into his mouth and then rubbed against her again.

Was it really possible to see sparks? Maybe even feel them? Because in that moment, she thought she was seeing, feeling . . . tasting—

Tearing her mouth away, she shoved him back. “Stop.”

He went still. “Stop?” His voice was harsh, uneasy, his breathing as ragged as her own.

“I can’t . . .” She had to wait a second to catch her breath. “I can’t breathe.”

The slow, wicked smile that curled his lips sent fire sizzling through her veins and she thought maybe, just maybe, she’d learn what it felt like to combust. “Good.” He leaned back in, but instead of covering her mouth with his, he pressed his lips to the curve where neck and shoulder met. She hissed out a breath, the heat of him scalding her, and the sensation of him raking his teeth down her skin sent shivers racing through every part of her.

She shivered as he trailed his lips in a downward path. His thumb caught one nipple and rolled it while he used his mouth, his tongue to trace the edge of the triquetra on her chest. “I love this,” he whispered against her flesh, and that was another caress all its own. “And this . . .” His fingers trailed up the unfinished tattoo on her side as he sank to his knees.

“There’s no tattoo there, Trey,” she murmured as he pressed a kiss to her hip.

The molten hot look he slid her all but sent her to her knees. This so was not going to help her get her breath back.

His lips skimmed along the lace edging the waistband of her panties.

Head falling back against the door, she felt the air in her lungs start to rasp in and out as he went lower, nuzzling her through the cotton of her panties. Anticipation sizzled, burned inside and broken, strange noises lifted in the air around her.

Me . . . that’s me . . . She figured it out only when he went to pull back and a harsh cry of denial escaped her.

Twisting her fingers in his short, dark hair, she stared at him, rolled her hips.

He followed the waistband of her panties to her hipbone and she shivered as he brushed a kiss to the new tattoo she’d started working on when she’d gotten back from Trenton. A butterfly kiss to the book inked on her flesh, then another, just a little higher—how many damn books did she have on that tattoo?

She thought she might die until he muttered something under his breath and caught the waistband of her panties, dragged them down. She stepped out of them, but he kept her from doing anything else merely by putting a hand on her belly.

The brush of his hair against her inner thighs was soft.

His mouth was hot, wet.

The scrape of his teeth over her clit was a white-hot pleasure that had her arching closer while a broken moan ripped from her.

He growled against her and she felt the vibration all the way to the soul of her. Pressing him closer, she unconsciously curled one leg around his upper body, opening herself.

He stabbed his tongue inside and the sensation was intense, all consuming. Panting out his name, she forced herself to look down and then she jolted, because he was watching her. Through his lashes, eyes rolled up so that he could see over the plane of her body, he stared at her.

That intimate connection lit her up even more thoroughly than the way he slid one hand up her thigh in the next moment, placing two fingers against the swollen entrance to her pussy as he started to push in.

Her hands went to his shoulders and she clutched at him, feeling the orgasm gathering inside—gathering her—like everything inside her waited on this. Just this—

He twisted his wrist as he screwed his fingers in and she came with a hoarse, unintelligible cry. If he hadn’t been right there, ready to brace her, catch her, she would have fallen.

And damn if she would have cared.

*   *   *

She was still shaking, still shuddering, when Trey rose to his feet. He leaned against her, his cock pulsating, the need a monster inside him.

Settling his hips against hers, he waited until her lashes lifted, until the sleepy, almost drugged look started to fade. She closed her hands around his hips, a smile flirting with the corners of her mouth.

He wanted—needed—to kiss her. The taste of her was still heavy in his mouth and he wanted to share that with her, join it with the taste of her kiss as he sank inside. Catching one of her wrists, he guided it down, pressed her hand to his cock, rigid behind the confining material of his jeans. She molded her fingers around his cock, squeezed.

“My condoms are in the truck,” he said, his voice flat. “I didn’t think about it until a couple of minutes ago.”

She blinked, her lashes flickering down to shield her eyes.

Then she tightened her hand around him, gave his cock another taunting, teasing squeeze. “I’m on the pill.” She stroked her hand up, then down. “I can wait, though. If you need to go get them . . .”

