I move up the stairs slowly, making a note to burn my shoes when I get home. Fuck knows what bodily fluids I’m creeping across.
Reaching the top of the stairs my feet pause, a group of teenage kids watching me in intent curiosity. It’s obvious they consider themselves the keepers of this derelict castle. Kings and queens of a world they’ve found purpose in.
I’m no stranger to kids working to prove their power. It’s the only reason I don’t walk past them without acknowledgment, knowing damn well that’d find me with a nice sharp knife lodge in my spine.
“Who ya lookin’ for?” one of them asks. Dude, barely eighteen with a tattoo above his eyebrow and a top knot that screams douchecanoe.
“Brunette,” I answer cautiously, keeping my eyes trained on their movements. “Early fifties.”
“You a cop?” he pushes.
“Do I look like a cop?”
He shrugs. “Not necessarily, but can’t be too cautious these days. What’s your business with Sarah?”
“Old friend.”
He smiles, brushing a tongue piercing along the line of his teeth. “Slim, you owe me a Benjamin Franklin, told you she was hidin’. He guessed she was a high-class workin’ girl.”
Not feeling the need to participate in their little game, I stand silently, waiting.
“Thing is,” douchecanoe speaks again. “I tell you where she is and an avenue of my income dries up. Bitch loves her blow.”
I bark out an annoyed laugh.
“She’s in unit four,” a blonde, boredom coating her from head to toe murmurs. She doesn’t show me the courtesy of lifting her head when she speaks, keeping her head tipped down, concentrating on rolling a joint. “Straight down the hall, second door on your right.”
Eyebrow raised, I wait for her to look me in the eye, to see the truth in her eyes. I don’t trust these slimy fuckers, not for a second.
She’s older than the rest of them, just. Hair cropped at the sides, the rest artfully crafted into a smooth mohawk. Clothing purposefully worn, ripped in sections by design. She wears a safety pin through one earlobe and lipstick the color of midnight on her full lips. She’s tiny, but looking at the glint in her eyes—when she finally meets my gaze—there’s no mistaking the rebellious warrior that she is.
Her dark eyes scan up and down my body, bottom lip tipping out in appreciation as she steps forward. She keeps my eyes as she slides a joint into the side of her mouth. “Bitch tried to fuck my man. She’s lucky I didn’t kill her. The only thing that saved her was that he ain’t into crusty granny pussy.” Done with the conversation, she shoves past me. “Let’s go.” She gestures toward the stairs, her crew falling in step behind her.
Queen fucking B, a pint-sized pixie.
“There are kids in this building.” She turns back to me. “They see enough shit. You kill the bitch, make sure their eyes ain’t watchin’ you.”
“Shouldn’t you all be in school?” My eyes fall across them.
I know I sound like a fuckwit. Too young to be spouting shit about kids staying in school, just too old to care.
The pixie laughs. “I wish people would accept the fact that some of us ain’t interested in bettering ourselves. We’re happy here thanks, dad. More so than the rest of the assholes out there in the big, wide world. We’re not looking for something greater. We’ve created it ourselves. Make sure you and the bitch are gone by this afternoon.”
I watch their exit, understanding, and appreciation settling into my soul. She’s right. The world is hellbent on wanting, needing more. Self-actualization doesn’t exist. Not in the modern world. We grab onto what we’ve been fighting for, onto something we’ve been conditioned to think we need, expecting to find endless happiness. Except, all that meets us at the end of that rainbow is disappointment. Happily ever after ain’t real. We discard our own accomplishments with the need for more before the present has even settled, before we’ve had a chance to enjoy our achievements. We’re never satisfied.
I move along the hallway, the carpet under my feet worn so heavily through the cement flooring can be seen. Paint peels from the walls in jagged clouds; some hanging on, others trampled into the shitty carpet.
The four on Sarah’s door hangs upside down like every cliched story come to life. The door slightly ajar, welcoming anyone to wander in and claim their space.
I push at it with the toe of my boot, the creak on the hinge loud enough to announce me. Not much bigger than a closet, she sees me the moment I enter, her soft, malicious laughter the first thing to greet me.
Chapter Sixteen
Camryn
“Dad!” I yell, moving through the front door and throwing my keys on the entryway table.
Brightly colored peonies fill the large vase on the table; pinks and purples, sunshine yellows and white, mahogany even. I step closer, dropping my face to inhale their scent. Intoxicating variations of citrus and spice, the delicate touch of a sweetness I can’t quite put my finger on dancing along my nostrils and making me smile.
“Stopping to smell the flowers. That’s a Camryn I haven’t seen in a long time.” My dad watches me from the entryway to our living room, his shoulder pressed lazily against the doorway. A fond smile greets me, as it always does, the love and affection in his face unmistakable.
I’ve always found it odd that people fear this man. My father. The man who taught me how to ride a bike. The man who searched for monsters under my bed to ensure I slept peacefully. To the outside world he’s formidable; a fierce and unrelenting leader. People cower under his demand. But at home, he’s just dad. A man I could never find it in myself to fear. The one parental figure I’ve always known I could count on. A man that loved me without condition.
“How very Codi of me,” I tease.
“On the contrary.” He lets me kiss his cheek, squeezing my waist in affection. “You were always the one who needed to smell every flower we wandered past. Codi only fell into the habit of idolizing her sister, as younger siblings do.”
I force a smile, refusing to let myself dwell on the sadness I search for in my father’s tone. His inadvertent reminder of how he misses the Camryn I used to be. He may love me without condition, but I’ve disappointed him. Whether he admits it to himself or not. He no longer understands me, this flawed version of the daughter he once knew.
I walk into his office without invitation, dropping onto his leather sectional on a loud sigh. “Where is everyone?”
“Around,” he offers loosely. “On assignment.”
“On assignment,” I bark out sarcastically. “Does that include our favorite psychotic Shay brother?”
“Being unkind for the purpose of being unkind is unbecoming, sweetheart,” he admonishes, eyeing me with reproach. “Yes, Rocco is on assignment for me.”
I pause my fidgeting, eyes slicing toward him in expectation.
Read: I’ve found your mother and I’ve sent the most unstable man I know to collect her.
I feel flooded by my own emotions, drowned by so many, I can’t tell them apart.
“Does Parker know his brother is working for you?” I scold.