Chapter 16: Chapter 16

Kir

Five minutes after arriving at Evie’s high school, I have all those fuckers figured out.

Hell, I haven’t been in a high school in years. I’m thirty-four years old, so it’s been more than fifteen years. And yet everything looks the same, smells the same, hell, even feels the same.

While waiting for the principal to see Charleigh and me, I watch the kids crowd the hallways in between classes. Fashions might have changed, but it’s impossible not to recognize the alpha pricks, who walk the halls with their heads so high in the air you can practically see inside their noses. Then, there are the kids they pick on, who walk looking down at their feet. And last, there’s everyone in between, just trying to figure out life and get through the day.

And that’s just high school. A bunch of kids. They’ve already figured out the hierarchy of life. If I had more time, I’d tell anyone who’d listen which ones would be successful, and which would be, ten years on, remembering high school as the best years of their life.

And then there’s Evie, waiting outside the principal’s office. What a sight. Hair dyed jet black, rings of messy black shit around her eyes, a pierced lip, and a scowl of epic proportion.

When I snagged Charleigh leaving the club earlier, I didn’t doubt for a minute the story she told me, that she had to get her kid sister out of some sort of trouble at school. If she were really trying to escape, she’d have a much better story, first of all, and fought me a lot harder when I stopped her. No, her story was too real to be fake. Too mundane to have been invented.

Which interests me all the more.

Here’s this woman, about to be offered up, basically, as a sacrificial lamb—unbeknownst to her—and she’s worried about her little sister. In what world does that happen?

Not one I’m normally part of.

And yet her father is such a fucking loser. A scumbag gambling addict who threw his beautiful, innocent daughter to the wolves to save his own ass, who can’t even look after his younger one.

What a waste of flesh.

Do we really need him to repay us what he owes? Hell no. We have all the money we could spend in this lifetime and the next. But collecting debts is a matter of respect. If the people we do business with see us going soft, it would all be over.

So, in spite of the shitshow Charleigh’s father created of her life, she still finds the time to be concerned about someone other than herself.

The woman continues to surprise me.

Like the day before when Vadik was having a go at her. I thought for sure she’d fight him off, but instead she kind of just fell into him, and let him make her feel good. Like she needed it.

The principal, a tired middle-aged woman with bleached hair, finally has time to see us. While I consider for a moment whether I should just wait outside, I figure what the hell, might as well watch how schools handle bad kids these days. They can’t smack you across the face anymore, like they did at my Catholic school. These days they have to force kids into submission without the threat of pain hanging over their heads.

I’m not convinced that is a good thing.

“Thank you for calling me,” Charleigh says to the principal. “Let’s get this straightened out.”

Shit. She’s done this before.

I glance over at the brat in the corner who’s causing Charleigh trouble just when she really doesn’t need it, and the kid is glaring at me. Like if she had a sharp weapon in her hand, she’d just as soon stab me as walk down the hall to lunch. I stare back at her until she gets uncomfortable and looks away.

Little shit. I could straighten her right out.

After talking about the kid as if she’s not even in the room, the principal sighs. What a shit job, dealing with crap like this day in and day out. No wonder the woman looks tired.

“Miss Gates, we can’t keep making exceptions for your sister,” the woman says, her lips tight.

Okay. I see what’s going on. Charleigh might not, but I can read people. And this principal is a phony. She loves this shit. Punishing the baddies. She was probably one of the kids beaten down by the alphas back in the day. Finally getting revenge. On kids a quarter of her age.

But whatever. People are motivated by weird shit.

No one asks Evie what happened. For some reason, it’s immaterial. Maybe she was justified in fighting? In my experience, people seldom throw a punch without good reason to.

But I keep my mouth shut. I have no horse in this race.

I’m tempted to tell Charleigh to let the brat go. That she needs to learn to fend for herself. Charleigh can’t keep bailing her out. Hell, after the auction, she might be on the other side of the world, anyway. She won’t be available for bullshit like this.

But she doesn’t need to know any of this. She’ll find out soon enough. In fact, if all goes according to plan, she could be gone this weekend.

* * *

Kir

Kind of makes me sad. But business is business.

Hell, we have some crazy fuckers from Saudi Arabia coming in. They love nothing more than a pretty American girl to add to their collections of concubines to churn out baby after baby. And these guys pay top dollar.

I’ve even heard—never verified though, because how would I?—that they remove the women’s clits so they can’t enjoy sex. They just become baby-making machines.

Sick fucks, if you ask me. Who wants to fuck a corpse? Isn’t it better when the woman enjoys herself? Guess these guys are not into a woman’s pleasure. They’re just cum dumpsters, as they call them. They collect women like they do exotic cars. But they treat the cars better.

When it comes down to it, are my brothers and I any better? We’re just as fucking beastly as the next crazy bastard.

It’s a shame Charleigh fell into our lives. She might have done well for herself otherwise. She’s even mentioned something at one point about taking classes.

Well, those days are over.

“So, how’d your sister get so off track?” I ask once we’re in the car, Charleigh having made some sort of deal with the principal where Evie promised to be a good girl.

I give the kid twenty-four hours before she fucks up again.

