Page 82 of Cunning Lies
I wait in the kitchen. A few minutes later, Kenzo answers his phone and accepts Uncle Jay’s entry with the front desk. Once Uncle Jay knocks, Kenzo scans his phone and lets him inside. I bite my lip. This is a stupid idea.
What if Kenzo keeps Uncle Jay in the penthouse too?
But as soon as the door shuts behind Uncle Jay, Kenzo disappears out to the balcony. He stares at the Suncoast Casino, the sun burning above him, his tattoos shimmering in that sweaty heat. My heart rams in my throat.
“What’s going on?” Uncle Jay asks, his blue eyes full of worry. “Are you hurt? Did you—”
I wrap my arms around myself, a tear falling down my cheek. I can’t even bring myself to say it. I’ve screwed up for both of them. I didn’t give Uncle Jay the information he needs, and I lied to Kenzo.
I’m a fucking joke.
“Did he hurt you?” Uncle Jay growls.
I shake my head. “He almost killed someone.”
A puff of air escapes Uncle Jay’s nostrils. I blink at him. He smirks at me.
“That’s why you called me here?” he asks. “Healmostkilled someone?”
“He almost killed someone because ofme,” I retort. “Do you not get how messed up this is?”
I bury my head in my hands. Uncle Jay pats my back as if I’ve just told him that I got cut from the basketball team, not like I told him about an attempted murder.
“Who?” he asks, changing his tone. “Tell me, sweetheart. What happened exactly?”
I don’t want Uncle Jay to be mad at Kenzo, so I don’t tell him about the interrogation in the dark room. Instead, I jump to what’s important.
“He wanted to know who we were working for, so I used this random company. One of the ones I told you about,” I explain. “And he almost killed them.”
Uncle Jay squeezes my shoulders, then he lifts his arms like he’s stretching. His lips pull up like he’s happy that I did that. Guilt weighs on my shoulders.
“Uncle Jay, please,” I whisper. “Say something.”
“What do you want me to say? You saved us, Vi. We’re still alive because of you.” He pinches my cheek like he used to do when I was six. “Why do you care so much about those strangers anyway?”
My stomach aches. “Whydon’tyou care?” I ask, but I know the answer. He’s always said that the three of us are the only people who matter, that it’s okay to con people out of their money because they don’t deserve it. He probably thinks that the owner of that company deserves to die too.
“There are worse things to worry about,” he says, patting me on the shoulder.
“Do you love me?” I blurt. Uncle Jay raises a brow. “You used to say that you loved me like a daughter. You used to say you loved me all the time when I was a kid.”
“Kids need that extra boost,” he says, shrugging. “Adults just know.”
Pain lodges in my throat like a crumpled newspaper, and I have to know. Ineedto know.
And he’s avoiding the question.
“But do you still love me like a daughter, Uncle Jay?”
He runs a hand over the top of his gray and brown hair, looking at Kenzo through the balcony windows.
“Of course I do, Vi. I love you kids.”
You kids.That’s what he used to call Patrick and me. But now, it’s just me.
“Then how come you didn’t quit this job when they killed Patrick?”
He scowls, shooting bullets full of lead with his expression. “Don’t put words in my mouth.”
