Busted

Mama Ang hadn’t been able to sit in it since the day she’d found him in it—lifeless. That big heart of his had just stopped.

Aware of Trey’s watchful gaze, she crossed her legs, taking her time to smooth down the robe. Then she met his eyes.

“Are you just going to leave it at that or are you going to explain?” he asked, his voice oddly calm.

“What’s there to explain?” She shrugged lazily. “My senior year of college, I was arrested for prostitution.”

“How about you tell me whether or not you were guilty—and if so . . . why?”

The question—both of them—caught her off guard.

She’d expected him to just walk.

That was why she’d done it. It would be easier. That was why she’d tried to keep him at a distance ever since that morning in New Jersey. She’d felt herself on this slippery hill that very morning. Or maybe she’d been slipping even before then.

She wanted to protect herself—that was even why she’d told Travis. If he went and told his brother and Trey pushed her away, then she could blame him. If he walked without her explaining, then she could still blame him.

But now . . .

Lowering her head, she caught the end of her belt and started to twirl it around her finger. “No,” she said softly. “I was willing to do plenty of things for money, but I wasn’t a whore.”

Even though she didn’t hear him, she knew he’d crossed over to her and she caught her breath, not daring to move. When his hand brushed her cheek, she continued to stare at her fingers, worrying the black silk.

“Why don’t you just tell me, Ressa?”

Because when you walk away, it’s going to be because you know the truth . . . and it won’t be anybody’s fault but mine. She swallowed around the knot in her throat. The ache in her chest threatened to choke her.

“I had the money from Bruce,” she said softly. “But it was just barely enough. I was working at a fast-food place, up until midnight, cramming for all these classes . . . trying so hard to keep up. It seemed like everybody else around me was having a good time and there I was, struggling just to hold my head above water. December rolled around and Mama Ang called, wanted to take me and Kiara to Florida for a vacation over the break, but I couldn’t go.” She shrugged. “I tried to act like it wasn’t a big deal, but my job . . . they wouldn’t let me have the time off. I’d just started and all. I was in my room, sulking, and my roommate came in. She was always out—dressed like Cinderella, and I thought she must have had one hell of a Prince Charming, because she’d come back with gifts and she was never hurting for money. Her parents weren’t loaded or anything—they had a dairy farm up in Indiana and she was there on scholarship, just like I was.”

Resting her head on the back of the couch, she thought of the last time she’d seen Ha

Sighing, she looked back at him. “Ha

Unable to sit there any longer, she got up and moved to the fireplace. The hearth was empty and cold. The mantle held pictures—a few of Mama Ang and Bruce, a couple of Kiara from high school but most of them were of Neeci.

There wasn’t a single one of Ressa.

She still felt like an imposter here.

“Dreams never last though, do they?” She picked up a picture of Neeci and Kiara. She’d taken it when Neeci was a year old, when she’d taken the little girl to see her mother.

“What happened?”

“My cousin found out how I was making money. If it had just been that . . .” She shrugged. “But she wasn’t happy. There she was, with a nice chunk of change coming to her but it had to get doled out in bits and pieces until she was twenty-five. She’d gotten used to having everything she wanted. Bruce had spoiled her, trying to get her to open up to him . . . it didn’t work, but she sure as hell came to like having somebody who’d give her every little thing her heart desired.”

Bitterness choked her and she had to stop for a minute. Forcing herself to breathe, she put the picture down. How many times had she wished she’d had a father like Bruce? Too many. Oh, she’d loved her dad, even when she hated him.

He’d taught her how to con people, used her to distract people while he robbed them blind.

Remember how we do it, baby . . . that woman right there, the little lost girl act. That’s what we’re doing.

Later, he’d used her to carry the drugs he’d started to sell because cops wouldn’t search a child.

He’d ended up in jail anyway and later he’d ended up dead and she’d been the one they’d come to, looking for the money he owed.

“Ha

She lapsed into silence for a moment and then looked back at Trey. He hadn’t said anything since she’d started to talk and the silence was killing her, telling him all of this was killing her. But she couldn’t stop now.

*   *   *

Trey wanted to tell her to skip all of this.

He’d already decided he didn’t give a damn.

But it was pretty clear she did—and she had to tell him.

So he listened.

“Sharon’s boyfriend started getting greedy. Scott started bringing in new clients, telling them that some of the girls might be willing to offer a more personalized service. He was careful about which of us he talked to—he didn’t even let Sharon know. Ha

The words trailed away.

“Your cousin did.”

Ressa lifted her head and met his eyes. Then she shrugged. “She says she didn’t sleep with anybody for money. But she was doing other things—they were doing other things. Getting pictures and stuff.” She stopped for a minute, then spoke again. “For blackmail.”

Trey closed his eyes, dragging a hand down his face.

“One of the newer girls tried it with one of the established clients—his regular girl was sick. She’d gotten mono and he wanted a date for a business function. He was a sweet old guy, just . . . shy. A lot of these guys were harmless. He didn’t like going alone and he loved having a pretty girl with him. That’s what the service usually was. It was harmless,” she said again. Her voice was soft, but there was an odd note under it, as if she was trying to convince him.

She turned away from him. It was a cut to the heart and he moved up behind her, curling an arm around her waist. She tensed and he thought she’d pull away. But then she sagged against him. “Marisol—that was her name—she . . . um . . . she tried to pull something in the limo and it upset him. His name was Egbert. Mr. Egbert—his regular girl always called him the Egg. He was round and pale . . . anyway. He had the driver turn around and take Marisol home and then he called Sharon, he was so upset by it. That’s when she started poking around—when she realized Scott was pulling some shady shit. Marisol was an idiot—she always used a little recorder deal Scott had set her up with. It was in her purse—I don’t know what all she got, but she took it to Scott, I guess to try and blackmail Egbert. He must have told her no, because she tried to do it on her own . . .” The words trailed off and she looked away.