Page 73 of Dark Ugly Places

“No more questions! This is exactly what I’m talking about. You talk, and you talk, and you talk. Let’s get one thing straight. I’m in charge. I lead. You do what I say, and we won’t have any issues. Capiche?”

“Fine. I just want to know one thing.”

I can’t help it. I want to grab her little neck in my hands and squeeze. I feel Nicola jam herself up inside me, her soul pressing against mine so hard I can barely speak. She could emerge from the darkness at any moment. I’m choked, but I breathe slow and deep until Nicola lets me go and the thought subsides. “What do you want to know, kid?”

“Why are you really working for the Redferns?”

My head tilts to the side. “You honestly want to know?”

“Yeah.”

The air is so still. I contemplate leaving the house, doing the whole thing from a motel. But it’s so inconvenient, and the kid is a nuisance and too smart for a disappearing act. She would call the police. Or that chick Nubia. Besides, maybe she could be useful. “Well, it’s simple. What do you do when someone ruins your life and gets away with it scot-free?”

Emmy’s mouth opens slightly, her eyes alight. I don’t have to say one freaking word because the idea was hers and hers all along. The problem is, her mother let her go on thinking that retribution would be impossible, that there is no way to possibly level the playing field or rebalance the scales of justice. But this is my game, and I always come out a winner.

“You get even?” Emmy asks.

“Fuck even,” I say with a laugh. “You bleed every last drop from them until they’re bone-cracking dry.”

The next morning, I charge Emmy with making breakfast. “How are they vegan if they are eggs?” I ask her.

“They’re not eggs. That’s the whole point. No chickens were harmed in the making of this breakfast.”

Scotch barks in agreement and gives me a little growl. I feel my eyes roll in my head. “That’s some weird shit.”

“Yeah, well, if you don’t want them, don’t eat them.” Emmy dumps a lump of yellow goo on my plate. “My mom likes my cooking.”

I smirk. “Yeah, sure she does.”

Emmy plops down onto the stool and gobbles up the vegan eggs and a piece of toast slathered with vegan butter. She chews, staring at me like I’m harboring a secret.

“So, you have this all figured out?” she asks.

“I don’t have it all figured out, Emmy.”

She’s chewing and staring at me still. “You’re lying.”

I slam my fist onto the counter, seeing if I can startle her into shutting herself up. “Leave it alone.”

“I want to help you.”

“Well, you can’t,” I tell her. “So, just forget about it.”

Emmy looks at me, a puzzled expression crossing her eyes. “Why do you think they’re the ones who did it, anyway?”

“I don’t think. I know.”

She sighs. “How do you know? Do you have evidence or something?”

“No.” I pause and grab her toast. I take a bite, contemplating whether to tell her. “I am going to get it, though.”

“So you don’t know for sure.”

“I am 99.99999 percent sure, Emmy.”

“Well, if that’s true, I want to help you get them.”

“You want to help me ‘get them’?” I ask with dramatic effect.