Page 50 of Clubs

Returning the phone to the receiver, Declan let out another one of those deep, trembling sighs. “Guess I gotta go back down to the station. They want my fingerprints now. Got a warrant and everything.”

“Why?” Emory’s heart pumped faster. “Did they find something?”

“I guess the girl was wearing something. A belt or some shit, I don’t know. They found fingerprints, and they want to check mine. It was the final cause of death, apparently. They thought it was blunt force trauma, but it was strangulation with an object. So as long as my prints aren’t on that belt, I should be free and clear,” Declan said. “I hope. God, I fucking hope.”

“I’ll call your lawyer. Let her know where you’re headed. Just don’t say a word.”

“I know the routine,” Declan said under his breath. “Just keep an eye on things here, would you?”

As always, Emory promised he would, then watched with a heavy heart as Declan walked out the door. Emory called the lawyer. The bar patrons would have to wait until this business was attended to. After all, if Declan ended up in prison, this place wouldn’t exist anymore.

Just as he hung up the phone, a familiar voice said, “Just put it on my tab,” directly behind him.

When he spun around, Brooke was reaching beneath the bar, grabbing a bottle of vodka. That was her drink of choice. Vodka cranberry. This time, though, she was ditching the cranberry. The bottle went straight to her lips.

“It’s been a shit day, right?” Emory asked. “Do you want to make it worse with your head bent over the toilet?”

“Hey, well, at least I won’t feel it.” Tilting her head back, Brooke chugged.

Brooke barely drank. A vodka cranberry once or twice a week. On a special occasion, more than that, but Emory had never seen her take a shot. He certainly hadn’t seen her drink straight from the bottle.

But, all things considered, could he blame her?

“Can you sit, at least?” Emory asked. “Don’t need you falling and breaking your neck. Especially while Declan’s at the police station.”

Brooke’s head whipped around to face him, her face flushed. She had clearly already had a few. “What? Is he okay? What happened?”

“From what I could tell, he’s fine,” he said, guiding Brooke around the bar and on to a stool. He made sure this one had a back. It was times like this he wished they made highchairs for adults. “Just fingerprints. Should be a good thing, really. It could prove he wasn’t the killer.”

“Jesus Christ,” Brooke said. “And it’s all because of Ria. Because Ria had to be a god damned idiot and get a fucking pimp.”

Slowly, Emory’s brows furrowed. “What?”

“Yep.” Like a baby with a bottle, Brooke tilted her head back and chugged some more. One of those grown-up highchairs would be great right about now. Maybe Emory should’ve patented that idea. “Tried to kill the guy. That’s what all of this is about. That’s why he killed Alicia, that’s why he tried to frame Declan, or at least make his life miserable. That’s why he broke into my house. Just to fuck with us and punish her.”

“That’s crazy.” Emory was past confused. More than once, Emory and Ria had discussed her work, and she’d always sworn that she worked alone. With a few other girls from time to time, but never a pimp. Pimps were a giant chunk of what made sex work so dangerous. Emory said so, ending with, “Ria knows how stupid that is.”

“Yeah, she does,” Brooke muttered, propping her elbows on the counter to keep her head upright. “Now she’s trying to get another one to get rid of the first one. And I’m the bad guy. Somehow, I’m the fucking bad guy for telling her how fucking stupid that is. You should tell her.” Brooke wagged a finger at him. “She listens to you. You should be the one to tell her how stupid she’s been. Because otherwise, the dumb bitch is gonna end up dead. She’s gonna fucking kill herself. Or get herself killed. One or the other.” Brooke’s words slurred. “And somehow, that’ll be my fault. No, it is.

“It is my fault. The way she turned out, the drugs, everything, it’s all my fault. I did this. I created this monster. I should’ve done better. I shouldn’t have worked for the Chambers. I should’ve just taken care of Ria. But nooo. I had to get a degree and break the cycle.

“And what’s it matter? What difference does it make if I broke it? I probably won’t have kids, and it’ll genuinely shock me if she doesn’t have any. Eventually, she’ll get pregnant, if she hasn’t been already, and then what? Am I supposed to raise the kid when she dies? Because that’s what’s gonna happen.” Tears filling her eyes, she met Emory’s gaze. Brooke shook her head so hard, he worried it would fall off her shoulders. “She’s gonna die. This life is going to fucking kill her. I’m going to bury my baby sister, and I don’t know how to handle that. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. How am I supposed to help her? How do I fix it, Emory? What do I do?”

A lump formed in his throat.

Emory had known things were bad, but he didn’t know it was this bad.

He didn’t want to think about that possibility any more than Brooke did, but he wasn’t stupid. That’s where Ria was headed. That was the way the life worked. You died. You got in too deep, and you wound up dead.

Aside from that, while they couldn’t stand each other most of the time, Emory cared about Brooke. Not just because Declan did, but because when you’re around somebody so much, you see the good in them. Brooke was a bitch. There was no denying that. But like Emory, there was good in that black, tarry heart.

And, after all, they had something in common. Their love for Ria. Emory’s was different than Brooke’s, of course, but at the end of the day, love was love. And while they didn’t share much, they shared that.

“You were a kid,” Emory said. “Where Ria is, the life she’s living now, that’s not on you. She’s the only one who can change it.”

“I could kill the guy for her,” Brooke said. “That way, she doesn’t have to work with this other piece of shit. That wouldn’t be a bad idea, right?”

No, it sure as shit would be. “The cops are breathing down our necks. We can’t kill anyone.”

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