growing up. It was kind of just me and my sister most of the time. She was always looking out for me. We had a rough childhood. One day we really needed help. We’d gotten into a tight spot,” I say, remembering the night Lindsey and Oliver nearly got us all killed by stealing one of Giuseppe’s men’s wallets. Tight fucking spot it was. “Adriana’s dad was nearby.” Nearby with guns trained on our heads.
“He decided to help us. He knew me already, I’d been to their house a few times over the years. He took us in. It was good for a few years. And then my sister left to do her own thing. She begged me to leave with her.” My heart constricts as her words play over in my head like a song full of memories. “I was so stubborn and I didn’t want to go. The Marino’s were my family too. The only real one I’d had except for Lindsey and I didn’t want to lose that. So I refused to leave with her. Everything went downhill from there.” The last of my voice comes off just above a whisper.
“Shit, Ali.”
I shrug it off. “It’s just how life has played out, you know?”
He pushes off the doorframe. “Yeah. But that doesn’t mean they shouldn’t pay for what they’ve done to you. Stay there. I’ll be back in a second.”
Roamyn disappears into the bedroom but returns a minute later, fresh T-shirt and shorts in hand. He sees me eyeing off the clothes.
“Here,” he offers, throwing them at me. “Put those on. They may be too big but at least, they aren’t wet. Come out when you’re done.”
“Thanks.”
He nods and gives me a tight smile before heading out.
I hold out the shorts. “Well, those aren’t going to fit,” I mutter to myself and lay them on the vanity. There’s no point in trying them on when they’re only going to fall back down. Pulling the T-shirt over my head a tingle rushes through me. My eyes close as I inhale the mixture of washing powder and Roamyn. God, it smells good. I flick my hair out from beneath the top and give myself a once over in the mirror.
I bite my lip, stifling a giggle because surely this is not what Roamyn had in mind when grabbing me clothes. For a man trying to fend me off and deny us any closeness, this is not going to help his cause. I walk out of the bathroom and catch Roamyn staring at me and wonder how long he’d been standing there. He turns away, rubbing the back of his neck as his cell phone rings, diverting the growing awkwardness of the moment.
I cough and stand by the door as he walks out of the room answering his phone.
I hear a faint, “Hey,” as he pulls the door a little behind him but not enough to shut it completely.
A minute passes and he doesn’t come back. Probably still on the call, I move to the bed to sit and wait. My stomach plummets when I sit down and women’s perfume invades my senses. His sheets reek of perfume, Roamyn and sex.
My nose wrinkles, the pungent smell an instant turn off and disappointment. I head to the door but stop still as I hear my name leaving Roamyn’s lips from just outside the room.
“Alison Jenkins. Yeah…”
I back up against the door as he continues, “I don’t know, Mase. She’s a junkie. We all know you can’t trust them.”
I gasp and my hand flies over my mouth.
“I don’t think this is a good way in. A lot of risks, man. Yeah. All right. I’ll be there.”
My eyes water. My breathing becomes loud, heavy, as my hand still covers my mouth to hold in noise and the shock of Roamyn’s comments. Knives slice pain through every organ, every vein, all the way to my heart. Was he going to use me? Was this the plan the whole time? Am I just a pawn, a stepping-stone into taking down another bad guy?
Roamyn’s voice echoes in my ears. She’s a junkie. I squint away his voice, trying to push it away. I’d been called so much worse than a junkie, but to hear it coming from him welcomed a world of hurt and shame. Clanking sounds come from outside as I gather myself together. I wipe under my eyes and rip Roamyn’s shirt off my body. Slipping on my now semi-wet clothes, I yank open