32
The beer slides down Bianca’s throat: cold, fizzy, alcoholic.
She feels content, relaxed, a little buzzed.
Her doubts about Damian melt away with the sun that’s baking her naked skin.
She glances at her partner, his golden physique sprawled on the lawn chair next to her, and she feels a swell of fondness.
They’re a team. They always have been. The stress of recent events, this fraught situation, had made her stressed and paranoid, but she can trust her partner.
And if not, she’s got her hidden weapon.
Damian put some music on the outdoor speakers, and she worries it’s too loud.
If Sydney wakes up and finds her guests in the buff, she’ll be traumatized.
Or maybe she’ll be turned on… Who cares?
Syd’s probably taken something from her pharmacy of pills and will be unconscious until morning.
Bianca takes another sip and smiles to herself.
Their plan is finally in motion, mission nearly accomplished.
There’s nothing to do now but wait, enjoy themselves, and apply more sun protection to their vulnerable bits.
“Pass the sunscreen,” she says, and Damian lifts his head. He reaches for the plastic bottle, turns over on his stomach. “Do my back?”
Bianca pours lotion into her hand, rubs it across his hot tanned skin.
At home, Damian hit the gym religiously, and the manual labor here has kept his muscles strong and taut.
His shoulders are broad, narrowing to his waist in a V.
Even after so many years, she feels a tug of desire as she touches him.
She can’t blame Sydney for lusting after Damian.
Curtis is technically attractive, but he’s too cerebral, too soft.
Even if Bianca didn’t loathe him, she wouldn’t be into him.
“You’re done.” She slaps Damian’s ass cheek, and he flinches.
“Want me to do yours now?”
“I need another beer first. Want one?”
“Yeah.”
Bianca gets up, pulls the blue sweatshirt over her head.
It covers her bottom—just. Sydney will be scandalized if she finds Bianca in the house so scantily clad, but she can’t accuse her of being naked.
And if Curtis has slunk back inside, Bianca doesn’t want him to see her body.
She doesn’t want to feel vulnerable or exposed.
She has the power now. She can’t forget that.
Her damp feet leave marks on the tile as she strolls into the kitchen.
It’s cool in the house, the air-conditioning on blast for Sydney’s nausea.
Bianca digs in the fridge for two more frosty bottles, flips the caps off.
As she turns back toward the pool, she hears the front door open, then close with a soft click.
It’s Curtis. It has to be. Her jaw tightens, and her stomach clenches.
She sets the bottles on the counter and waits.
Curtis hurries into the kitchen, his phone gripped in his hand. He’s pale, his hair damp with sweat. His shirt is soaked at the collar and underarms. As always, his presence prompts a visceral surge of loathing. She doesn’t have to hide it anymore.
He stops short, clearly surprised to see Bianca wearing only a sweatshirt in his kitchen. “Where’s Sydney?”
“Asleep.”
“And Damian?”
“By the pool.”
“Can we talk?” Curtis tentatively closes the space between them. “Just the two of us?”
“There’s nothing to talk about.” She sneers at him. “Damian told you what we want. And what we know.”
“But he didn’t,” Curtis pleads in a low voice. “If I know what you’re talking about, or who you’re talking about, maybe I can explain.”
Curtis thinks he can talk his way out of this mess, explain away his vile behavior.
He assumes she’s soft and weak, that he can manipulate her feminine sympathies.
His hubris is expected, but that makes it no less revolting.
“If you really don’t remember what you did, that makes you even more disgusting than I thought,” she growls.
“Do I know you?” He’s staring at her like they’ve just met, like she hasn’t been living in his house for days.
“No, but I know you.”
“Did I… do something to someone you care about?” His voice wobbles with desperation. He’s grasping, confused, on the verge of tears. She finds it satisfying.
“Getting warmer.” She reaches for her beer and takes a drink.
Curtis looks around the kitchen to ensure they’re still alone. Then he clears his throat and starts. “Back in New York, I worked with some people who were into some shady stuff. I regret that I got wrapped up in it. But I never hurt anyone. I certainly never killed anyone.”
“Yes, you did,” she snaps. “And we have proof.”
“Keep your voice down.” He grabs her by the arm, pulls her toward the back door. She’s about to scream, to hit him, but that will bring Damian and Sydney running. Everything will come out then, and Sydney will leave. Curtis will be hurt but not destroyed. That means Bianca will have to kill him.
They step outside, between the house and the skeletal remains of the shed. Curtis closes the glass door behind them. “Who is L.B.?” he demands.
Her hand moves to her chest, touches her locket. How has Curtis seen the inscription on the back? She took the pendant off both times they went to the beach and left it on the nightstand. Curtis has been in their room, searching for information. Of course he has.
“Was that your mom? Did she lease property from my company or something?”
Bianca laughs in his face. “You think we’d do all this over a property lease? You think this is about a business transaction gone wrong?”
“I don’t know what else it could be! I’ve never hurt anyone!”
The intensity of Bianca’s rage is blinding, deafening. For a moment, she sees a blank whiteness, hears a shrill hum. Her body vibrates as every cell screams at her to attack, to smash the beer bottle over his head, to claw, to scratch, to strangle him. But she can’t. Not yet.
So she spits in his face.
Curtis doesn’t flinch, doesn’t wipe it away. Because deep down he knows he deserves her vitriol. He knows what he’s done, even if his arrogance won’t allow him to admit it.
“Get the money,” she growls, “or Sydney will know what a piece of shit you really are.” She heads back inside.