35. Chapter 35
Chapter 35
Sylvie
That morning—which happened to be my wedding day—I texted Luna and Alexa a list of things to do, then set off with my own list, Milo in tow.
First, we went to Trina’s apartment. Milo looked down at me outside her new front door. “I’ll stay out here since you can’t crawl through a window and ditch me.” The man had a point since Trina’s apartment was on the fourth floor.
I patted his shoulder. “You’re kind of growing on me, and I promised Drakos I wouldn’t give you the slip anymore. I’m warning you, though. My last stop is the Fuzzy Peach.”
He gave me the side eye. “Should I know what that is?”
“If you get your privates waxed or sugared regularly, you might be able to guess.”
He grimaced. “You do it on purpose, don’t you?”
“What?”
“Try to embarrass me.”
My lips twitched. “You make it easy, big guy.” What Milo likely didn’t know was that no one in their right mind would get waxed down there hours before their wedding night.
I glanced around as I knocked on Trina’s door. Our cleanup crew had added an extra deadbolt to the new door, but it still wouldn’t keep anyone out for long. Terrance and my father knew where they lived now, and our employees were a weak spot in the Spade family armor.
The last time I’d been here, an MC member lay bleeding out on their welcome mat, and blood and brain matter dotted the wall across the way. I studied the hallway now and was gratified to see fresh paint and no stains visible on the hallway carpet. Drakos and I really needed to find a new hobby besides killing people together.
Trina opened the door and stared up at me in surprise. “Today is your wedding day. What are you doing here? You should be getting ready.” She stepped aside to let me in.
Camilla wasn’t in the living room or kitchen area. “Where is she?”
Trina’s sweet, wrinkled face turned down. “In her room. Always in her room.”
“She’s going to be one of my bridesmaids today.” I held up the clothes I’d brought with me. “Her dress is a little more age-appropriate than Luna and Alexa’s, but I think she’ll like it. She needs to be at the mortuary by one this afternoon.”
“ Dios mío, you’re getting married at the funeral home? I’m sure it’s some kind of bad luck or bad omen, or something. I thought you were just having the wedding party there.”
I shrugged. “We’re having both the wedding and the party there.” Taking a deep breath, I grasped Trina’s shoulder. “I have a big favor to ask. I want you and Camilla to move out of this apartment and into one of the cottages at the Spade compound.”
Declan and Callum sometimes used the spare, two-bedroom cottage on Fennick’s property as a place to crash, but I’d have them move their stuff out today if Trina said yes.
“But this is our home. We’ve lived here for years.”
The apartment complex was old and a little run-down, but most of her neighbors seemed to be good people. “We’ll pay for movers, but I don’t want you here anymore, it’s not safe.”
Her eyes went glassy, and she glanced down the hall. “We don’t have any close family nearby who can take us in, but she needs to be around people. She’s not getting better, and I don’t know what to do.” Her voice broke as she turned away.
“The compound is always busy, and Ezra lives right next door. You also won’t have to pay rent, which means more money for Camilla’s college. Please think about it. Can I talk with her again?”
Trina put her fist over her mouth and nodded. I knew she’d agree because her biggest dream was to have Camilla graduate from college. I walked back to Camilla’s bedroom and knocked on the door.
“I’m okay, Abuela. I’ll be out in a few minutes.”
“It’s Sylvie. I need to talk with you.” I didn’t hear any sounds for a few seconds, and then she opened the door.
Her gaze darted around. “What’re you doing here?” Camilla’s greasy hair hung in strings around her face, and the smell of body odor and dirty socks wafted out at me.
Shaking my head, I stepped into her room and held up the garment bag and a shoe box. “Go take a shower, and for God’s sake, wash your hair—twice. You’re going to be one of my bridesmaids.”
Her chin came up and she stepped back. “No, thank you. I’m not feeling well today.”
I cocked an eyebrow and pushed inside her room. My insides churned at confronting her, but I didn’t know what else to do. “No, you’re feeling sorry for yourself again today. I understand, but it’s time. You can either take a shower by yourself, or Trina and I will help you. Your choice.”
Crossing her arms, she stared at me as her eyes started tearing up. “Why are you doing this, huh? You’re not family, and you don’t know what I’ve been through. Why do you even care?”
