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“This is where you went when you left me?”
I don’t miss her emphasis on leaving her, but I take her question at face value and answer as simply as I can. “Not right away. These cabins are for ranking members only, so I couch-surfed for a while. You remember my friend Wilder?”
“Yeah.”
“He’s the club secretary and goes by Lucky now, but I stayed with his family the longest. When we had enough money to get our own place, we moved in together while we prospected for the club.”
She takes a slow walk around the cabin, studying everything as if it’ll give her all the answers she wants.
“Prospected?” she asks.
“It’s kind of like hazing to see if we have what it takes to be a member.”
Her eyes dart in my direction. “Why would you do that?”
“Because this is what I want. The club is like a family.”
Her nose wrinkles, like the word “family” personally offends her. And maybe it does. We didn’t have the best example of what it means to belong.
I sit on the edge of my bed, leaving my recliner open for her. “Not like our family. Like a real family. People who care about you and would go to war over you.”
“Would you say you’d kill for them?”
“W-what?” I stammer, unsure why she would say that.
“Everyone in Reno knows about the biker clubs around here.”
I scowl. “I’m not going to pretend we’re Mother fuckin’ Teresa, but everything we do is for a reason.”
“Like becoming pimps?” she asks.
I’m getting angry now. “What the hell is wrong with you? We’re not pimps. We own an establishment where women can do what they were already going to do. Only at the Honey Pot, they get security and know that the person they’re having sex with is free from STIs. Even more than that, they get free rein of a beautiful property, massages, beauty treatments, a fuckin’ chef to cook them whatever they want,” I say, then decide to take it further. “By the way, you wanted to work there, so what does that say about you?”
She sits in the recliner and leans over, her hands crusted with dry blood and clasped together. “It says I’m desperate for money.”
“Lots of people are desperate for money, yet very few turn to prostitution.”
She shrugs. “Then it says I’m doing something that utilizes my specific skill set.”
“What?” Mary already told me this. I didn’t believe it then, and I don’t believe it now.
There’s no way my little sister is a whore.
I berate myself for that thought, but everything May has taught me about sex positivity and empowerment goes out the fucking window when it’s my sister.
“You heard me.” She sits up, straightening her posture.
“You’re lying.” There’s no way. None. The girl I remember was innocent and naive. She saw magic in the world.
But I’ve been gone a long time. Maybe she lost that over the years.
“No, I’m not. Which is why you should butt out of my business and let me work for the Honey Pot.”
I need to find another way. “You said you needed money. How much? I’ll give it to you.”
“No. I don’t take charity. Not even from you.”
“What do you mean, ‘not even from me’? Who better than your brother?”
