Page 24 of Preferential Treatment

It was the polar opposite of the single-wide trailers they’d grown up in, with their cracked faux-wood paneling and peeling-up linoleum and broken windows duct-taped over with cardboard and garbage bags. Angel let out a low whistle, walking deeper into the apartment.

“Take your shoes off!” Kate snapped. “Actually—no, don’t. Because you’re not staying.”

“Oof, that’s the thing.” Angel flopped onto the couch. “I need a place to stay for a bit.”

Kate nearly choked on her own lungs. “Absolutely fucking not.”

Angel tilted her chin down, sending Kate a big-eyed, beseeching look. “Come on, twinnie. I need your help.”

“Don’t call me that.” When they were kids, their dad had called them both “twinnie.” It had taken Kate too long to realize that it wasn’t a term of endearment—he just couldn’t be bothered to remember which one of them was which.

“It’s just a few days.”

“No. Stay in your own place.”

“Can’t.” She started shrugging out of her coat. “Got evicted.”

“That’s not my problem. Go stay with mom. Better yet—go visit Aunt Deb and see your fucking kids for once.”

Angel’s carefree expression dropped in an instant, replaced with the dead-eyed rage that had always terrified Kate when they were younger. When Angel got like that, there wasn’t anything she wouldn’t do. Kate still had a small scar on her chin where Angel had bashed her with a glass ashtray because Kate had gotten a bigger cookie.

Instinctively, Kate backed towards the bathroom door. She could lock herself in there if she needed. Angel’s temper hadn’t turned violent in years—not since high school—but Kate had very consciously limited contact since then, so that could’ve just been luck.

“Don’t talk about my kids,” Angel said in a harsh, low voice.

“Fine,” Kate said, her voice brittle with anger and fear. “Then leave.”

Angel got up from the couch, her fury still evident in the flatness of her expression. “You think you’re so much better than me.”

Yeah. She did. “Angel—”

Angel kept advancing. The bones of her face were too close to the skin, leaving her features sunken and sharp, making the deadness of her eyes all the more terrifying. Kate continued to back subtly towards the bathroom, trying not to tip Angel off that that’s where she was headed.

“You came from the same shit hole I did!” Angel pointed her finger like a knife.

“I know.” But Kate didn’t stay there, rolling around in shit. She’d climbed out. “I still don’t have anywhere for you to stay.”

Angel stopped suddenly, the cold fury giving way to a much less terrifying flare of self-absorbed temper. “Jesus Christ, you have two fucking bedrooms!”

“I have a roommate! Am I supposed to kick her out for you?”

“I can sleep on the couch,” Angel wheedled. She stomped back over to it, flopping down and crossing her arms with a stubborn expression. She wasn’t going to move and there was nothing Kate could do to make her.

Or so Angel thought.

“Aren’t you on parole right now?” Kate asked.

“So fucking what.”

“I don’t think you’re supposed to cross state lines.” Kate actually had no earthly idea what the law was, but she was a hundred percent certain that Angel didn’t either, and it sounded plausible.

Angel’s gaze sharpened on Kate. “Won’t be a problem if I don’t get caught.”

“Well, if you don’t want to get caught, you better get out of here.”

“Why? You going to call the cops on me, twinnie?”

Kate hesitated. She wanted Angel gone. But she didn’t want to be responsible for heaping more shit on her already shitty life. She could threaten to call the cops, and hope it was enough to scare Angel off. But if Angel called her bluff, then what?

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