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Without waiting for anyone else to ask questions, I scroll through the contact list until I find Fuck Face and click on it. The phone starts to ring immediately. After the third ring, the line picks up, and then there’s the sound of scrambling, as if he’s desperately adjusting his clothing.
“You could have called sooner,” Chaz hisses like a petulant child. “You have no idea how hard—”
“Well, hello to you, Fuck Face,” I interrupt. “You sound awfully out of breath for someone supposedly mourning.”
“What—”
“I’ve seen you all over the news,” I purr, putting on a show. The others watch me carefully. I won’t tell the idiot we have her and incriminate ourselves, not like this. This call is only a friendly neighbourhood wake-up call.
“You know something,” Dandridge snarls, but it lacks any real bite. He’s a spineless worm, despite his family name.
“What I know is that you said she was loaded,” I accuse.
“She is.”
“Then why was her apartment empty, you wanker?” I retort. “Why wasn’t there a single thing worth taking in her home?”
“I wish you wouldn’t call me things like that,” he replies, as if I’ll listen to him. When I don’t respond, he answers my questions. “I don’t know. She’s weird, still acts like a street—”
My face darkens. “Be careful with your next words, Fuck Face. I might decide to take what I’m owed in flesh.”
Fear trickles down the line, but he also flounders at the threat, as if he wants to throw words back at me. He’s not clever enough for a comeback, however, so he settles for arrogant huffing.
“I gave you the information. Anything that went wrong is your fault, not mine,” he whines like a child.
“Except isn’t it entirely your fault?” I challenge, my jaw tense. “It’s no matter. I’ll be paid one way or the other.”
“Wait!” Chaz calls when I go to hang up. “You have to know where she is.”
“Why would you care?” I rumbles.
“I’m just trying to protect my investment,” he says, and there’s nothing in that statement—no emotion, no concern. He’s not trying to find Genevieve because he loves her. He’s trying to find her because of the meal ticket she represents.
Disgust rolls through me so thick, I almost choke on it. I realise there is a clear distinction between Genevieve Dalton and the rest of the elite. Dandridge would step on anyone necessary for money, and he wouldn’t hesitate to kill them if required, though he’d never dirty his hands. Genevieve, despite being raised on the streets like the rest of us, would give up money to save someone she cared about. Hell, she offered to give up any sort of justice towards us just to go home.
“No matter what your last name is, you’re nothing but trash. We’re going to get what we’re owed. You best watch your back.” I pause and narrow my eyes. “Hopefully, it was all worth it. Whatever happens to her is on you.”
“Wait! I didn’t do anything—”
“Goodbye, Fuck Face,” I say and hang up, tired of his whining and spinelessness.
“What a little bitch,” Eric grumbles. Being as close as he is, he likely overheard Chaz’s side of things.
I shrug. “This is no longer the original plan. We need a new one.”
Booker leans back in his chair. “So what now?”
Running a hand through my hair, I sigh. “Give me some time. We’ll figure it out.”
I know I’ve been saying that for days, but there is no other plan.
We fucked up, and she’s going to pay the price unless I can think of a way out of this.
