Maybe it’s just one of those things we’ll never speak of again. But…
But just in case, I squeeze his hand again.
CHAPTER 13
TINK
Treasure,in a white pleather minidress with thigh-high boots to match, looks at Pan like she wants to punch him in the nose.
“A kids’ menu,” she repeats.
“Yeah,” he says, as if he’s just asked for a beer or a lap dance or something completely normal to get at the Mermaid Lagoon. “You know, like for food.”
Then he steps aside a little, and Treasure’s eyes fall to what’s behind him.
To Wendy, sitting on a barstool, her legs dangling. To the skinny form of the dog, practically cowering underneath her.
At that, Treasure does a long, long blink. Presses a hand to her forehead. Then she looks back up at Pan. At Fox. At me.
And maybe I imagine it, but she softens a little.
“I’ll see what we can do.” She narrows her eyes. “But I want a fucking explanation.”
She strides off to the swinging door for the kitchen as Wendy swivels back and forth on her barstool.
We got stares when we came in. Of course we did. It’s early, but it’s Friday, so the Mermaid Lagoon is medium-full. The DJ’salready bumping the music and the lights are pulsing pink and purple.
Perfect place to bring afucking child.Let alone a kid and her dog.
“Hey, got your text. What’s going—oh.” It’s Kit, slipping in from the entrance and immediately clocking Wendy. “She’s still here?” he adds, in a lower voice, to Fox. Then he frowns. “She’s…here?”
“Said she was hungry,” Fox stage-whispers back to his brother, shrugging. “So we figured?—”
“And is that a dog?” Kit balks, eyes wide.
“Nana,” Fox corrects, “and yes.”
Pan looks up from where he’s drumming his fingers on the bar and cocks his head at Kit. “Where’s your stabby friend?”
“Blue?” Kit glances back over his shoulder, then shrugs. “Was cleaning his station, I think. Probably on his way.”
Pan makes a face. “Dipshit. What part ofemergency meetingdoesn’t he understand?”
“The part where it means doing something for someone else?” I mutter, staring at the Mermaid—Emerald—who’s eyeing Wendy from behind the bar.
“God, look at her skin.” Emerald sips water through a cocktail straw, smoky eyes narrowed. “I’d kill for pores that small.”
I scowl at her, at her perfect cut crease shadow and the easy, long waves of her hair, falling over her shoulders like she doesn’t even notice—which makes me instinctively scratch the back of my head.
“She’s ten,” I point out. “You’re jealous of a fucking ten-year-old?”
Emerald rolls her eyes. “Don’t sayfuckin front of a ten-year-old,” she retorts. “That’s fucked up.”
“Can we maybe just agree,” Kit mumbles, “that having a ten-year-old in a strip club atallis fucked up?”
“What the fuck is she doing here?”
A deep voice from just behind Kit, and I don’t have to look to know who it is.
