Page 126 of Roulette: The Madam

“Seriously?”

“So does that bag.”

She finally noticed the large Chanel bag.

“Shut up!” She squealed.

“Don’t freak out, Malaya. Keep calm. Always keep calm. Let your spectators know that you are not fazed by things that are at your fingertips.”

“Does it look like I’m freaking out now?”

Her leg bounced. She was ready to bolt from her seat to tear into the bag.

“Yes.” I chuckled. “Be patient. We will open it in the Sprinter.”

“Malaya–” Rome stepped up, lowering her body to pull Malaya in for a hug. “I’m Rome. It’s so nice to finally lay eyes on you, pretty girl.”

“On your feet, Malaya. Never remain sitting when greeting a person in pursuit of you. Feet on the pavement. Back straight. Eye contact,” I commanded.

She was up on her feet in a flash.

“You’re pretty,” she blurted, taking Rome’s hand.

“You’re pretty,” Rome responded.

“With perfect legs and smile,” Royce complimented.

“Thanks. And, thanks for coming today. You’re all just so–so beautiful.”

“Haleigh Drusille. To the left. Headed toward the white BMW. Her mother’s mouth is as big as hers. It has to be her procreator.” Rugger’s eyes never left the SUV as she leaned over and whispered the details I desperately needed.

“Get her to the Sprinter,” I advised them.

“The Sprinter. Roulette, I’m coming with you– just in case– you know.”

I shook my head, knowing there wasn’t any convincing Rugger. I highly doubted there was a weapon in the SUV, but I couldn’t tell my sister that. I took off in the direction Haleigh was walking in.

“Just give me space, okay?”

“You’re asking too much of me.”

“Three feet. That’s all I ask.”

“Fine.”

Rugger slowed her pace, allowing me to get a good distance ahead. It didn’t take long for me to reach the carpool line where Haleigh’s mother, Synthia, was waiting. She tapped the lock to let her daughter inside the vehicle, completely unaware of what was happening around her.

Bingo.

I opened the door, instantly. My hand went across her pale face without hesitation, catching her nose and mouth in the process. I was a tall girl. Nothing about me was compact. My hands were long enough to feel the leather of her seat on the opposite side.

“ARRRRRGGHHHH.” A grueling scream escaped her.

Her voice was like nails on a chalkboard.

“Listen you butter, block eating bitch. Control that piece of shit you’re raising before I’m forced to parent her for you. My daughter is no fighter, but I am. A fighter. A shooter. A complete crash out that you don’t want to piss the fuck off.

“But, it’s far too late for that, now. I will be up here every day to whoop your toaster strudel eating ass every day until your daughter has learned her lesson if I have to. I do not mind.

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