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“You know I have your back, Remy.”
I knew he intended to, just like I knew he loved me and I loved him, but he had to learn how to show strength. He had to stand up for himself instead of expecting the doors to be opened for him.
“I want to be a part of things tonight,” he protested. “If I can get the car fixed and get it to you, can I go in with you?”
I shook my head. “You can be our driver.”
That was pushing things far enough. Corbin was reckless as hell. I didn’t even know how many cars he’d totaled over the years, but acting as our driver would let him take a small role while keeping him outside. I did not trust him in our enemy’s home.
“I want more than that.”
I was losing patience fast. “Then you’re going to have to prove yourself.”
“You think I’m just a kid, but—”
“No, I think you’re arrogant and spoiled.”
“Fuck you.”
“Get the goddamned car.”
I called Lance as soon as I hung up on our younger brother. “Corbin wants in on tonight.”
I barely finished the sentence before Lance responded. “No way.”
“I told him he could drive, but that was it.”
Lance groaned. “Why did Pop and Marjorie have to spoil him so fucking much?”
“I wish to hell they hadn’t, but that’s not going to change anything. Are you comfortable with him in the driver’s seat?”
“Yeah, but what are the chances he’ll follow us in?”
Not as low as I wanted them to be. “I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen.”
“How?”
I was still figuring that out. “I have my ways.”
“You keeping secrets from me, big brother?”
“Always.”
“Asshole.”
We both hung up.
22
Henri
I spent the whole day on my own. I napped and watched several movies and made myself lunch in Remy’s beautiful kitchen and ate an obscene amount of cherry and cream cheese king cake—my favorite flavor so far. I ended up ordering a salad for dinner.
As I ate, I wondered what Remy was doing. How much danger was he in? What would I do if he never came back? I didn’t even know his last name. I knew he had a brother named Lancelot, and I knew he had a father and stepmother and another brother, but that wasn’t anything to go on. Why would any of those people want to help me even if I could find them?
When I tried to sleep, I tossed and turned, imagining horrible scenarios and asking myself why Remington had ignored me all day. He was busy. He needed to work. He’d told me his work took up all his time, and we’d just spent the day together, so why did it feel like he was deliberately avoiding me?
I paced his bedroom for a while, then wandered downstairs and out into the courtyard. The night was chilly and damp, and the lights of the city blocked most of the stars. I didn’t stay out there long, but before I went in, I tested the iron gate. It was locked. No doubt there was a key somewhere, but if I wanted to leave, I might as well go out the front door.
Did I want that? Where would I go? Back to my street corner? There was no way I could be with some random stranger after what I’d felt with Remy. I had to find a job that didn’t involve selling myself, and the money he was offering me would give me the time I needed to do so.
Of course, it seemed most jobs involved selling yourself in one way or another, and it wasn’t like I was qualified for anything that would help me get out of the mess I was in. If so, I would have found a job back in Birmingham.
As I was about to head back inside, I saw someone on the other side of the fence. It was hard to tell in the dark, but it looked like he was watching the house. There was something familiar about him. I hurried back inside and locked myself in. As I tried to catch my breath, I realized where I’d seen him. He was a regular customer of one of the women who worked a street over from me, or at least he looked like the same guy. I’d mention it to Remy, but it was probably nothing, just my imagination.
I headed upstairs. Eventually I’d get tired enough to fall asleep, wouldn’t I?
When I reached the top of the stairs, my gaze landed on the office door. What was in there that he didn’t want me to see? Heart pounding, I approached the door and reached for the knob. I’d taken his word that it was locked and hadn’t touched it. I could always check. I grasped the handle and tried to turn it, but it didn’t move.
Could I get in anyway? I’d gotten a lock-picking kit back when I was in middle school. I wasn’t planning a life of crime, but I’d always loved puzzles, and locks were just another kind. Maybe, just maybe, I could get the door open.