“Do I?” he asked as their gazes locked, held.

Instead of answering, she freed his cock and the feel of her fingers, cool and strong on his flesh, was almost too much. He jerked in her hand, the need to close her fingers around him, rock into her touch almost overpowering.

“Not on my account,” she said softly.

Watching her, he nudged her hands out of the way and shoved the jeans, his boxers, down, kicking them out of the way. Eyes still on hers, he boosted her up, steadying her against the door. Hooking her knees over his elbows, he looked down, staring at her—her sleek, golden brown thighs, the heart of her—so wet, her flesh pink and ready for him. “Put me inside you,” he said, his voice barely more than a growl.

She shivered and he shot a quick look up, saw the glassy look in her eyes as she stared down—watching them as well. Too much. It was—

Bliss—

*   *   *

“Oh. . . .” She arched, as best as she could, as the first few inches of him slid inside. Swollen and thick, his skin silken, but ridged, the sensation of him bare inside her was an erotic, seductive pleasure.

His fingers bit almost brutally into her as he pulled out, his cock rasping over swollen, sensitive tissue and then he sank back inside, tugging her against him as he moved. Not all the way inside—no, about halfway he stopped, and then retreated, using that same, mind-blowingly slow pace.

After a third, then fourth time when he still hadn’t filled her all the way, she cried out and twisted, tried to close herself around him, and his entire body went rigid. “Please,” she gasped out.

He tensed, so still against her. She could see the pulse throbbing within his neck, see the searing, intense blue of his eyes—

He drove in, deep, so deep, it ripped a scream out of her as she arched her back. It was like she felt him in every part of her—body and soul.

He let go of her knees to lock his arms around her and Ressa twined her legs around him, desperate to be as close as she could.

Her name was a snarl on his lips and she turned her mouth to meet his, breathless before he’d even kissed her.

His cock, already bruising, seemed to swell, and she moaned under the onslaught—his cock driving inside, his kisses dominating her mouth, his entire being overwhelming—taking her in.

The orgasm grabbed her by the throat, all but slammed her to the ground with its ferocity. Nearly knocked unconscious from the power of it, she was only vaguely aware of him still moving against her—then he tensed, groaning her name.

As he slumped against her, she tightened her grip on him, afraid to let go.

Afraid to let go . . . but at the same time, she was still scared to really grab on.

Chapter Twenty-eight

Ressa came to awareness to feel Trey’s mouth on her back.

She was in a bed. With Trey. A moment of pure, insane happiness washed over her. She’d spent the entire night with him . . .

But then her brain kicked in, and she remembered the way the day had played out.

Trey sighed and shifted his body up, resting his chin on her shoulder.

“You’re thinking hard and I haven’t even had coffee,” he said. “This could be a major problem in our relationship, Ressa.”

With a lump in her throat, she wiggled over onto her back and stared up at him. “If only that was the biggest problem we had.”

Lifting a hand, she pressed it against his cheek. “I never did tell you everything,” she said quietly. “And I think I need to.”

For a moment, Trey just studied her and then he nodded. “Give me a minute,” he said, bending down to brush his lips over her cheek.

As he rolled out of bed, she was overcome by the urge to haul him back to her. Cling to him. Never let go.

But this had to be done.

Consequences, she thought. Mama Ang had talked about consequences and how Kiara was suffering the consequences of her actions. Maybe Mama Ang didn’t blame her, but Ressa was suffering some consequences of her own.

If she’d pushed harder, if she’d tried harder, she could have done something more to help her cousin. If she’d just never gotten involved herself . . .

Those troubled thoughts chased her until the door opened back up and Trey came in. He’d gotten dressed—sort of. He had on the white shirt from last night, although it wasn’t buttoned and a pair of jeans. With his sleepy eyes and the stubble on his face, he looked like a beautiful dream. And he carried two cups of coffee.

Maybe he was a dream. One that just didn’t belong in her life. She’d find out, sometime here soon.

“I told you I was arrested on suspicion of prostitution,” she said as she wrapped her hands around the thick mug he’d given her.

“Yeah.” Eyes narrowed, Trey lifted his mug to his lips. “And I already told you, I’m not walking.”

