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If I ever gave up my life of crime, I never thought it would be because of this.
With a sigh, I get out of the car Jac got me, and then I send it on its way. Finally, after waiting, I get a plain old taxi to my actual apartment in downtown.
Even just getting the cab there’s a gamble, but both of them know the other place, and I need…I need space to think. Without them turning up. Without the temptation of calling one or both to come over.
Even now, my body apparently doesn’t understand the meaning of too much or enough sex. If I didn’t have an IUD in, I’d be pregnant already, no doubt.
If I go home, I take that temptation away because I don’t want them there. It’s a hard and fast rule, and one I’ve stuck to. The only human outside a repairman or delivery boy who’s been there is Harry.
The place is dark when I get in, and I turn on the lamps, lock the door and leave a trail of clothes to the bathroom where I spend a long time under the hot spray. Feeling a little more human, I dress and head out to cut through the living room to the bathroom when I scream.
Someone’s on the sofa.
“Oh my God, Harry!”
She doesn’t unfold her arms as she glares. “I’d say you need better locks, but I have keys.” She nods at the coffee table.
There’s also a bottle of cheap whiskey, two cups and a bottle of Coke.
I don’t even complain that she made me a horrible Harry Cocktail…no what did she call it? The CatWoman? I sit on the chair opposite the sofa and take a deep swallow.
“Mmm, disgusting.” I take another one, then look at her, all angry dark curls and pissed-off baby blues. “I’m sorry I didn’t call back.”
“Which time?” She studies me. “Don’t tell me you’ve taken stupid fucking straight girl to a new level of stupid and fucked them both at the same time because I know you returned all that pretty, pretty money to the even prettier Jac Miller.”
I swallow.
“Bitch.” Harry sips her drink.
“I can’t do the job, they’re Quinate—”
“You can’t do the job, but you can fuck them because they’re Quinate.” She sighs, ignores her glass, and drinks from the bottle. “I let you be because I thought you were working on getting the jewels, and if you got some bonuses via the gorgeous Hendrick, then it’s just the price, but…fuck, girl. You. Returned. The. Money.”
I want to laugh, but I think I might cry. A small sob breaks free and Harry mutters something.
“I also returned the earrings.”
“Woah.” She holds up a hand. “What fuckin’ earrings?”
“Harry, I…” I shake my head. “What’s wrong with me? I fucked up. I knew the job wouldn’t be easy, but there’s so much going on. But maybe—”
“Gonna stop you there, babe,” she says, swigging her favorite paint thinner masquerading as liquor, “because I’m thinking there’s some real bullshit about to come from you. And I’m disappointed. You’re the girl who can rob anyone, take anything, and the only morals you have are the ones pertaining to how wet the thing’s gonna get your pussy. If it isn’t getting you wet, it isn’t getting stolen.”
“I’m not sure that’s a moral,” I say.
“It should be.” She has another mouthful. “Point is you love hard jobs.”
“This—”
“And,” she says sitting forward, resting her arms on her thighs, bottle dangling as she pins me down with a look, “don’t fucking say these dudes are misunderstood or their jerkoff ways hide their pain, or the necklace belongs to Hendrick and you don’t feel right about taking it.”
“Harry.”
“Lena.” She mimics me, shakes her head. “It belongs to whoever’s paying you, and they’re Quinate. These aren’t good men. They might be good betwixt the sheets, but fuck that Shakespearian bullshit. This is simple. Money gets jewels. End of.”
“It isn’t that simple,” I whisper, downing the horrible drink in one go and swiping the bottle to refill my glass.
Harry swipes it back. “It is.”
