Except now that he’s asked the question, I don’t know. Stealing fifty thousand dollars was a big fucking deal. It’s not implausible he could be taken as collateral.
And more to the point, if Jeb hadn’t been taken, why would Maisie lie?
As soon as I ask, I know the answer.
To get me to rob the Grand.
She and Jeb had proposed the idea when I first started working there, and I’d told her no. No fucking way. This was my chance to go straight, to earn an honest living, even if I did have to take my clothes off.
I turn to face her. Her expression tells me everything I need to know.
Glass cuts my insides. I need to hear the words. “Maisie?”
My voice is raw.
“Oh kid,” she says softly. “You always cared too damn much. I told you that.”
The air is too thick; I’m choking on it. Tears prick my eyes, and I can only stand there and stare at her. My mother. But not my mother. She may have given birth to me, but she has never loved me as a mother should. I could have forgiven her for leaving me down there with West, knowing what might have been happening. If she’d been desperate to save Jeb. But it turns out he wasn’t captured.
The worst part is that it doesn’t surprise me. This is who she is.
That doesn’t keep it from hurting. The pain runs
along deep ruts in my heart, places that have been trod over again and again. It’s all I can do to stand upright in that alley, with trash and broken glass strewn around me like debris.
“Where is he?” I whisper.
She has the grace to blush. “At our motel room.”
I picture the dried blood on his ring. Who cut themselves for that blood? “Does he know?”
“It was his idea.” Her eyes shut against the pain—or what looks like pain. I can’t tell anymore. I believed she was worried for Jeb, that she feared for his life, but that had been a lie. “The debt was real, but he was worried you wouldn’t go through with it.”
West moves in front of me, shielding me from her view. “Go,” he says.
“What are you going to do with her?” I hear her ask. I can’t even look anymore.
I never want to see her again.
“You lost the right to ask that question,” he says. “Now get the fuck out of my sight before I call the cops.”
I stare down at the ground, the glitter of wet rocks and the sheen of dewy puddles, as her footsteps fade away. Then there’s only West and me in the alley, only the knowledge of what I did to him and what he did in return. And all my reasons, all my dreams turned to ash.
Chapter Thirteen
I wrap my fingers around the hot cup of…what is this? I breathe in the steam. Tea.
West pushed it into my hand a few minutes after sitting me down on his couch. He wrapped a thick afghan throw over my shoulders. Now he’s in the kitchen, speaking in low tones to someone on the phone. Probably Blue. He’ll have to explain why I’m not in police custody—or worse.
It doesn’t seem to matter anymore, what happens to me. Lock me up. Throw away the key. It’s not like I had some great future ahead of me. It’s not like I have anyone who’ll care when I’m gone.
West enters the large open living space, tossing his phone onto a side table. His apartment is a huge loft in the part of Tanglewood undergoing a resurgence. Old buildings are being remodeled and rented out. This place has exposed brick and stainless steel. It wouldn’t have come cheap.
If I had pictured him anywhere, it would have been in a simple, bare apartment one step up from my own. And I would have been wrong. The walls could use some artwork, but the place is fully furnished in the kind of restrained, comfortable style that speaks of money.
My faded bag looks ridiculous leaning against the side of the plush, luxurious sofa.
He looks down at my tea, his expression disapproving. “Drink.”