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“I hope it’s nothing serious,” she says.
Me too. I gulp a mouthful of vodka lemonade. It’s sweet and tingly on my tongue. Better than the bitter worry that I swallow down with it.
Rebel told me to wait. That Rogue would call me. How can I not be understanding when he’s been so patient with me?
I take the dress from her. “Where do you want to go?”
Chapter Nineteen
Rogue
A woman with a tray of drinks rushes past me and I lift the first two glasses within reach as we trek through the crowd toward the VIP section of the Wyld. I stumble into someone as I toss down a shot of something green and sweet that has the consistency of wet sugar, followed by a shot of thick black liquor.
“Watch it,” the person snaps.
“Fuck you.” I greet them with a middle finger and a snarl.
“He’s already had too much. We should have taken him home. This is going to end badly,” Riot says loud enough for me to be aware of his opinion. Not that I give one flying fuck what he thinks right now.
“You don’t need to be here.” Rebel says what I’m feeling as I zero in on another shots girl.
I’m perfectly capable of drowning my anger alone. Not that they ever leave me alone. They were waiting for me when I pulled into the strip joint they found me in the first time I needed to get shit-faced after a visit with our mother.
And six out of the eight birthdays since. Although some things have changed. Riot had to wait out front the first two years. And we’re trying to keep a low profile these days.
“The fuck I don’t,” Riot snaps. “We do this shit together.”
“Then drink up.” I snatch the whole tray from the shot girl and push it in my little brother’s direction with a challenge in my eyes.
“Fine,” he huffs as he lifts a couple of traffic light shots and downs them one after the other. He slams the glasses back onto the tray, almost upsetting the whole thing.
Rebel pulls a card from his wallet and hands it to the woman behind me with a gentler tone than we’ve been using on each other since they found me at our spot. “You’re serving us. Start a tab.”
“You’re—”
He pulls a wad of folded bills out of his wallet and peels off several hundred. “I’ll double this if you forget anything you hear tonight. Now, we’re going to need a bottle of scotch and tequila and...”
“Surprise me,” I say.
“Lady’s choice.” Rebel throws his shoulders up.
“Yes, sir.” The woman scurries off to the bar.
I snigger before I shoot something red and sticky that tastes like a candy apple. “Always funny when they call you sir.”
“Whatever.” He grips my shoulder so hard I wince from the way the bones crack as he pushes me toward a set of stairs up to a balcony. “VIP section now. If we’re doing this, we’re doing it where I can keep an eye on you.”
“What am I going to do? Fuck everything up?” It’s all so screwed up anyway. I press on the nape of my neck. I’m uncomfortable in my own skin.
Suddenly I’m facing my twin. Our heads bent to the other, identical eyes locked on each other. His hand squeezes the back of my neck. “This is her problem. Not yours. She’s not well. Hasn’t been in a really long time. You know this. You’re the one who reminds me.”
I shut my eyes as an onslaught of emotion rolls over me, drags me under. I’m drowning in my anger. Tearing apart at the seams. There’s no one to blame. How many times have I reminded both Rebel and Riot? Used the logic card on them. But it doesn’t change the broken thing inside me. It doesn’t hold weight against all the what ifs…
What if she hadn’t locked herself away when we were kids? What if she’d been able to get help? What if I wasn’t the one she hated and feared the most? What if it doesn’t matter what I do… I lose either way.
“There you are.” Bianca screams when we get to the top of the stairs. She bounces up and down before she rushes me.
I stagger under the weight of our little blonde diva as she wraps her legs around my waist and takes me to the ground. I laugh, flat on my back with her straddling me. “What the hell, B?”
