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He hums again. “Two peas.”
I smirk at him, getting the hint. My picket procurement is akin to my dad’s current living situation. Both of us are crooks. I go on, suspicious of Mac’s easy gaze and loose wording. “He worked his butt off and never stopped for anything.”
“I’m surprised he had time for ya. Man must be like Superman, then,ey?”
I blink at him again. “He tried his hardest, and I’m going to as well. I was distracted in high school, but that’s why I’m having this gap year. Next year, I am going to focus and bejustlike him. ‘Cause money speaks, so when he speaks people listen.He’sone of the richest men in the city…” I trail off, my heart sinking, our reality a weight inside the hopeful pumping organ. “Was.”
“Hmm.”
“Stop. It.” I groan. “What?”
“Sounds like your dad would be the right pick for ya, then,” he states, traces of dubiousness dancing through his chilled tone. “I’m sure he’ll have fun with ya like you always wanted, right? When you live with him, that is?”
Ugh.Who is this guy? “Well, no.” Twisting forward just as we roll down a hill, I say, “He’d be working—"
“Shh,”—he points— “Look at that.” His gaze meets the ocean, marrying it immediately. Out the window, as the stream of concrete becomes a vast blue smudge—the ocean now chases the car down the rolling road. “They call the earth mother, ya know? Butearthis only 30% of the planet. The rest isher. She’s like a blanket for her children. She is alwayson. Settin’ up the perfect environment for them to grow, blockin’ out the sun’s harmful rays, takin’ all the hits from the outside world so they don’t see how harsh it can be.”
I laugh. “That’s a bit of a stretch,dude. My mum is nothing like your concept of the ocean.”
He grins, crinkles that denote his age and lifestyle cut lines beside his eyes. “I was just talkin’ ‘bout the ocean.”
Sure. Sure.
I stare out the window, watching the ocean roll and crash in a wavy blue succession.
When we arrive at Kenno’s, I immediately feel smaller, the sheer size of his estate shrinking this motel dweller. The lavish modern home is bordered by budding roses and bright green vegetation that perfumes the air. All the houses along this street have a lavish plot size and soaring fences to keep the riffraff out on the streets where they belong.
It reminds me of what I used to have. How I enjoyed our entitled isolation. Gates. High walls. Privilege. I think about the Vietnam vet story that Xander told me. How they changed their habits because they changed their lifestyle. I’m not a heroin addict. But I’m a socialite junkie.
Used to having it—whateveritis.
I could have it.
Sighing it off, I remind myself the mission is to get my dad out on bail, and from there, we can work on his case.
Baby steps, Kaya.
I wave goodbye to Mac, who watches me as I cross the gregarious porch and up the five marble steps that look similar to the ones in our holiday home in Cairns.
Still, I never noticed that before.
The French doors swing open as I approach, Kenno beaming with his arms holding each door wide. “Ready to sell that hymen?”
“Seriously?” I glance over my shoulder, the frontage still and empty. Unimpressed, I find him again. “I rode horses, Kenno. And I have a dildo the size of a horse’s cock, so I doubt I still have one.” I don’t. I have a clit suction stimulator because most boys can’t fucking find it—I need a machine.
Or a boy with CPS…
Ape-gape—his wide eyes drop to the delta between my thighs questioningly, my satire lost to him. “A horse’s?”
“A stallion.” I deadpan, strutting under his outstretched arm as his eyes dart around while his brain considers whether that is even possible. It’s not. It would rip me in two.
“Where is your laptop? You got that onion thing set up for me?” I ask, heading up the staircase to his room on the second floor.
Kenno follows me to his room, and we sit down at his laptop. He has already accessed the dark web, and on the screen isthewebsite.
“Well, that was easy. Clearly not that hidden.” I laugh, though I have no idea if it was easy or not, but I always thought Kenno couldn’t pour water out of a boot with instructions on the heel.
“It’s not easy.” He moves in beside me. “You have to activate the Tor first, then find the exact URL link, which constantly changes. You can’t just Google it. You hav—”