The hitch in her voice made my heart ache, and I wanted to wrap my arms around Camilla and promise her that everything would be alright. But I didn’t know that, and I wouldn’t deceive her.
Setting the box and the garment bag on her bed, I hung my head, wondering how to tell her about Carver. “We found the second man who attacked you.”
Her breath hitched, and she slowly sat on the bed. “You… know about him?” she whispered.
Turning my head, I held her gaze without flinching. She deserved to know, and somehow I knew she didn’t want my pity. “I do. It took him a few days, but that evil, psychotic asshole is dead, and it wasn’t pretty or painless.”
Shit. Maybe I shouldn’t have told her that part. I wiped a hand down my face and rubbed my sweaty palms on my thighs. “I doubt your grandma would appreciate me telling you. But if it were me, I’d want to know.”
I set the shoebox in my lap and opened it, lifting one of the Doc Martin custom combat boots I’d commissioned for her to go with the bridesmaid dress. The previously white leather had been hand-painted with cogs and steampunk wheels, along with Einstein’s theory of relativity and the Pythagorean Theorem. The mural on the shoes was clever and a little edgy, but it somehow fit Camilla.
“You can wear these instead of dress shoes if you want,” I murmured, holding the boot out to her. She hesitated, then slowly took it and studied the artwork.
“These are dope. Thanks,” she replied quietly.
I assumed that was a good thing. “When something this… catastrophic and earthshattering happens to a person, your life irrevocably changes. It’s a cold fact, no matter what anyone says.” The memory of finding my mother in her closet flitted through me, and I absently rubbed at the scars on one of my arms. “But pain and heartbreak can sometimes warp and twist us into something stronger. More resilient, I guess. If we don’t let it suck us under.”
She put the shoe down and nudged my leg. “ Abuela told me about your mom. I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, thanks. I’m sorry about your mom too. You asked me why I’m doing this.” I pointed to the dress and then her. “Your grandma gave me unconditional love and acceptance when I moved here as a scared, bratty kid after my mother killed herself, and right now you’re breaking her heart. So I’m here to do what she can’t—drag you out of the hell you’re in right now.” I put my arm around her shoulders and squeezed, breathing a small sigh when she slumped into me and put her head on my shoulder. “And you can’t say I didn’t warn you. I told you I was going to drag your ass out of here.”
I left after Trina and Camilla both promised she’d be at the mortuary by one this afternoon. Then Milo and I made one more stop. The Fuzzy Peach salon was located in a live/work complex in Las Vegas’s Chinatown, and three women shared the space. Peyton Chen owned the apartment and retail storefront, and two women rented salon space from her on the main level. Peyton did body waxing and eyebrow weaving, and the other two did hair and nails.
She emerged from the back room with a client, who gave me a pained smile as she walked by. We waited for the door to close, then Peyton stared at me. “What’s going on? You don’t have an appointment.” Her eyes were almost too large for her face, reminding me of a character from the Sailor Moon manga series.
“Your eyebrows look like caterpillars. When was the last time you had them done? I heard you blew up three motorcycles in front of your funeral home. So messy.” Peyton seemed to lack a social filter, and she was even more blunt than Kilian. I sometimes wondered if she was on the Autism spectrum.
The shop also served as a front for her “extracurricular” activities. Fennick once mentioned that some of her family were tied to a Chinese gang in San Francisco, but Peyton seemed to work freelance. She had impeccable connections and an odd but firm moral code.
If someone flew into town and wanted a high-end escort—man or woman—Peyton could hook them up. If you needed an unmarked car and an untraceable weapon, she had a name. If a person requested a cleanup or needed evidence to disappear, she could make it happen—for a price. She was known as the “Broker of Vegas.”
“Can you send a special delivery to an OutKast member?”
Peyton quirked her head, and her eyes sharpened. “The one who raped that young girl on a high school robotics team? I thought he was missing.”
It didn’t surprise me she knew about the attack. Kilian and Peyton often traded information, and if Peyton had one tiny soft spot, it was for vulnerable women. “ He’s missing, but not the man’s father who ordered and condoned it.”
Her jaw went tight. “What kind of delivery?”
“A fatal one,” I admitted.
“Is today too soon?”