Gena stood in the doorway and gave Reece a head-to-toe scan, her face blank. Then she stepped aside to let us in. The narrow room was sparsely furnished with a worn-out sofa and two overturned milk crates for end tables. A small TV in the corner cast moving shadows against the scuffed walls, and pizza boxes littered the kitchen.
Gena leaned back against the locked door, watching me. I guessed she was at least eighteen, maybe older, with cinnamon skin and chocolate-almond eyes. Crimped sections of her hair fell below her shoulders, chunked with multi-toned highlights. She was flashy. Too much makeup. Too much perfume. Too few clothes. Before a word passed between us, I knew I wouldn’t like her. She inclined her head in my direction. “Nobody,” Reece muttered, dismissing me with a wave of his hand. “Just someone from school.”
My cheeks burned. Screw him. I extended a bloody hand to Gena. “I’m the nobody that just saved his ass. Nice to meet you.”
Gena looked at my hand and raised an eyebrow at Reece.
“Gena Delgado. Leigh Boswell,” he announced through gritted teeth. “Leigh is a friend from West River.”
I waited, awkward, while a meaningful glance passed between them. A silent conversation I wasn’t privy to.
She turned and swayed into the kitchen with a fluid motion that drew my attention and Reece’s, and I hated her even more for her rear view. Her trendy clothes were the barely there kind, breasts pressed into sexy curves that peeked suggestively out of her halter top, jeans hugging low around her hips, revealing curvy pelvic bones and a gold hoop in her midriff.
“You look like hell,” she said. “Who put you in a meat grinder?”
“One of Lonny Johnson’s lackeys.” Reece followed her, dabbing blood from his cheek.
“You’re lucky he kicked your ass pretty good then.” Steam billowed around her as hot water spurted from the tap. “It’ll save Nicholson the trouble. He’s gonna freak out when he sees you.”
I tensed. How did Gena know Nicholson? Unless she was a narc, like Reece. I kept my face impassive. As far as they were concerned, the name held no significance for me.
“Who’s Nicholson?”
“He’s a cop,” she said smugly, bending to rummage through a cabinet. “Reece isn’t supposed to be fighting.”
“Nicholson isn’t going to know.”
“Oh yeah? Says who?”
“Says the guy who just made dog food out of my face. Maybe you know him?” Reece spoke up over the rustle of pots and pans. “Some asshole named Petrenko.”
The clanking pans fell silent.
For a moment, nobody spoke.
Gena shut the cabinet and stood with her back to us. “What happened?”
“Lonny got spooked.”
She set the bowl in the sink and turned. “How?”
“No idea. Everything was going down fine. Then I asked him for some K and he just . . . I don’t know . . . freaked out. Accused me of being a narc.” Another meaningful pause. A brief lock of their eyes. Reece nodded. “I think we’re cool, though.”
“What changed his mind?”
“Not sure, exactly.” His meaningful glance was directed at me this time.
Gena carried a bowl of hot water, some clean towels, and a first aid kit to the living room. She pulled a milk crate to the couch and pushed Reece into the sofa, then scooted between his legs. I looked the other way while she helped him out of his jacket and sponged down the worst of his wounds. He winced and cursed, and she swatted him playfully on the shoulder. My stomach clenched each time she touched him or leaned in to examine the cuts on his face.
Reece told her I was nothing and it stung more than it should. I told myself I didn’t want to know if she was actually someone to him.
He looked at me out of his good eye and touched my leg. I jumped.
“You okay?” he whispered. I nodded, inching away from him. I was edgy and drained. I didn’t want to feel anymore. He withdrew his hand, wiping both on his jeans, hiding the blood and dirt that wouldn’t wipe away inside clenched fists.
Gena evaluated her handiwork. “Keep the butterfly clean and dry. I don’t think you’ll need stitches. You’ve got a few bruised ribs, so don’t do anything crazy for the next few days.” She tossed him a clean shirt. “You left this in my car last weekend. I washed it for you.” She grinned, another silent message passing between them. I needed some air.
“I’ll wait for you outside.” I was already halfway to the door. I didn’t want to be there when he kissed her good night.
His hand beat mine to the doorknob. “That’s not necessary,” he said sharply. “Good night, Gena,” he grumbled. “And thanks a lot.”
“Ten cuidado, mi hermano.”
I didn’t speak Spanish, but she winked and smiled wryly. He gave her an admonishing look as he bent down to peck her cheek, then he pulled the door shut behind us.
? ? ?
“Drop me off here.” The bike rumbled through Sunny View, stopping a block from my trailer. Mona’s shift was eight to four. She wouldn’t be home for at least an hour, but I didn’t need the neighbors ratting me out. Reece killed the engine and waited for me to get free of the helmet. My hair was wild with snarls and I smoothed it down with filthy hands, cringing as I imagined what I must look like to him. He was staring at me.