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As I’m about to pull my shirt on, my phone chimes with a new text, and I almost trip trying to get it, to see what he says.
To get that reassurance that all is well.
Dante: Yes. Long night. See you at work.
Relief washes through my veins, but frustration quickly follows it.
A long night. He couldn’t even bother to text me, to tell me he wasn’t going to come over? To let me know he’s safe, that nothing horrible happened?
If I even so much as thought to disappear for a night, to not be exactly where he expected me to be, he would tear down the entire city to get to me, to drag me back where he wanted me.
But this dipshit gets to just have a long night? And then what, not say a goddamned thing?
Fuck that, I think to myself, tossing the light-grey long-sleeve shirt to the ground and grabbing a tight lace-up corset top.
He had a long night?
I’m here to make it even longer.
* * *
Once I’m dressed, I walk down the stairs and out the front door where Roddy is standing, leaning against a blacked-out car, smoking a cigarette.
Roddy drives me to work now.
Roddy isn’t just a bouncer, it seems.
Interesting to know that the girls don’t have all the dirt.
He stands there, and I move around him, opening the door and letting myself in. He holds the door open as I try to close it, popping his head in as he squats to look at me.
“You gonna change?” he says, staring at me.
“Fuck off, Roddy.”
“Big Boss isn’t going to like that, babe.”
“Well, Big Boss can go fuck himself,” I say. “Drive me to work, please.”
I expect an argument.
I expect some kind of strong-arming, telling the little lady to get back in the house and dress appropriately.
But instead, Roddy laughs, a deep, hearty laugh. He then stands, slams the door, and gets in on the driver’s side.
“He’s got his hands full with you, doesn’t he?” he says, cluing me in to the fact that, like Marco, Roddy knows about us beyond just me working for Dante.
“Drive, Roddy,” I say, taking the sunglasses off my head and placing them on my nose, then I try to zone out as Roddy and his laughter drive me to work.
* * *
The anger and irritation simmer all day but boil over when I’m in the girls’ break room restocking snacks and I hear two of them talking.
“Who knew Big Boss was so fine,” Sammi says, and my guard is instantly up.
“Seriously! How come he never comes in here looking like that? Always walking around pouting and shit.”
I’m sorry, what?
