by H. M. Ward
We all make a face, but Peter’s the one who talks. “Lovely comparison.”
She smirks. “It ain’t white boy poetry, but I could write books—novels about the shit I seen—so don’t judge me. I talk the way I talk because this is the real me. I never forgot where I resided prior to my education, and it’s ingrained so deeply in my bones that they’re etched with that past life. What you are witnessing now is a manifestation of the past and the present colliding.” The boys’ expressions are incredulous, as if they can’t believe Mel knew words with more than two syllables. She folds her arms over her chest, snaps gum I didn’t realize she was chewing and throws her hip out. “Like I was saying, you can’t change who you are. We either pegged that son of a bitch wrong, or someone’s playin’ us. I, for one, don’t give a shit about Sean, but I know Avery does, so I’m here. Whatever you need, we’ll find him.” She smiles softly at me and places her hand on my shoulder.
No one says anything for a moment. Mel’s message is clear—Marty Masterson could be putting on an act that never ends. I know Mel could play corporate colored woman if she wanted to and deal with the daily drivel that goes with it. She has the intelligence; she simply chooses not to show it. So, here she is with us, in a strip club on Long Island, instead of in a power suit, kicking corporate ass in the city.
“So, we pretend Marty is innocent until we know he’s not?” I ask Mel, to make sure I caught her meaning.
“Rule number one: Don’t make enemies.” She ticks off a finger then holds up another, “Rule number two: When you do, take them down first. And Avery, it’s a matter of when, not if, because it’s easy for people to hate. Even if there’s no reason, some fuckers are hell-bent on finding one. Marty ain’t what he seems, and never was. He played us once, so why not twice? We should have cut him off already. I didn’t because you didn’t. I don’t give people second chances. Forgiving only gets you hurt—or dead.” The way she says it is so calloused, so unfeeling. We’re talking about someone who shared drinks and slept over. Marty kept me safe when no one else was around. I slept in his arms and he chased away my demons.
Shaking my head, I wrap my arms around my middle and say to the floor, “It’s so hard to believe.”
Jon’s calmed down enough to speak, but he doesn’t look at me. “There’s a manhunt for Masterson and he’s not been caught yet. That says the fucker is smarter than anyone thought. The problem we have right now is Sean. Stay focused.”
Trystan nods. “Something big is going on. I’m wondering if I’m part of it, and how far this whole thing has spread. I get why Sean asked me to watch you the other night. At the time it seemed like an ass move, but he went to help Hallie and Bryan. Something went wrong. Bryan took the shot and cleared him. Now Sean is missing. Any chance all this shit is connected? I feel like we’re missing something.”
My ringtone fills the air before anyone can answer. It’s coming from Trystan’s pocket. He pulls it out and the expression on his face scares me. “I think we’re about to find out. It’s Sean.”
As he speaks the phone flies through the air in a high arc. I catch it and stare at Sean’s picture on the screen. Nerves twist me up so quickly that my palms are already sweaty and my stomach twists like I’m in a freefall. The phone rings again. All eyes are on me waiting.
Chapter 13
I try to hide the fear that’s choking me. There’s no way he’s fine—I know it before I answer. This call is an omen, and there’s no escaping what’s to come. Trembling, I swipe the screen and then press the phone to my ear. “Where have you been? Sean, I’ve worried myself sick.” I can’t hide the quiver in my voice. I wait for him to reply and only hope that someone hasn’t hurt him. Whoever took down Sean must be more powerful, more skillful at deception and a better fighter. I can’t imagine who it could be. Black is the only person who comes to mind. I half expect him to say that she’s behind everything, so when the voice hits my ear, I’m paralyzed.
Marty’s voice is strong and clear. “Awh, how sweet. You do care, and here I thought it would never happen. Silly me.”
The room is quiet, all eyes on me. Fear races through my veins, and rushes into my heart. “Why do you have Sean’s phone? Marty, I swear to God, if you hurt him—”
“What, you’ll girly-punch me?” He laughs lightly, like we’re still friends before continuing. “Avery, babe, I’m up for any kink you want to play out, but I need to finish what we started. The thing is I’ve decided to live a little, you know. If I’m going to chance getting caught, I should have the woman I want in the mix. So, sweet face, grab some food for us, and a few bandages for your boyfriend here. He wasn’t being nice, so I may have opened some of his stitches—but only a little. The thing is, he’s staining the carpet. Some people are so inconsiderate. Anyway, bring one bag of eats and your pretty little ass—and only your pretty little ass—to the old parking area for the Oak Beach Inn. You have an hour. Don’t disappoint me.” The line goes dead and I stare at the phone in my hand.
Everyone is waiting for me to repeat what I heard. Numbness consumes me as betrayal cracks my heart. He did it. He took the shots—it has been him all along and I’ve been defending him.
“Well?” Mel impatiently prods.
“Marty has Sean.”
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BROKEN PROMISES
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