Page 99 of Lone Star

“I am sorry about that,” Michelle said, tone softening. “If it helps – I don’t think he suffered.”

Melanie’s eyes welled, and Michelle worried the moment would dissolve into tears and awkward retreats. But she took a few more breaths and composed herself, blinking hard until her eyes looked dry again, if a little red around the edges.

“Okay, okay,” Melanie murmured. She plucked a tissue from the box on the nightstand and dabbed her eyes, blew her nose. Crumpled the tissue up in her fist. “I…” Some last bit of tension, of shame, worked through her shoulders – but then it left with a shiver, and she seemed to cave in on herself. “It started about two months ago.”

Michelle got settled and waited, schooling her features: open enough to invite confession, but not so friendly as to invite lies, hopefully.

“I was at work,” Melanie continued. “I run the front desk for a place that rents luxury cars. Breton’s, you know?” Michelle didn’t know, and gave no indication either way, so Melanie forged ahead. “A guy came in. Young, and real good-looking. I meanrealgood-looking.”

“We’ve seen him,” Michelle said.

Melanie blushed, her gaze full of shame. She fiddled with the crumpled tissue in her hand. “He wanted to rent a Porsche, he said, and he leaned down on the counter, and he winked at me, and said maybe he’d take me for a spin in it.”

“Jeez, he ain’t subtle,” Axelle mused.

“But he wasn’t, like, creepy about it,” Melanie said, turning to her, sounding defensive. “He wasn’t a schmuck, or, like, a corny old guy. He was really smooth.”

“I bet,” Michelle said.

“He was sweet,” Melanie insisted.

“He was hot.”

“Well, yeah. You said you saw him. When he asked for my number, I gave it to him, and he called me later that night.”

“He took you out?”

“Dinner, drinks, and then back to his hotel – he was in town on business and hadn’t found a place to rent, yet.”

“Business,” Axelle said with a snort.

“That’s what he told me. How was I supposed to know he was in the fucking cartel?” Melanie snapped, temper flaring again.

“A gorgeous guy twenty years your junior, living out of a hotel, renting foreign cars, waltzes up to your desk one day, picks you up, and beds you on the first date,” Michelle said, coldly, “and you’re not a little suspicious?” It was a low blow – she knew that before Melanie went goggled-eyed – but she needed to get her off her game; rattle her, spook her, shame her, whatever. There was no room for courtesy here. “It was flattering, wasn’t it?” she pressed. “He was winking at you. Took you out and complimented you. Here’s this beautiful guy all over you, and you can’t believe your luck. It was thrilling.”

Melanie’s throat moved as she swallowed, and she didn’t deny it.

“When did you realize what he was?”

Another swallow. Her voice came out unsteady, the defiance and hurt gone again. “A couple weeks. He started asking too many questions about Pacer…” Her gaze drew inward, glazed. Her lip trembled, and Michelle knew it was crashing over her again, that ugly, crushing knowledge that her brother was dead. She didn’t succumb to it, though. Blinked and shredded the tissues between her fingers, and pressed on, voice strained. “I’d mentioned I had a brother, but then, one night, he wasn’t just asking casually. Not like he was trying to get to know me better – he knew Pacer had a bike, and an RC, and he was – he was grilling me about it. He wanted to know if Pacer was a Lean Dog, and I said no, and that made him angry.”

“How angry?”

Melanie hesitated. “He didn’t hit me, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“How angry?”

“He broke a wine glass. Threw it across the room. But,” she rushed to add, “then he apologized, and he cleaned up the mess, and he said he gets these terrible headaches sometimes, and they make him cranky, and he just slips, and…” She trailed off, glancing between the two of them; her expression said she realized neither of them was buying it.

“There’s nothing you can say that will make him – or you – look better in this whole situation,” Michelle said, entirely blunt now. “You might as well just get it over with quickly.”

For a moment, she saw a flash of undisguised hatred in Melanie’s gaze. Then she took a big breath and stared down at the lumps of her feet beneath the blanket. “I knew something about him was off that night,” she said, flat now, no longer trying to wheedle and show herself in the best light. But I – I wanted what I had with him more than I wanted to know the truth. I had my head in the sand. We kept dating; he found a house. I slept over most nights, and he had guys coming in out all hours. Some were Latin, and some were, like, this huge fucking wrestler types. They always wore black, and they had flashy jewelry.” She closed her eyes a moment on a deep exhale.

“You knew they were cartel.”

“I knew they were drug dealers,” Melanie corrected with a brief flash of challenge. “I didn’t care.”

“Once upon a time, the MC’s outlaw activities were something worth breaking up over.”

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