As we drive, it’s not lost on me, the way she’s looking out the window like she’s soaking up scenery she may never see again.

Maybe she knows more than I realize, knows our plan for her. Or at least suspects it.

She lets out a long exhale, still spacing out on the landscape we’re whizzing past. “My mom was murdered when I was ten. Evie was about six. She’s been a mess ever since. In and out of trouble all the time. Stealing from the shop, my dad, fighting, running away. Pops threw in the towel. But I didn’t. I can’t. In honor of my mother.”

I glance over at her. She’s put her feet up on the dashboard and let her long hair whip out the car window. I could drive around all day like this with a pretty, dream-filled girl by my side.

Maybe I could just keep going. Drive till we run out of gas.

I nearly laugh out loud that that one. Sounds like some sad-sack fucking movie.

“Your mother was murdered?” I say. It’s more of a statement than a question. But I want to know more.

Charleigh’s attention snaps back. “Yeah. She was at the pawn shop and there was a hold up.”

At that shitty place her old man runs? Someone held that place up and committed murder there? Why does her father still have the place open, for fuck’s sake? If it were me, I’d shut it down and find something else to do. Leave town, too.

Gil Gates is an odd man.

“And… they just shot her?” I ask.

Something isn’t right about this story.

A normal burglar doesn’t just shoot people. They’re usually way too pussy-ass for that sort of thing.

Charleigh nods. “Yup. The police investigated it and everything. The odd thing was, they didn’t take anything, the robbers. Cops figured they got scared, shot my mom, and took off.”

And there we have it. The ‘police investigated.’ How many times have I heard that in my life? Police are about as useless as an ashtray on a motorcycle.

“So that was that? Just a run-of-the-mill hold up? Your mother was in the wrong place at the wrong time?”

She nods, clearly having bought the police story hook, line, and sinker. Probably better that way. Why should she torment herself wondering about the truth?

Truth is a funny thing. Sure, Charleigh’s mother was murdered in a hold up. Pawn shops get robbed because they have cash, jewelry, and usually, shitty, low-tech security. I guess even a dump like Gates’s could be robbed.

And while what Charleigh believes may be the truth, or some version of it, something tells me that’s not the end of the story. I’d bet my every last penny that Mrs. Gates was offed because of something her dumb fuck husband did. Once again, the asshole was in debt, or he did something to tick off the wrong person. So they took out his wife.

Harsh, yes. But I’ve seen it done before.

“How’d your dad take it?” I ask.

She looks at me, wide-eyed. “He never got over it. Sank into this deep depression. My older sister had to take care of all of us. She still does, really, even though she lives in New York. Pops took down all photos and reminders of Mother, and we’re not allowed to even mention her.”

Mystery solved. It was his fault his wife took a bullet. That man has been eaten alive by guilt and the secret he’s kept.

But again, I’ll keep this piece of information to myself.

“So, that’s when the youngest one lost her shit?”

Charleigh pulls her hair over her shoulder and starts making a long braid. I want to reach over and run my fingers through those long locks. But I don’t.

“Yeah. Seems like it. Although who knows. Maybe she would have been a troubled kid even if my mom hadn’t died.”

How many murders are labelled random, which are anything but? Charleigh’s mom, my parents… such bullshit.

“You’re a good sister, Charleigh.”

She shrugs and pulls an elastic band off her wrist to tie off her braid. “I try. Evie sort of… responds to me. At least more than anyone else.”

“My brothers and I are tight. They really supported me… in the past.”

She looks my way. “Did… something happen? Something bad?”

Well, fuck. I had to go and open my big goddamned mouth about the lowest period of my life.

“I… I lost my girlfriend a few years back. She was killed in a car wreck. I was driving and walked away without a scratch.”

I look straight ahead, chafing at the thought of Charleigh pitying me. I can’t have that. My hands grip the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles are white. Not one of my favorite topics, and yet I’m the dumbass who brought it up.

I force myself to stretch out my fingers, to get the blood circulating through them again.

Everyone says it wasn’t my fault, but that’s bullshit. It was my fault and I’ve suffered every day since. I will continue to. As I should.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Charleigh says. “Must have been awful.”

Still is awful, truth be told. I hope it always will be. Best way to atone, if you ask me, is to let yourself suffer. Endlessly.

Turns out I’m a fucking champ at that.

I don’t bother adding how Charleigh resembles her. It’s time to change the subject.

I pull into the club parking lot and stop the car but don’t get out. Charleigh has her fingers ready to pull the door handle but doesn’t move either, waiting for me.

It’s almost as if she wants to spend more time together. Almost.

“Do you think your sister was wondering who I was today? In the principal’s office?”

Charleigh nods slowly. “Yeah. I’m surprised she didn’t come right out and ask. She’s usually pretty straightforward that way. She must have been freaked out about getting in trouble.”

Interesting, for a serial offender. I got in trouble a lot as a kid, and once you go down that rabbit hole, you don’t give a shit about digging yourself in deeper. You get to a point where there’s nothing left to lose.

Charleigh’s about to say something more, but Vadik walks out of the club and heads for his car. When he sees the two of us, he frowns and changes direction.

Heading toward us.

“Time to go in,” I say.