Page 26 of Heart of Sin
“And check him you did.”
“You mad about it?”
She inhales a deep breath she quickly releases, then shakes her head. “No. Fredo’s an ass. He’ll live.”
“Good. ‘Cuz I couldn’t let that fly.” I drop a kiss to her cheek before we move into the living room.
But now something’s unavoidably on my mind—if Tasha’s late on her rent, thenwhereis her money going?
I wait ’til we collapse on the couch. She grabs the remote and flips on the TV. I curl an arm along the back of the couch and pretend I’m interested in the drama playing on the screen. Then I pose the question as carefully as you can pose a question about somebody’s finances.
“If you were in money trouble,” I say, “you’d tell me, right?”
She goes still. “Why would you think I was in money trouble?”
“Kitty cat, your landlord was just banging on your door for the rent.”
“So what? He does that every month.”
“And you don’t see a problem with that?”
“It’s none of your business regardless,” she snaps. “Are you trying to pick a fight?”
“I’m trying to figure out how I’m paying you over ten grand a month and you’re still living in poverty. Where’s the money going?”
The face she makes tells me she’s pissed I’m asking, which also tells me it’s nowhere good. My jaw clenches in reaction and I’m not going to pretend like my mind doesn’t jump to different conclusions. I’ve witnessed this type of thing before.
“You owe somebody?”
She gets up off the couch with her hand covering her eyes. “I can’t believe you’re doing this.”
“Is it drugs? Is that where it’s going?”
“Because that’s what it has to be, right? I must be using if I’m some stripper, some escort.”
“I’m familiar with the lifestyle. I know it can be easy to fall into certain habits—”
“Fuck you, Louis.”
She storms off, disappearing down the hall. The bedroom door shakes the walls with how hard she flings it shut.
I run both of my hands through my hair, tempted to pull it out by the root. I probably could’ve worded it better. It wasn’t like I was trying to pass judgment. More like it was coming from a place of familiarity.
From her perspective I just seem like a judgmental asshole.
I heave a sigh that leaves my broad shoulders slumped and then head over to her shut bedroom door.
“Tasha,” I say, knocking. “I’m shit with this stuff, okay? I’m not judging, I swear. How can I, you know? When I was a kid, I saw it happen a lot. That’s why I was asking. Some ladies in certain lifestyles wind up on some heavy stuff. What I told you about us struggling? The part I left out was that my ma, she was a working girl.”
Silence, and then—
Tasha pulls the door open and we come face to face. She’s either been tearing up or having a sudden bad allergic reaction.
“Your mom was an escort?”
“Like I said, there weren’t a lot of options sometimes. She made Nikki and me sit in the car. She worked out of a motel room. I saw a lot back then. Including some of the other girls and their habits.”
“And you think I’m anything like them?”