Page 75 of Five Brothers
I tense, waiting.
“Some of the men at the club were circulating an old photo of Krisjen.” She lowers her voice as if someone can hear her in her car. “One she sent Milo back when they were together in high school probably, and like the asshole he is, he didn’t keep it to himself. Jerome Watson is saying that she’ll be his. Her mom, apparently, is pushing for it, because he’s rich, and …”
And she can’t sell her jewelry, but she can sell her daughter.Yeah, fuck.
“She would’ve been a minor in that photo, Trace,” Clay explains. “My dad called her mom. He called her dad. No one is answering. He waited until Watson hit the parking lot and then gave him a bloody nose.”
Really? Heh.
“My dad’s known Krisjen since she was a baby, you know? He was really upset.”
“Don’t worry about anything,” I tell her. “Tell your dad not to, either. We got it from here.”
“We?”
I hang up, heading for the house. I like Krisjen. I always have. She’s sweet to people, and I don’t want that ruined, because I think that’s why I was drawn to her. Neither of us has grown up, but where it’s just pathetic on me, it’s hopeful on her.
I step into the kitchen as Army pulls chicken nuggets out of the freezer. I snatch the bag out of his hand and toss it back in. “Get Dex,” I tell him. “Let’s go.”
“Where?”
“You’ll see,” I say. “This could be it. Come on.”
Krisjen and I have screwed at least twenty times, but I’ve never been inside her house. I know which one it is, and I’ve passed it a million times, but the Conroys hire elsewhere for their landscaping, and when we hooked up, Krisjen never wanted to do it at her place.
Which made sense. I can be seen with a Saint. Her parents can’t see her with Swamp.
Army parks, and I walk up the long driveway to her house, avoiding the door at first. The Spanish revival has characteristics similar to my house—the clay shingles, the stucco exterior, the lead-paned windows and wooden front door. But her house is white, in excellent shape, and I know from her social media that she has a huge T-shaped pool on the back patio, which itself has as much square footage as the damn house. Or at least looks that way on Instagram.
I spot her crossing the room in front of the window, and I step over the flower bed, tapping on the glass. She jerks around, then sees me. I nod once and head for the door.
No idea if her mother is home, but I don’t think she usually is. Rather not bump into her, in any case.
Krisjen pulls open the door, and I stroll in, not waiting for aninvitation. “Hey,” I say, looking around the shiny foyer. There’s a mirror on the ceiling. In the foyer. I shake my head.
“What’s up?” I hear the surprise in her voice.
I face her, Army stepping in, his kid hanging half off his shoulder. “Kids eat yet?” I ask her.
“About to.”
She’s studying me like I’m going to piss in her house.
I whirl around and head into the living room—or one of them anyway. “What are you cooking?” I shout.
But I just hear her yell behind me. “Hey!”
It’s too late. I already spot the kitchen to my left and head for the doorway. “It smells good in here,” I call out.
“It smells like her,” Army adds.
Paisleigh and Mars sit at the kitchen island, but we’ve never formally met.
Krisjen charges after me, her voice on my tail. “What the hell are you guys doing?”
But then I stop, scrunching up my nose as I turn to Army. “Do you smell that?”
He nods, hesitant. “Broccoli.”