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I had to ask, even though I didn’t want to know the answer. “Did you see it?”
Charlie took a deep breath and let it out. I already knew the answer. I hoped he didn’t think I was just some fucked up whore.
“You don’t have to answer that.”
“I’m sorry, Savannah. If I was in your position, I’d want to know.”
I nodded, staring at a spot on the wall just past Charlie’s shoulder. Tears sliding down my cheeks. I wiped my eyes. No more tears. Not here. Not now.
“And you wanted to make sure I wasn’t secretly longing for my family before you told me?”
He nodded again. “Something like that. It would be hard news to take if you decided you wanted to go back.”
“Well, I don’t, so thanks for telling me that it was my own fucking brother who inflicted the greatest pain of my life on me.” I finished off the whiskey, accepting Charlie’s offered refill with a grimace. “I guess it’s some kind of karmic payback, you know? I didn’t just look the other way with the family business. I knew what was happening, and I happily bought myself a good life with the proceeds. Just like Blade and Roadkill and Dealio, and their women.”
“It’s tough being a woman in this business.”
I shook my head. “Don’t sugarcoat it, Charlie, not for my benefit. I was never under any illusion about what was going on. I never tried to fight against them because it would be another strike against me, a woman, running the business. I said nothing, and I did nothing, and the universe paid me back tenfold for it. I totally fucking deserved it.”
Sympathetic gray eyes looked at me. I saw him trying to figure out what the fuck was going on inside my screwed up brain, and I looked away because I couldn’t stand it. The sympathy? I didn’t deserve that.
“Can we just get out of here?” I was already on my feet, grabbing my denim jacket from the back of the chair.
“Yeah, sure.” Charlie nodded, his overgrown black hair bouncing as he stood and left a few bills for a tip on the table.
I stepped outside and sucked in several deep breaths, letting the desert chill work its way into my chest and lungs. I let that chill run through my body until I was cold all over. My own fucking brother had sold me to be raped and fucked and whored out, all to inherit a business that was always going to be his. And Ronan, he hadn’t even bothered looking for me for one goddamn second. Not when I’d been scooped up by the Ashby family and not when I ended up property of the Black Jacks.
Had my stupid father seen the video? That would’ve been my move had I been in Brendan’s position. I’d send a copy to our father to make sure my reputation was too sullied to lead the family business.
That’s why he didn’t look for me.
“Shit.” That realization stung worse than any of the others, knowing my own father would rather me die a junkie whore than have me back as a ruined woman, no longer useful to his business.
It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t. I repeated those words to myself over and over until I started to believe them. Until I remembered Brendan was dead and the old man was vulnerable as hell.
As vulnerable as me. Maybe more, since I had nothing left to lose.
My eyes flew open as a small, satisfied smile crossed my face. I was no longer the Rhymer Princess, the ice cold bitch our business associates feared. I was just Savannah, now. No last name. No family. No allies or affiliations. Just me, on my own. It was kind of empowering to think I didn’t have anyone else to worry about, didn’t have to tie myself in knots over false loyalty or illusions of control.
I was a woman alone in the world, and I could do whatever the fuck I wanted. My mind raced with possibilities, starting with Charlie. The Reckless Bastards could benefit from what I knew, and I was sure they’d pay for it—well I was reasonably sure.
“Ready?” Charlie’s voice pulled me from my thoughts and I nodded absently, scanning the downtown street lined with cafes, bistros and boutiques that kept later business hours to keep up with Vegas shops.
“Yeah.” I said and turned to him. “You know, I was just think—oh shit, is that Sadie?” I pointed to the Italian bistro across the street with the burgundy awning and the kitschy Chianti bottle candles.
Charlie leaned in close, too close, and followed my finger across the street. “Fuck, it is,” he said, “and isn’t that the pedo priest in your father’s pocket?”
I squinted and looked closer, realizing it was Father Mueller but without his collar, dressed in a dark blazer and jeans like a civilian.
