Alexandra stiffened. “Your cousin needs to be punched.”
“Simone was doing her job as my attorney, and believe me, you don’t want to punch her.” Kell bit back a smile. He’d taught Simone to fight dirty centuries ago, and even a trained cop wouldn’t stand a chance. “Is your father still in prison?”
“Yes.”
“Are you in contact?” More than anything, Kell wanted to tuck her close and hold her tight.
“Of course not.” She sighed and cut him a sideways look. “My dad was a bad guy, he hurt my mom, and he’s dead to me. Enough said.”
Yeah, that told him more than enough. “Who protects you?” he murmured.
Her head jerked to the side. “I protect myself, dumbass.”
He shook his head, not having meant to speak out loud. “And you protect your sister?” It was just a guess.
“Yes.” Alexandra pulled the battered car into a parking lot near an all-night diner. A fluorescent sign proclaimed the place as BETTY’S, but one of the T’s was burned out. Rain fell over the sign and splattered the sidewalk. Kell figured Alexandra wouldn’t wait for him to open her door, so once she’d shut off the engine, he grasped her arm and tugged her out his side. She struggled, and he gentled his hold so as not to bruise her, safely depositing her outside the car and under a ripped awning.
“I’m stronger than you,” he said mildly.
“I have a gun,” she returned before pivoting and heading into the dismal restaurant.
God, she was stubborn. He shut the car door and followed her inside to a cracked and ripped somewhat peach-colored booth in the back. When she would’ve sat facing the door, he quickly took her arm and assisted her to sit across the booth, so he could face the entrance.
She scowled as he sat across from her. “I prefer to face the door.”
As did he. Considering he was a hell of a lot more dangerous than she was, he would keep watch. “Oh, sorry. This side is ripped, and I didn’t want you to be uncomfortable.”
She narrowed her gaze. “Are you being a snob?”
“By saving your sweet ass from a dangerous booth?” He grinned, truly enjoying the color sliding across her too-pale face. “You don’t know me, darlin’.”
“No, but you definitely have money.” She eyed his leather jacket. “I’ve seen your bike.”
“Aye.” Money was just money—unless one didn’t have any. “I work hard.”
She lifted her chin. “As an enforcer for a motorcycle club that runs drugs and guns? Blood money.”
An enforcer for the Coven Nine made excellent wages, and it was rarely tinged with blood, although that was a distinct possibility sometimes. “I do what I have to do.” He paused as an elderly waitress in bright pink shuffled up in geriatric shoes to plunk down two sweating water glasses.
She smiled cracked teeth. “Lexi, you sweetheart. How have you been?”
“Great, Frankie.” A genuine smile lifted Alexandra’s lips.
Kell paused, intrigued. Gentleness filled Alexandra’s eyes, and he wanted that look. For him.
Frankie turned faded eyes on Kell. “You’re a handsome one, now aren’t you?”
He smiled and fought the urge to scoot over and ask the lady to sit. “You’re a looker, yourself.”
She twittered and patted him with a gnarled hand on his shoulder. “Charmer.” She glanced at Alexandra. “How’s your mama?”
Alexandra stilled, her smile seeming more forced. “Wonderful. Having a marvelous time.”
“That’s good, but we sure miss her around here.” Frankie nodded, her gaze softening. “You’re a good girl, Lexi. Want the usual?”
“Yep. For both of us,” Alexandra said.
Frankie nodded and lumbered away.
“Come here often?” Kell asked.
“Yes.” She cupped her water glass with both hands.
“Where’s your mama?” he asked, trying to read her expression, wishing those slender hands were on him instead.
She leaned back, hands going to her lap as she met his gaze. “Tell me about Apollo.”
“Tell you what”—he drummed his fingers on the table—“we’ll take turns answering questions. That’s only fair. Lexi”.
She blinked. “You first.”
Did she play chess? He’d have to find out. “Apollo is a drug reduced to liquid form and injected. A quarter to a half dose gives the taker feelings of euphoria verging on godlike. A full dose does the same and then melts the user’s internal organs.”
“What is in it? We’ve never found a sample, and the drug is absorbed into the body upon death, so even autopsies don’t help,” she said.
He shrugged. “We don’t know yet, either.”
She narrowed her gaze but didn’t challenge his lie. “Where is it from?” she asked.
“Where’s your mother?” he returned evenly.
Her chin lifted. “Bakerston’s Rehabilitation Home in western Seattle. Now, where’s the drug from?”
“Initially? I think Russia, but I don’t have confirmation of that yet.” He could afford to give her that much.