Page 39 of Take Her

I didn’t know what to make of things, on my way back to my truck with my balaclava tucked into my pocket. Why on earth would Lia care about me? Unless she did want to bring me down? But that made no sense—hurting me would be as good as hurting her father.

Then again, she did want to call guys who fucked her Daddy.

Did she hate him?

She had cause—he was going to essentially give her away—did she know?

But this whole thing seemed far more premeditated than that recent revelation.

Not that she hadn’t always known she was her father’s pawn—just like every other person in Nero’s orbit.

The whole affair put a bad taste in my mouth. Because either she was dastardly on some level I was unwilling to give her credit for—couldn’t, really, after interacting with that buffoon—or...

Or.

I sat in the cab of my truck and pulled my phone out, texting Sable.

What’s her handle?

It took a moment for Sable to text me back, but she did—people like she and I didn’t get the luxury of sleeping on benzos.

What’s it worth to you?

she teased, but the Instagram account came up before I could even get angry.

There you go, lover boy.

Don’t think you’d survive calling me that in person

I texted back, before hopping into the app store to install the stupid program.

You say that now—but tomorrow we’re doing lunch

she sent in return.

Which meant that she had answers for me.

See you there

I texted back as the program loaded.

Lia wasn’t in my office the next day when I got there, which was somewhat of a relief. I was tired after last night’s escapade—and cranky, which I’d be straight through lunch, hoping that Sable had some answers for me.

Ones that made sense and weren’t highlighted and circled around with hearts.

I was certain I’d made my point clear to her man—there was no way he’d risk talking to Lia without telling me, and he’d texted me this morning exactly what he’d told her, that he’d spotted me leaving my building.

I knew I was a thousand times more frightening than a little girl.

But I left the door to my office open, so I could contemplate her empty one.

Maybe she’d gotten her period or something, I thought, like a Neanderthal.

Or, maybe, I’d fumble-fingered while I was snooping last night, and “liked” something while I was scrolling, and now she was horrified that I’d seen all of her silly, girlish secrets, and couldn’t look me in the eye.

That seemed far more likely.

I’d found myself slightly jealous though, of all the strangers she’d been interacting with on her posts, entirely without artifice. Why did they get that version of her, and I got the difficult one who kept coming here?

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