“Yeah.” She took a sip and then blew out a sigh. “You do know that it could get ugly . . . you, your brothers . . . your family. I see what happens when people get hooked up with anybody with some sort of scandal.”

“Look . . . just stop. I know my family. If I like you, they’re going to like you. Besides, you must not be paying attention to the gossip rags.” Trey shrugged. “Seb gives them more than enough to talk about and when he isn’t making their tongues wag, then Zach is telling nosy producers he has a freezer full of bodies in his house. I’m too boring for them to mess with the majority of the time. I live in Norfolk, I’m a widowed dad and I write books . . . I’m boring compared to Sebastian and Zach.”

“You could never be boring.” A watery laugh escaped her. “Your family . . . they sound . . .”

“Crazy?” Trey offered.

“No.” She flicked him a look. “I was thinking they sounded wonderful.”

She put the coffee down, staring into it. But no answers appeared there.

Climbing from the bed, she grabbed the sheet and wrapped it around herself. “It was a few weeks after I’d told Sharon I was quitting. She asked me to at least see through the commitments I’d made for that month and I felt bad, so I said yes. One of the guys was somebody Scott had brought in. I’d never liked him, but it wasn’t my job to like him. We were out at dinner and he had his hand on my back, was whispering in my ear about how much better the night could be if I’d give him one of those little extras Scott had suggested. That was when the cop showed up—he’d been following us. Listening.”

She looked back at him. “It was the same cop who’d tried to catch me and I knew right away I was in trouble. The dickhead with me starts saying he hadn’t done anything—I was the one who suggested we exchange favors.”

“The cop, though . . . Detective Moritz, he’d heard. He was . . .” She paused, reaching for a word to describe a man who’d been a part of the worst time of her life. “He was fair. I hated him for a long time, but he was fair. I spent that one night in jail—had a PD come talk to me and the next morning, Hank Moritz was there. He told me they weren’t going to hold me, no charges would be pressed.” She sighed and rubbed one hand down her arm, chilled. The sun coming through the window did nothing to warm her. “He showed up at the bus stop. I tried to just walk away but he walked with me. Told me he knew just about everything there was to know about me—all the bad shit.”

She laughed bitterly. “All the bad shit. I thought he was going to pull some crap bit and try to get me to sleep with him . . . but then he smiled at me and said, I know the good shit, too, kid. He knew about the scholarship, how Mama Ang had helped me catch up with school . . . I read fine when she found me, had always enjoyed it, but while the rest of the kids were doing geometry and trig, I struggled with multiplication and fractions. Algebra—that was hell. She got me a tutor and I was working at grade level within a year. He knew—all of it. Somehow, he knew. He told me I was smart, that I had a chance at a real life . . . if I’d just try to take it.”

Look at what you could have—you could be almost anything. Now look at what you came from. You’re too close to going back—what you need to do is go forward, he’d said. You got a chance at a real life. You’re too smart not to take it.

Gazing into the backyard, she found herself thinking of that grizzled, hard face and eyes that had seemed like granite. She’d hated him. Then . . . and after.

But those words had been lingered, echoed in the back of her mind for weeks, months. Even now. Years later.

“I got out of it. I was ready to go back to the fast-food thing, even, but I’d met Farrah.” Looking back at Trey, she said, “My best friend. You haven’t met her, but she’s amazing. I was always at the library whenever I had time, and she’d been working here a while, mentioned they were looking for volunteers. I couldn’t do volunteer work—I needed a real job, but she kept bugging me so I did it, started helping out once a month—I did it when I wasn’t flipping burgers. And found . . . something. I changed my major that summer, focused on becoming a librarian. I hadn’t even had a goal at that point—I was in school to make Mama Ang happy. I did it just to shut her up. The next summer, I was offered a part-time job. And I took it. A for-real job . . . something respectable even. I quit the fast-food place . . .” She laughed. “I still hate Big Macs, you know. Hate them.”

Turning from the window, she moved over to the sitting area, tucked just beneath the bay window. Trey held out a hand, and for a moment she just stared, and then she put her hand in his, let him draw her close. She ended up settled between his legs, one of his hands rubbing the small of her back while she talked.

