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Her lips purse as if she tastes something foul. Which from where I’m sitting is anything that’s touching her.
“My family doesn’t care about Barbra. She—”
“Natalie.” If she wants to be called Natalie, then she will. If she wants to be called something else, then she will. But what she won’t be called is Barbra.
Reina glares at me and clears her throat, glancing away for a second before looking back. “She isn’t worth anything. She’s just a kegare.”
“What’s that mean?”
“It means she doesn’t belong.”
“Where? Here, or with your family?”
“Does it matter? She’s gone. And I doubt she’ll be back.” The smile that slides across her face has me fighting to keep my fists from flying. Not yet. It will come, just not yet.
“She was taken.”
“Shame.”
“You know anything about it?”
“Nope.”
“You don’t seem upset. She’s your sister, I thought.”
She rolls her eyes and examines her nails. “Step, as she told you all many times. And she isn’t blood. In her little rant earlier, she at least got that part right.”
“Seems she got a lot right.” I level a look at her. If she wants to keep trying to ignore the fact that we caught her stealing, that’s on her stupid brain. Not my issue when she starts asking why when we take our pound of flesh from her.
“Whatever. Can I go or what?”
Does this bitch really think she’s getting out of here without repercussions? She really is a dumbass.
“Who’s your family?”
“Not yours. Now let’s go.” She snaps her fingers at me. “Ticktock. I’ve got a nail appointment to get to.”
I stand, moving the chair back to where it was.
“Finally,” she says and stands as well.
My hand connects with her cheek, and the cry of surprise proves she’s never been hit before. Unlike Natalie.
Ruby clocked her one good, and she took it. Barely registered a sound, but she did so out of pain. Reina cries out more from shock. I know I didn’t hit her hard. Not yet. This was a love tap, if you will. A warning of what’s yet to come.
“Name.”
“You hit me.” She cups her cheek as she looks at me with wide eyes.
“Name,” I bark again in her face.
She glares and drops her hand. “My father is going to—”
Another cry from her as I smack her other cheek.
I see the moment she decides to be “brave” and grab her hand before she can connect with my face. I twist it back behind her, pulling even tighter when she shouts.
Her sounds make me feel a sense of pleasure. It’s a good thing I’m in the club and now have rules to help me find an outlet like this. If it were something else, I would have ended up like my dad. But instead of going to jail for theft, it would be for some kind of violence.
