Page 150 of Cashmere Ruin

“And give him another black eye?”

“I’ve got nothing to do with that.”

“Right. I’m sure he just tripped.”

“Why not? The boy’s clumsy.” He shrugs. His face is lobster-red, like he just spent a week straight in the sun. I know better, of course. If there’s anything Tom hates more than staying sober, it’s waking up before dark. “Could trip over his own two feet. You remember, don’t you? How distracted he can be?”

I grit my teeth. “I remember you helping him with that. And I’m not letting you do that anymore.”

“For fuck’s sake, he’s a minor,” he barks back. “You can’t keep him from his parents. You’d be breaking the law.”

“So let’s call the police,” I retort. “See what they think about that black eye. See whathetells them.”

Unexpectedly, Tom bursts out laughing. “Oh, please! He won’t say a goddamn thing, and you know it. After all, I still have his mom at home. Yours, too, not that you’d care.”

I care enough not to want her in the hospital.I keep the words sealed tightly behind my lips. It wouldn’t do me any good now to give Tom another weakness to exploit.

But he sees right through me. “Aw, isn’t that sweet? Someone’s got a heart after all. Thought all that money was turning you into a snob like your daddy.”

“Tom, I will call the cops.”

“Nah, see, I don’t think you will. I mean, do you really want the police here?” He gestures broadly at the hotel. “Yourboyfriendcertainly wouldn’t appreciate it.”

“Partner,” I correct icily.

“Sure, whatever. You think I don’t read the papers? You think I don’t know you hooked up with a mob boss? By all means, let’s call the cops. See what they think ofthat.”

“Conspiracy blogs aren’t ‘papers’—”

“Whatever you sheeple say.”

“—and if you think I’m going to just hand over Charlie, you’re even stupider than I remembered.”

Thatgets a reaction. “I’d be careful if I were you, April.”

“Right back at you, Tom.”

He laughs, dry and deranged. “What, you think I want the kid back? It’s a hassle! But his mother won’t stop fuckin’ crying. It’s like she’s depressed or something. Won’t even put out anymore.”

“You’re the worst, you know that?”

“I do my best.”

“I can see that.”

“How ‘bout this, then?” He grins, showing a row of rotten teeth. “Step up and I’ll let you keep him.”

I frown. “‘Step up’ as in…?”

“Put out. Cross an item off your dear mommy’s to-do list. I’m sure you remember how it goes? I mean, you’ve had a kid, so clearly you’ve finally learned what that shit between your legs is for. Or do you need a reminder?”

It takes me a moment to fully process what I’m hearing.

Then the rage sets in.

“You’re disgusting,” I spit.

“And you’re not?” he guffaws. “Look who thinks she’s hot shit just because she’s fuckin’ the gangster boss. Lemme tell you something, sweetheart: you’re a whore.”

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