Page 53 of Kings of Violence

“Nah. He’s just protective of them. Still,” she says, “he loves… loved that car.” She scans the room, and she lets out a little laugh. “Why the fuck am I helping you with this, anyway?” I’m not sure if she’s asking me or herself.

“What, did the feds take the car, too?” I walk to the walls and knock on them, as if I really expect there to be a secret compartment somewhere. The feds already pulled off all the artwork, and it’s clear there are no secret safes here.

She nods. “Yeah. No telling where they might’ve hid weapons, apparently. They tore everything apart, took everything that could be even remotely useful to their investigation.” Her lip curls in distaste.

“You got to keep the house,” I point out. “Still living in the lap of luxury.”

“Yeah. With the constant reminders of the past all around me,” Sierra says darkly.

I let out a growl of frustration and sit down in the desk chair. I really don’t want all this to have been for nothing. Surely Sean and his father hadn’t commuted out here every other day just for the isolation.

She scans the room again, then looks up. “You think they checked the ceilings?”

I follow her gaze. The ceiling has a stupid popcorn texture, and there’s no obvious change or newly added spots.

“No,” I say curtly. “Would they hide things there?”

Sierra stares at one of the light fixtures. “Well. I remember Sean once hid his porn magazines behind the bedroom ceiling lights.”

I glance over to her. “How do you know that?”

Her cheeks flush pink. “I, ah…” She chuckles, for all that it sounds strained. “I was wondering why his lights looked so weird, and I was curious. I think he forgot they were there, though. They were old.”

They must have been. I can’t imagine buying porn in a magazine—but magazines cost money, and internet porn I could usuallyfind for free. Sometimes I’d get together with other teens in the orphanage and we’d share our best finds. We were probably less into the porn itself and more taken with the subterfuge and the high of doing something the staff disapproved of.

I brush that memory aside and focus on what Sierra said. “So you snooped.”

“Yes,” she says. “I was curious, all right?”

Interesting. I want to know more about that side of her, but we really have been wasting time here. I go to the light fixture and stare up at it. It does have a large enough area that hiding something behind it isn’t inconceivable. “I’ll give you a boost. You can unscrew everything.”

“I’ll need a screwdriver,” she says, her expression inscrutable. “But you probably have one of those with your bike, huh?”

“Yes,” I agree. “Or you can use the one I saw in your father’s desk drawer.”

“Surprised the feds left even that,” she mutters. She disappears from the room, coming back with a screwdriver. “Okay. Lift me up. Let’s see if Sean has learned from his old mistakes.” She smiles, and it’s a little sly, a little mischievous, which isn’t something I’ve seen on her before. “Seeing as how I was a little brat and went and told Pa about it.” Her smile falters. “Got a lecture about snitching, too, though.”

“Because it was none of your business.” I wrap my arms around her thighs and start lifting her. She isn’t as light as I would have thought, but I’m not going to mention that. Kotya could probably lift her without a second thought.

She makes a surprise sound and braces her hands on my shoulders.

“Cut that out,” I growl. “You’ll make me lose my balance.”

“And I’ll fall if I don’t,” she hisses. But she gets her bearings, and despite a little bit of squirming, she straightens up. It takes her a moment of fumbling before she starts working on the first screw, and she says abruptly, “Thereissomething in here. Hang on.”

I grunt in acknowledgement, but mostly I concentrate on holding her as steady as I can.

Of course, her stomach is essentially pressed up against my face, and I resist the urge to nip her skin through the t-shirt. Why had I given her a t-shirt?

She’d look so hot wearing nothing but the leather jacket.

I try not to get distracted, especially when she starts handing me the loosened screws. It takes her a moment, but she carefully lowers the light fixture. It’s still attached by the wires, and she handles it with a light touch.

“Okay,” she says. “I have all of it. Put me down.”

I take a deep breath, then slowly lower her down again. As soon as her feet are on the ground again, she backs away from me.

There are a few things that look like large padded mailer envelopes and a notebook.

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