“Kiara was getting into more trouble, though. The cops pretty much blew the entire thing wide open. Sharon wasn’t charged, but she moved out of the state. Hannah, a few others and me—we just kind of watched from the sidelines, had to talk to the cops a few times. But Kiara, two other girls . . . and Scott—the guy who’d started hooking some of the girls out, they were all arrested and charged. Scott was the only one who went to trial and he ended up copping a plea bargain before it ended. He’ll be getting out of jail soon. He got hit hard because of all the evidence they found of him blackmailing people. Kiara and the others, they were given a deal—six months and probation if they testified against Scott. They all took it. The other two straightened up. Kiara . . . I swear, she can’t find herself for nothing.”

“Some people don’t want to straighten up,” Trey murmured, his lips against her brow. “That’s not on you.”

“Maybe not . . . Hannah’s death is.”

Trey went still.

Ressa closed her eyes. He cupped her cheek but she wouldn’t look at him. After a moment, he stopped trying to make her and just held her.

“Kiara kept getting in trouble, more and more, all the time. She fell in with this guy who’d known Scott—Christo. He knew what had been going down—I think he might have been one of her johns at some point. And she . . .” Ressa shrugged. “She went right back to it. We’d get into fights and I’d tell her to get a clue and she’d tell me to mind my own business . . . sex was the easiest way to make money ever—and it was fun. Fun. She ended up having a little girl—Neeci—and she had no idea who the dad was. I told her she was lucky she hadn’t ended up sick or worse . . . It was the same thing. Over and over again. I was sick of it. I was the one taking care of Neeci at that point and I was tired from working and taking care of a baby—Neeci was only two months old and she didn’t sleep well . . . there were . . .” She swallowed, fighting the anger she always had to fight when she talked about this. “Neeci was in pretty bad shape the first few months—Kiara hadn’t taken care of herself and Neeci came early, couldn’t eat well . . . had other problems. She’s okay now, but that first year was hard. I was just tired.”

My fault—

Trying to silence that voice, she twisted in Trey’s arms, sitting with her back against his chest. Part of her wanted to move away, but the rest of her, it needed this. He still held her.

“It was six years ago . . . almost to the day. Next Saturday, as a matter of fact.”

*   *   *

Trey tensed, unable to stop it. Next Saturday—it was the anniversary of the worst day of his life.

Ressa looked at him, her eyes bruised. “What happened six years ago?” he asked, focusing on her and not the past.

“She got in trouble.” Ressa sighed, the sound tired and strained, like the things she was telling him just wore down on her. “I was at home when she called. It was probably around eleven. She’d been out with Christo—she told me she’d been working—that’s what she called it. And this guy . . . she was ranting about how he messed everything up and made Christo mad at her. There was a fight and the cops were called and Christo acted like it was her fault . . . It took me forever to figure out what she was talking about. But she’d tried to . . .”

She stopped, closing one hand into a fist. A moment later, she surged off his lap and he watched as she went over to her clothes. They lay in a tangle and his heart broke a little as she fought with them.

He went to his closet and grabbed the first thing that came to hand. “Here,” he said, kneeling in front of her.

She went still as he settled the black cotton on her shoulders, tucking her arms into the sleeves like she was a child. “I don’t know why you have to be so wonderful,” she said softly. “I just . . . I don’t get it. Why are some men like Christo and others like you?”

Uncomfortable with the way she was watching him, Trey shrugged. “I don’t know this Christo jerk, but if he’s the kind of slug I think he is, he doesn’t sound like much of a man.”

“No.” Ressa shook her head. “He’s really not.”

She reached up and closed a hand around his wrist and Trey sank down on the floor in front of her.

“She made money by sleeping with other men,” she said softly. “Sometimes they knew they’d be paying her. Sometimes . . .”

She looked away. “Sometimes they didn’t. Christo was a dealer. She got drugs from him, would slip it into a guy’s drink. He’d forget her—and everything else—by the time he woke up. That night, it didn’t go the way they planned. Christo hit her. He’d hit her before and she always went back to him. This time it was because she’d fucked up the job.”