Page 68 of The Escort

“She’ll come around,” I say, uncertain about the comment. “Mom obviously knows how to keep a secret. If she’s hiding anything else, she’s got her reasons.”

“Yeah, but we’re talking about her freedom. Whatever it is, she has to let it go or get it out.” He crams his hand into his pocket. “Fuck. I don’t care. I’m moving forward with the appeal.”

“Let me know if I can do anything.”

“Yeah,” he says. His eyes move to Cassie as she enters the room. They remain on her until she’s leaning forward to kiss him.

“Hi.” She smiles up at my brother. “What do you think?” She looks around the room with pride.

“I think”—he plops an arm around her slender shoulders—“it looks awesome. Good job, babe.”

“Thank you.” She beams at him as if he’s the only person in the universe.

I recognize the admiration. It’s how I feel when I look at Chosen. I’m whipped for that woman. The past month or so has been a mirage of emotions. It scares me. Enlightens me. And gives me hope.

“Brett and I can stick around and help you clean up this stuff,” Cassie says, resting her side against my brother’s large form.

“I’ve got it.” I wave. “Chosen is working late on some article.”

“Oh!” Cassie perks up from the support of my brother. “I like her article about how social media has changed how we consume news. She’s non-bias, gives the facts, and her words flow. She knows how to keep you going after the next sentence.”

“She’s something.” I laugh, recalling her rehearsing the article for me the week before.

I’m her soundboard. She’s always throwing ideas at me. It’s interesting. Not that I’m the best audience because I don’t give a shit about media. I’m nowhere on it. She should have someone more in sync with her writing to bounce her ideas off.

I’m sure my life and experiences don’t align with the average reader. Then again, who am I to judge? We’ve all got our paths, no matter how different they may be. We’ve traveled them to get to where we are. So we all have the same agenda—to survive another day.

“How are things going with you two?” Cassie asks, grabbing her cell from the ladder.

“Good,” I say, the truth coming out quickly.

“I’m happy for you.” She wraps an arm around Brett. “We both are.” She glances at my brother. “Right?”

Brett gazes down at her. “Like I said, anyone who can put up with either of my brothers must be a saint.”

“That rings true for any Daxon brother.” She smirks.

“Yes. You’re a saint, Cassie, for also putting up with my ass.” Brett chuckles, stealing a quick kiss from her grinning lips.

A phone rings. We all check our cells. Brett lifts his.

I catch Willa’s name on the screen.

Brett puts it to his ear. “Yeah?” His eyes bounce around the room. “Purple crown? Yellow letters?” His eyebrows come together. “It’s a pizza place? Where? I don’t think I—”

“King Papa’s Pizza,” I jump in, recognizing the description of the place. “I know it. You remember.” I snap my fingers. “It’s that joint we used to go to while working on the Rafters’ job in Riverview. They had the best calzones there.” Brett stares at me with unblinking eyes. “Is it a Julia call? I can take it. I know where it is.”

“Lix is here, and he’s familiar with the place. Yeah. Okay. I’ll let him know and keep you posted.” He ends the call and shoves the cell into his pocket. “A call came in. The abuser says she’s unsure where she is, but it’s across from that pizza joint. Willa said something seemed off. She’s not sure what, though. She was going to call the police but thought to give us a shot at it first. You want me to come with you?”

“Nah, I got it.” I toss the keys for the house to Brett. “Can you lock up?”

He catches them. “Sure, call if you run into trouble, and keep Willa and me in the loop.”

“Will do.” I head out the door, get in my car, and start toward Riverview.

It’s dark when I pull up to King Papa’s Pizza. I park and check out the run-down neighborhood. It used to be a nice area until the druggies invaded it. The small, secluded house directly across the street looks like a good place to start. I grab my backpack and gun.

Creeping around the outside, I try to get a look inside. Dingy curtains and bedsheets block my view. The back door is locked. I flip open my knife and quietly pop it open. A TV blares in the next room as I inch inside the dark kitchen.