Page 66 of Iris' Lying Eyes
Once it’s clear, he turns to me with his pale eyes and says, “What about my father?”
Shifting, I say, “Look, I don’t—”
“Too late. What?” He demands, and Diem steps into my back.
“Back off,” I say. “I’m not one of your bitches.”
Diem grabs a lock of my hair and rubs it between his fingers. “Mm, redheads are the best, though. Feisty.”
“Have you lost your fucking mind?” Shoving his hand away, I step to the side, but Ramsay follows.
“Stop evading the question. What about my father?”
“He’s a skeevy fucker. Likes to play, if you know what I mean.”
“And you know this—how?”
I glance at Diem, but he just shrugs, which means fucking nothing to me. Sighing, I say, “I’ve seen him around. With John. He pays for the girls.”
Ramsay looks away with a tic in his jaw. Maybe he didn’t know.
“Did he go alone?” He asks.
“Well, sometimes. More so now that Frank hasn’t been around.”
Frank is another skeevy fucker, and I’m not sorry that he’s been absent.
“Wait.” Diem grabs my arm and spins me around. “What about Frank?”
Wrenching away, I slam my hand on my hip. Fuckers are getting on my last nerves. “Back the fuck off. Nothing. They came together.”
Diem turns away but not before Ramsay gives him a look that I can’t decipher. However, I don’t ask because I’ve got plenty of my own shit to deal with. The last thing I need is to borrow whatever trouble they have brewing.
“Okay, you got yours. Now me.” Turning to Diem, I ask, “What do you know about Roman Bruno?”
Diem raises a brow, “Probably not more than you do.”
“Right. What about Finnen . . . McCafferty?”
You’d think I mentioned the anti-Christ, for fuck’s sake. Shaking his head, he raises his hands, but I grab his arm. “Please, I just need to know what the deal is with them?”
“You don’t know?” Diem says.
“No. What happened?”
He scrubs his jaw, and sensing his hesitation, I grab his arm. “This has nothing to do with the other shit. C’mon.”
“Why?” He asks, his dark eyes boring into mine.
“Because bad guys don’t deserve to live.” Ramsay shifts, but I ignore him. This is between Diem and me. He knows my shit or at least some of it.
“Fine, but if this gets in the way of the other shit, it’s on you.”
“Okay,” I grumble. I’m asking for information for fucks sake. You’d think I ordered a hit on the douche or something.
“Finnen was a bad boy,” Diem says, shaking his head.
“How?” I ask, tamping down my impatience. Tell me something I don’t know.