She shrugged. No way did she want Ray knowing that Brody was part of her other life. “Some asshat with more money than self-control.”
“That, honey, is Broderick Kane III. His father is a senator from the good ole state of Texas. He’s richer than God and headed to great things. So you keep your mouth closed, your legs open, and your eyes and ears alert. People would pay good money to learn his secrets.”
His secrets? He was a tree-trunk-up-his-ass nerd, who happened to have a kinky side, and could make a woman come inside sixty seconds. So she’d be keeping that little sex nugget to herself, unpacking it later during lonely nights while she figured out how to land a new job.
“I’m not going to learn much in one night.”
Ray grinned, and Emma knew the chilling meaning of “termites in his smile.”
“That debt looks a lot smaller when you’re cooperating with me, Emma.”
What the hell? Did he expect her to spy on Brody, looking for a chink Ray could exploit? Sleep with him and hope he had interesting pillow talk?
“He’s waiting for me.”
A brusque nod from Ray and he backtracked to his office, no doubt to check on his ledger of misery and plan the destruction of more lives. The notion of seeing Brody after he had taken her to paradise and back, then with his dark, condemning expression, doused her fiery loss of control with an ice-cold vat of regret, filled Emma with dread. She couldn’t face him. Not now.
Pulling out her phone, she hurried toward the back alley, and waited until she’d cleared it and was in a cab she could ill afford. She texted Brody: On my way home. The answering buzz came within five seconds, but she ignored it as she sank her weary head against the cab’s backseat.
But she couldn’t ignore the next call, the ringtone of the opening bars of “A Total Eclipse of the Heart” filling the cab. Their anthem. The song came laden with happy memories of making Daisy laugh as Emma gave it her most dramatic tuneless rendition. It sure beat soothing her baby sis to sleep because Mom thought motherhood was too hard and Dad thought fatherhood was optional. Those crazy tunes had seen them through the tough times.
A smiling heart-shaped face lit up Emma’s phone screen. Daisy Catherine Strickland, the person Emma loved more than anything in the world. These days, every time Emma saw her, rage boiled up. At what she had done, at what Emma had to do to keep her safe. At the failure oozing from Emma’s pores.
“Hey, Ems,” Daisy said cheerily. At two in the morning, mind you, but Daisy had always lived on her own timetable.
Emma dug her nails into her palm, furious at her sister’s bonhomie. Drawing a deep breath, she asked, “How’s it going?”
“Okay,” she said, though she sounded wary. Perhaps she sensed Emma’s anger vibes all the way to the rehab facility she had stashed her in back in Pennsylvania. “Only one week to my ninety days. I’m gonna make it this time.”
This time. If Emma had a dime for every instance she’d heard that, she’d have no problem paying off that debt to Ray. This was her sister’s third trip to drug rehab, and Emma prayed it would stick. Every penny not going into Ray’s coffers went to getting her sister the help she needed, because Emma had threatened to cut off all contact if she didn’t get clean.
“So you’re eating well,” she said, that maternal instinct impossible to suppress. After playing mom for so long, it was always there above and beyond the rest of her mixed feelings.
“Yeah, the food’s all that health shit. Gluten free and whatnot. I could murder a Quarter Pounder.” She launched into a whiny recitation of the contents on the rehab salad bar Emma would give her right arm to be sidling up to right now. Her stomach growled on cue.
Daisy couldn’t possibly have heard that, but she hesitated and asked into the ominous silence, “So how was work tonight?”
“The usual ass*ole
s.” Oh, and I gave my boss the world’s worst lap dance and then let him f*ck
me boneless backstage. “We’re getting there, D.”
“You know, Ems, we could run. Soon as my ninety days is up.”
Run. They’d done it before. Escaped the bad influences of their ne’er-do-well family of criminals and the daily approbation of life in a small town in Penn.
“California or Florida,” Daisy said. “We could start over.”
“He’d find us.” She was sick of running to a standstill. She wanted to lay down roots, finish school, start her life. She wanted something of her own, unfettered by the familial chains forever holding her back.
Guilt at that treacherous thought pinched her chest. Daisy couldn’t help being weak. When Mom had up and left them as kids, Emma had to be the strong one. And when Dad had swapped his leathers for prison garb orange, Emma was the glue that held them together. She would find a way. She always did.