Page 108 of Take Her

Junior stepped up to the man, who was bigger than he was and quite a bit more sober. “Say it in English, or get out of the line?—”

“Junior,” I protested, grabbing his arm.

“Why are you with him?” the man asked me in French, ready to come to my rescue.

I responded in kind. “I’m not—we’re related—and he’s drunk. Back off, please.”

“Both of you speak English! Now!” Junior shouted, and then whirled on me. “I came out with you to be friendly, Lia. My dad told me not to—but I thought we might actually have something in common, underneath all the bullshit. I really hoped we could work together.”

While I couldn’t truly say “Me too,” I did feel some pain for him, until he continued.

“But my dad was right about you. Said you were too spoiled to realize how lucky you’d been—off on a vacation for ten years!”

“It wasn’t a vacation,” I protested, but it sounded weak even to my own ears. “It was school.”

“Learning French and shit, while I had to stay here.” His anger turned to mutters as he pulled out his phone again to savagely send another text.

I realized that was the root of all of his problems with me—he thought I’d had it easy.

It didn’t excuse his behavior in the least, but at least now I understood.

I couldn’t very well tell him the truth now though, could I?

My car finally arrived, after hitting every red light coming down the street. The driver rolled down his window to wave at me, and I stepped toward him.

“Wait,” Junior said, catching my wrist and pulling.

By the bar’s feeble light, and with the power of my memories—how many times had I been dragged off to places I didn’t want to be by a man who looked very much like him? I froze for a second, before yanking my arm free.

“Junior, you’re drunk. I’m going to do you a favor and pretend this never happened,” I said, and practically leapt into the waiting vehicle.

46

RHAIM

Igot Sable to report Corvo’s vehicle stolen and asked her to put in a noise complaint for the storage facility I’d left Bobby in after half an hour. I knew it’d take her awhile to wipe the feeds of any nearby cameras, plus I needed to get away from the scene.

It was half past three and I’d managed not to look at my phone the whole time—I’d had it turned off for hours, so no one could track me—but once I was twenty minutes away from my place, I pulled over to turn it back on.

The first thing that came in was a text from Lia, asking if I was all right.

Rather than answer her, I flipped into the cameras at her apartment, and found her still awake—pacing her living room, clearly worried about me.

And I remembered watching another beautiful woman anxiously pacing just like that.

I’d managed to keep things away from Isabelle for years—for our entire courtship, and then afterwards, up until our last six months. She knew Nero jerked my chain, and that I sometimes went out of town for “business trips” but she trusted me and knew better than to question, up until the day it suddenly became too late.

She was supposed to be out of the farmhouse, off on a girl’s trip, and I’d gotten lax and didn’t check my cameras when I came back. So when I walked in—looking much like I did now, I noticed, in my truck’s rearview mirror—Isabelle had caught me.

I still remembered the way she’d looked at me, her eyes wide with panic. “What happened to you? Are you okay?” she’d asked, rushing up.

There was blood from the person I’d “taken care of” on me—and after she’d reached for the stain on my stomach on instinct, it was on her, too, like I might have stabbed her myself.

She’d gawked at her newly bloody hand in horror, then reached for her phone—I slapped it away, and we both heard it clatter on the hardwood floor.

“Rhaim?” she asked, aghast.

“I’m fine,” I told her. “I hit a deer.”