Yes, you fucking backstabbing bitch. That's what I want to say, but I don't want to die today. All I can do is acquiesce. Damn it all, Frederick was right.
She cuts her eyes to Frederick, which – I believe – surprises us both. Neither of us moves, at least as far as I can tell from my periphery. I would guess that we're also both expecting her to say something, but she doesn't. She looks back to me, and it occurs to me that she's checking his mettle. Will he lose his shit under pressure?
Not likely. I don't think she believes he will any more than I do. Could it be she's already guessed that he told me, or that she wonders if he has?
She continues as though nothing strange happened.
“I expect another report tomorrow evening. It will be by phone. I will see you again in three days. There will be a family dinner at my house.”
I want to nod as much as possible, just agree and get the fuck out of this house. It's all a little much just now. But I can't buckle.
I say, “Yes, ma'am,” again, and it sounds distant to me. I focus on my breaths, and the mask, for whatever it's worth.
A family dinner means division heads and right hands, a business dinner of sorts. I won't need just my right hand, though. I'll need Josh to come. It's a call to court, and I'll be expected to attend with the most ranking of my crew. It could mean she has news to share, or it could be that she wants to gauge everyone's progress under one roof. Either way, it's the last thing I want to deal with.
She says, “Good evening, Maria, Fredrico.”
“Buenas noches,” we say in chorus.
We don't say anything else as we leave, as we collect our weapons, get in the car, and drive away. And there's not another word spoken until I drop him off at his tiny apartment in the Quarter.
I've never seen the inside, but I know how these places are. It's probably scarcely more than a closet, probably complete with a false wall or two, behind which waits an array of weaponry. Somewhere else, there's a stash of money, in case he needs to disappear.
He hesitates with his hand on the door handle, denying me his attention. This is what we've become, awkward, far away, and guarded. Fake.
“Be safe,” he says softly. Then he shoves open the heavy door, and steps into the young night.
I watch him for as long as it takes him to unlock his door and disappear. He doesn't look back.
Chapter 6 Meet the Mask
Isaiah
“No.”
Mona makes an exaggerated pout, and cocks her head to the side. She puts a hand on a hip, and says, “We're never going to get anywhere if you keep acting like that.”
Do I really need to remind her that I'm perfectly fine not getting anywhere, whatever the fuck she means by that? I could point out that playing dress up for her isn't exactly my idea of fun, but she wouldn't listen. She has a special way of pretending you didn't say something she doesn't want to address.
She extends the shirt toward me again, a long-sleeved button-up, and she says, “With those eyes and that tan, baby blue is perfect for you.”
She slides her eyes over the shirt I'm currently wearing, a short-sleeved gray button-up. I'm waiting for the disapproval, so when she frowns, I'm flatly expecting the bullshit she's about to say.
“Gray is so boring. I just want you to look your best,” she says.
Her blonde hair is perfect against her shoulders, pampered to the point that it glows in the store's low lighting. She's wearing pink, a color I find entirely annoying. Like her, as a whole. Still, the cleavage is enticing, and her legs are honed by living in heels.
For a moment, I miss the beach and those stupid twenty-somethings. Mona is a year younger than me. She might play dumb – a lot – but she's a snake. She knows exactly what she's doing, and what she can do to the male libido.
What is it with bitches who think they're the only ones who can play that game? They make it so easy when they want what they can't have.
Slowly I begin to undo the buttons of the gray shirt. The edge in my expression disappears, and Mona meets the mask I've been developing for six years – the one built to withstand a devastating and insatiable little sister. The same indifference I used to deflect Maria's sexuality will serve to entice the only person I truly fucking hate.
I won't be rushed, even by the princess herself, and I willfully hold her gaze. She's watching me like a cat watches its prey from cover. She's trying to read me. Good luck, sweetheart.
I shrug out of the shirt, let it fall to the floor, easily forgotten. When I take the blue shirt from her, I let my fingers brush her hand. Her eyes get heavy, the tiniest bit that would be easy to miss if I weren't staring at her.
I'm a little surprised she hasn't broken and let her eyes devour me. I'm standing before her in nothing but a pair of stupidly expensive dress slacks that she picked out, holding her attention. Silently challenging her self-control.
Then I turn away, toward the trifold mirror. There is a little truth in this, I'd rather look at myself than her. I watch as I slide into the clothing with intensity, like there's no one else I'd want to fuck more. She's right, the color makes my eyes stand out something crazy, I'm just not the type to want that much attention. It's not my style, but I can fake it. That's always been true.
I tuck
