Page 26 of The Hate We Breathe
His grin is almost infectious. “Takes one to know one,” he replies easily enough.
I open my mouth to respond, but never get the chance. “You boys cheating on that girl now?” Ma-Ri’s smoky voice interrupts the quiet moment between us and I stiffen automatically.
Something close to embarrassment, or maybe even guilt, crawls through me. I like Ma-Ri, but I still blamed her for firing me. My anger didn’t fade even when I understood why she felt like she had no other choice. Her words, however, have me turning in her direction, a frown on my lips.
The tiny woman stands at the mouth of the booth, her short, cropped hair swept away from her forehead today. The long cigarette holder she wields like a weapon is positioned between two fingers as she glares from Lex to Gio. Then her eyes fall on me and she blinks as if surprised.
“No,” she finally mutters. “I suppose not.”
Was she talking about me, then? I was the girl they were cheating on? With… me?
My lips curve against my will as a smile threatens to break free.
“We don’t cheat,” Gio says, releasing my hand to slide to the end of the booth seat while Lex follows on the other. “But it’s good to know you’d be disapproving if you ever caught us.”
Ma-Ri hums in the back of her throat, her attention still locked on me for a moment longer before she pulls her gaze away as Gio and Lex stand on either side of her. Putting her cigarette to her lips, the cherry red end glows bright and then dims when she releases it. A stream of smoke fills the air.
“Come on back then,” she says. “I’ve got the payment.”
I move towards the edge, intending to follow, only to be stopped as Lex puts out a hand. “Sorry, baby, you’ve got to stay here.”
“What?” He can’t be serious. Ma-Ri shakes her head and moves off, Gio trailing behind her.
Lex’s only response is another “Sorry” before he turns and follows behind them. I sag back against the seat, gaping after them as Gio and Lex disappear down the back hall leading towards Ma-Ri’s office and the locker rooms.
With an annoyed huff, I snatch up the mojito and take a long gulp, really wishing it had alcohol in it.
I sitand ponder my life choices as I watch middle-aged man after middle-aged man walk into the club. A few that glance over see me sitting alone in a booth and do a double take. On the off chance any assume that I’m a host—not that they’d get that from the jeans and oversized hoodie I’m currently sporting—I glare at them as they pass me.
A half hour passes and my first drink is long gone. The waitress that had approached the table when Lex and Gio had been here stands at the bar, purposefully ignoring me. I don’t blame her. The second she gets close, I’m liable to sit her down and carefully explain what will happen to her if she ever calls one of my men “handsome” again.
My attention keeps sliding to the back hallway. It doesn’t take this long just to pick up a payment, does it? I tighten all over as another thought occurs to me. They wouldn’t try to convince Ma-Ri to hire me back while I’m sitting out here, would they?
My foot starts tapping and the seconds on the clock tick by slower than ever before.
I’m almost relieved when a body slides into the booth next to me. Half expecting one of the male guests, I turn, ready for the distraction and to put him in his place when I see who it actually is.
“Margo?” I blink at the woman who’d been one of the top hosts when I’d been working here.
“I’ll make this quick,” she says shortly. Margo slides closer, the silken fabric of her dress shining a bit too bright even under the dim lights to be anything but synthetic.
I arch a brow. “Makewhatquick?”
Margo glances over the top of one of the booth walls before turning back to me and leaning in. “My boyfriend works for Darrio Vargas,” she whispers. “And I swear, if you rat me out, I’ll make sure he tracks you down and?—”
“Save the threats, Margo,” I snap, but scoot closer regardless. “I don’t snitch.”
Her lips pucker up like she now wants to withhold whatever information she came to give me. I level her with a look and wait. For all that Margo is a beautiful woman—smooth, unblemished skin, big round eyes, and a body that a model would kill for—she’s not really frightening. I assume that’s why she tried touse the threat her boyfriend could present to me rather than suggesting she might come after me herself.
A beat passes and she releases an annoyed breath. “Ugh, you’re such a bitch,” she mutters. “I don’t even know why I’m telling you this, but fine—” Margo moves in, getting as close as she can without actually crawling into my lap. “You need to watch your back,” she hisses, turning her cheek and moving her mouth to right next to my ear.
I roll my eyes, ready to pull back and lay into her for such a bullshit warning, but her hand latches on to my arm. Margo’s red-painted nails dig into the sleeve of the hoodie I’m wearing and her face is stone-cold serious.
“I don’t live in Silverwood,” she says. “But I heard about Morpheus Calloway. Someone murdered him, right?”
That has my attention. “Do you know something about that?” The question is sharp as it falls from my lips.
She shakes her head and I would be lying if I didn’t say that disappointment didn’t slide through me. “No—at least, I don’t think so,” she confesses.
