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“I need some information.”
“Sure, what do you need?” I can hear him inhale, before blowing out a puff of air.
“I thought you quit?” I really couldn’t care less, but this fucker has been kicking the habit for the last five years, obviously not successfully.
“I did. Then I remembered who the fuck I work for and figured there’s no point in trying to prolong my miserable fucking existence anyway,” he replies.
“You know, if you weren’t so useful to me, your miserable existence would have ended years ago.”
“So you remind me, at least once a month. What info do you need?”
“Emmy—Emily Livingston. I want to know everything about her over the past seven years. I want to know what she ate for fucking breakfast every day. Everything,” I grunt out.
“Emmy, huh? Why now?” I knew he wouldn’t miss the nickname I slipped out. He’s been asking about Emmy for the past five years, ever since he saw the tattooed name on my chest.
“She’s back.” That’s about all the information I want to give him.
“If she’s back, why don’t you just ask her?” He talks to me as though I haven’t already thought of that.
“I have.” I take a breath in. “She turned up here fucking black and blue. Some fucker has been using her as a fucking punching bag. I want to know who. Yesterday!” My voice raises to a yell. I pick the coffee cup off my desk and hurl it across the room.
“Oh, shit. Man, okay. I’ll get every bit of information you need. I’ll help you feed those fucking pigs of yours with what we find too.” The sound of a keyboard being hammered on echoes in the background. He’s already on the job.
“I’m not feeding my babies that kind of scum,” I say. Even my pigs are too fucking good for that fucker.
“Josh?” Sam queries.
“Yeah?”
“Are you going to be all right? You know I can be there in a matter of hours if you need.”
“I’m good,” I lie. I’m not fucking all right. But then again, I’ve never been all right, have I? I hang up before he can question me further. If I was capable of having friends, Sam would come close to what I imagine a best friend would be.
Just as I hang up, Ella and Dean walk through the door.
“Hey, we’re heading off. Unless you need me to stay… I can stay longer,” Ella offers. I really don’t understand the girl. Why would anyone offer to stay and hang out with me?
“It’s okay. I’ll be heading back into the city tomorrow anyway.” Walking around my desk, I wrap an arm around her shoulder, guiding her and my brother out of my office. “Let me walk you out.”
“Are you sure you’re okay? Wait, that’s a stupid question. What are you planning on doing with your new houseguest?” She’s cute when she’s trying to get information out of me.
“Nothing that I can tell my little sister.” I wink at her.
“Ew, gross! And we are the same age, idiot.” She shrugs out of my hold.
I laugh at her reaction, which was obviously the wrong thing to do. Her arms fold over her chest. Her face hardens. She tilts her head and squints at me.
“Are you laughing at me right now, Joshua McKinley?” she seethes out.
Fuck, if I was anyone else, I’d probably be scared right now.
“So what if I am? What are you gonna do about it?” I taunt her.
“Oh man, trust me, you do not want to go there, Bro,” Dean pipes in, stepping into Ella.
“Princess, he’s not right in the head. You can’t take him laughing at you seriously. He laughed at our grandfather’s funeral when he was ten. Like full-on laughed his ass off when it was his turn to pay his respects to the man.” Dean wraps an arm around Ella’s waist, like he’s trying to hold her back.
“It’s okay. I won’t do anything to him.” Ella’s voice drips with sweetness. She turns in Dean’s arms. “I think I left something upstairs. I’ll be right back.” She starts running towards the stairs.
