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Greg babbles as I study her. “Wanted to be a model, but that didn’t work out, and she had to make a living somehow. It’s been a while since she was in the life, but she was making something like ten thousand a week when we met.”
And again, she gave that up for this slimeball. Good thing she won’t need her brain to earn money for me, since she’s clearly lacking one.
I can see her earning a lot, too. He’s not kidding about that. It irks the hell out of me to take her as repayment, though, knowing it won’t bother him much to hand her over.
Still, it’s a means of repaying his debt, which is what matters now. Business is business. I take a screenshot of the photo, then send it to Jock through Greg’s phone. I delete the message once it’s delivered, then hand the phone back. “Where can I find Deanna?”
“She has an apartment down on Third Street, in the old phone company building. I guess she went there when she walked out on me. We didn’t officially live together.” His voice is shaking almost as bad as his hands when he runs them through his sweat-soaked hair.
“Good enough.” I nod to Jock, who returns to my side, leaving Greg almost slumped in his chair from obvious relief. “But rest assured, Greg Harmon whose parents are still alive and well and living twenty miles from here. If my investment doesn’t earn out? I’ll be taking a drive to see your folks.”
I smile at the way his mouth falls open. “And I’ll bring you with me. You’ll get to watch what I do to them before I do it to you, too.” It’s nice, carrying the memory of his horror with me as I leave the shop, giving Frank a wide berth before sliding into the back seat of a car neither of the men inside the shop would know what to do with.
“Home.” Once I’ve given Chuck his orders, I turn to Jock. “You’ll drop me off. Then you’ll bring her to me so I can conduct an interview.”
He’s unsurprised, already searching for Deanna on his phone’s browser. “There’s a D. Jones living in an apartment on Third Street. He wasn’t lying.”
I didn’t think he was. Men like Greg have a keen sense of self-preservation that kicks in when it’s needed most. A shame it didn’t kick in before he developed his gambling problem.
Then again, if it hadn’t been for that, I might not have the opportunity to turn the luscious Deanna into a moneymaker. I know Jock—he’ll bring her to me by day’s end.
The day started badly, but things are looking up.
Chapter Two - Delilah
“Please, Lila. Come see me? I need you.”
Lila. She uses my nickname when she’s really in trouble. And knowing Deanna, it probably has to do with that piece of garbage she calls a boyfriend. Her life was already a mess before she met him, but he somehow managed to make everything exponentially worse.
At least she called. It’s been at least two months since the last time I heard from my twin sister. Another of Greg’s little gifts, the way he cuts her off from everybody who loves her. She explained it to me once, how it’s easier to go along with him and avoid her friends and family. Otherwise, he gets sulky, pissy. Angry. Violent.
I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve wished he was dead.
Now, closing up the bookstore for the night, I prepare myself for what waits at Deanna’s. She’s at her apartment instead of his condo, telling me she left him. Again. I know better than to think this is for real. Forever. I used to, back in the day. I used to tell myself she finally wised up, that she was on the verge of making some big breakthrough in her life.
I can’t let myself hope anymore. No matter how much I want to.
It doesn’t seem like a twenty-two-year-old should be this jaded, but I’ve seen too much. From her, from our late parents. They did their best, but they were unequipped. I can hardly remember being a kid, because I so rarely felt like one. I had to protect my sister from our parents’ so-called friends. Had to scrape together whatever I could find in the kitchen. Had to make sure she did her homework.
Now, she needs me again. This means instead of going home after locking up the store, I walk the six blocks to the old telephone company building. I remember when Deanna bought the apartment after the place was first renovated. She was making money back then, a few years ago, and looking back it was probably the only good investment she’s ever made. She has somewhere to land whenever Greg leaves her falling through thin air.
My feet are heavy as I climb the three flights of stairs to her place. I worked a double shift today, all by myself. Good thing the bookstore is never that busy. Maybe if the owner wasn’t so closed-minded, he’d bother establishing a social media presence for the store, but then what do I know? I’m only a grown person who uses the internet every day and knows how it drives business. I only follow dozens of business-related accounts, from favorite restaurants to bakeries to the tattoo artist who inked my ankle.
Our ankles. They were supposed to be two halves of a whole heart, like one of those old Best Friends charms girls would share with their besties. We were going to have the other twin’s name written inside, sort of a way to show in physical form the way we carry each other in our hearts all the time.
Only Deanna went first and chickened out once the heart was in place. She couldn’t take the pain of having my name inked—ironic considering the pain I know Greg puts her through. So all we have are the two halves of a heart, but I think it gets the point across, anyway.
It hurts my actual heart a little, the way my sister opens the door just wide enough to peer out at me. Like she was afraid I would be Greg, instead. When she sees me, she closes the door to remove the chain, then flings it open and throws her arms around my neck. “I’ve missed you.”
I have to bite back a snarky remark. “I’ve missed you, too,” I murmur, hugging her tight. It’s not my fault we haven’t talked in so long, though. She doesn’t need to be reminded of that right now.
Once we’re inside, the door double-locked, I flop down on the couch and hit her with an expectant look. “What happened this time? What pushed you over the edge?”
“You don’t have to sound so judgmental.” She stands in front of me, arms folded over a body that’s way too thin. We were both blessed with a good metabolism, and Deanna used to diet pretty constantly when she was dreaming of being a model.
The way she looks now, she was downright curvy back then. “When’s the last time you ate something?” I ask as casually as I can, so she won’t take it ask an insult.
She lifts a bony shoulder, her eyes darting away from me. “I don’t remember. You know my appetite goes away when I’m stressed.”
