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What the fuck just happened?
And all this time, she thought Shelby was bat-shit crazy. She turned to lean against the door in disbelief.
“Did you play the Blame Game?”
Birdie yelped as Flynn stood before her with a stoic look on his face. She held her hand to her chest, her heart pounding like a jackhammer.
“The Blame Game?” she asked, jabbing her thumb over her shoulder. “Is that what you call that?”
“Did you think it was weird?” he asked, monotone.
“Don’t you?”
“Totally. One hundred percent,” he said, still no expression.
“Doyouplay the Blame Game?”
“No, they don’t want me to.”
“That’s good, since…you think it’s weird.”
“One time, a lady showed up at the house, and while Errol was getting ready in the bathroom, I hid in the wardrobe.”
Birdie recalled the large piece of furniture big enough to fit a circus tent.
“To watch?” she asked, now wondering which brother was more depraved.
“No. To record it.”
Record it? He had a video of this? On his phone?
“Did you record their voices, or did you get actual footage?” Dang it, she should slow her roll.
“I got it on video. It’s weird.”
Her smile slowly curled up.
Bingo.
