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From one foot to the other, she shifts her weight, as if balancing the idea—weighing out whether my answer is acceptable.
Fucking frustrating. I’m trying to save her life and she’s worried about everyone else. This chick has no level of self-perseverance. If she did, she would not have chucked a dildo at me. She also wouldn’t have saved a stranger on Pink Street.
My phone chimes with a call and then shuts off.
That’s my cue.
“Snow, can we get a move on it?”
“A change of clothes, and panties. And money. I’m going to go get it.”
“You do that.” With both hands on either one of her shoulders, I twirl her toward the hallway and send her through.
“Don’t forget the Penis in Mom’s room.”I wish that were weird to say.
Leaning down, I scoop the candle in the air and put it near Lloyd’s ashes. Blessing myself and saying a prayer for him.
“Do I have time to shower?” she shouts from the other room, catching mid Hail Mary.
“Why are you not upstairs?” I stop dead in my tracks, caught up in blur of color in my peripheral.
The same yellow shirt.My attention, however, isn’t on the drunk dude fawning all over the woman. It’s the woman. Her eyes are glued to the window—to me. A slow smile curves over her lips, then a little wave at me, before she looks ahead and keeps on walking like I didn’t even exist.
Cop? Maybe just a girl. Sent by my father?
Shit.No one is just anything around here.
I duck into the hallway and call out, “Snow?”
“Yeah?”
Once I lay my eyes on her, I relax. “Just wondering if you wanted anything from here,” I lie so I don’t spur any panic.
She smirks. “Surprise me.”
I drop a kiss to Neve’s head. “Don’t take forever.”
“I’ll be right down.”
I watch that plump, round ass take the stairs two by two, barefoot. Toward the top, she stubs her toe and nearly falls back, I lunge to catch her, but she grabs the rail, rights herself, and very hastily takes a quick peek over her shoulder. “I’m totally fine,” she swears.
“You sure you didn’t break anything?”
“Nah. My feet are jammed into tiny shoes every day. This is nothing.”
Then she disappears and leaves me at the foot of the stairs wondering why in the world she would wear shoes that hurt on a daily basis.
Within seconds, I hear the shower run.
Good. I have a plan to put into action.
Ashes
NEVE
Smoke. I smell smoke. I shoot up from the bed and dart downstairs. Plops of water hit the steps as I quietly rush down with the fallen towel in my hand.
A poor choice of a weapon if someone’s down here waiting, my brain chimes in knocking the fight response down a peg.What are you going to do, slap them a damp swiss-cheese rag?
