older kids need more food than they provide so . . .” She pulls out three more bags of carrots and tosses them to the teenagers, who thank her. She takes a bite of her sandwich and nods. “Go ahead.”
I pop the slim yellow straw into the juice pouch and take a sip. I can’t explain what it is about these kids. I can tell just by lookin’ in their eyes that they’ve lived more life than those twice their age and most of it probably not good. Working with them for only a few hours has me feeling like absolute dog shit about my earlier attitude. Our boss is a demanding ass and forces us. God, Trix must think I’m a shallow idiot.
“Wait!” Denny holds up his hand. “We forgot to pray!”
Trix smiles and puts down her sandwich. “Right, good thinking, Den.”
Denny snags my hand and Trix’s then waits impatiently, staring between my other hand and hers. “Mr. Mason, we need to make a circle.”
Trix and I link hands, and her tiny fingers feel so soft and warm against my palm. I try not to imagine what those hands would feel like against my bare chest or wrapped around my—no, sick bastard! We’re about to pray for shit’s sake!
“Close your eyes and bow your head,” Denny commands.
I dip my chin and peek over at Trix, who is doing the same with a huge smile on her face. She pops one eye open and then rolls her lips between her teeth to keep from laughing. I squeeze her hand and fight the urge to follow suit.
“Ahem . . . Dear God, thank you for the sun and for our food. Thank you for bringing us Mr. Mason so he can teach me how to fight. And thank you for Miss Trixy, who teaches us how to pray. Amen.” Denny drops our hands and dives back into his lunch in a way that makes me wonder when the last time he ate was.
“That was a kick-butt prayer, Den.” Trix throws back a gulp of her water.
She teaches them how to pray. I study the woman at my side and mull over all I know about her.
She strips in a titty bar and doesn’t bat an eyelash at illegal drugs. She volunteers with at-risk kids and teaches them to pray.
Something doesn’t add up.
Five
Mason
It’s Tuesday morning, and I’m stuck in the conference room with the rest of my camp while Cameron lectures us on shit I’m sure I already know.
After my volunteer day at the Community Youth Center, I couldn’t stop thinking about Trix. As incredible as she is dancing near naked, she’s just as amazing with her clothes on. Her moves weren’t nearly as provocative, but she’s clearly a gifted dancer. So why strip? Here in Vegas, a thousand different venues would pay well for a dancer with her skill, and she could keep her damn clothes on.
It doesn’t make any sense.
What doesn’t make even more sense is why the hell I can’t stop trying to figure her out. She’s like a Rubik’s Cube; the more I twist her around in my head, the less she makes sense.
My phone rattles against the conference table with an incoming text. I reach for it and check to see it’s from Drake. Shit.
Meet me tonight.
A prickle of unease races up my spine. I haven’t heard from my brother since that night at the hotel suite. I’d hoped they’d partied their asses off and gotten back home the next day with nothing more to show for their Vegas experience than a nasty hangover. But, no, he’s still here.
Which means he’s up to no good.
Although we were raised by our mother, our fathers couldn’t have been more different. Mine was attentive, always paid child support, showed up for every wrestling match, and bought me whatever I wanted. Drake was lucky to get a phone call on his birthday, and most years he didn’t. Because of that, I’d always look out for him. I’d lie and tell my dad I needed new shoes but buy them for Drake and take him shopping with my allowance. It wasn’t much, but it was all I could offer. I know Drake was resentful, and I often wonder if that’s why he made a play for Jessica. Yeah, I got the college education, but he got the girl.
“Mason! Pay attention!” Cameron’s growl of frustration calls me from my thoughts.
I lift my eyes to his, palm my phone, and sink back into my