Chapter 26 – Marlowe
Chapter Twenty-Six
MARLOWE
The motel room smells stale, a mix of cigarette smoke and cheap cleaning supplies that might have been spilled once but never actually used.
Strips of wallpaper dangle toward the floor.
The bedspread is covered in stains, and there’s a half-empty soda can on the nightstand that’s been there long enough to collect dust.
Taylor sits on the bed beside me, her legs crossed, a compact mirror balanced in one hand. She dabs at my cheek with a sponge, layering on foundation to cover the deep bruise Zero left on my jaw and neck.
I sit still and let her. It’s not like I have a choice.
She’s been living here a while. Her clothes are stuffed into the motel dresser, makeup scattered across the nightstand. There’s a pair of heels kicked under the bed, a curling iron sitting unplugged on the floor.
“How can you be with someone like Joel?” I ask, my voice low. “He’s a piece of shit. And he’s what… twice your age?”
She doesn’t react, just blends the makeup into my skin with short, quick strokes.
I grit my teeth. “Taylor, why are you doing this?”
Taylor presses her lips together, dabs a little harder than necessary, then pulls back and tosses the sponge onto the bed. “Shut up,” she snaps, eyes flashing. “Stop thinking you’re any better than us. Just win us the money.”
“Taylor—"
“You have to help your family,” she interrupts.
I snap my lips shut and watch her, trying to find the girl I grew up spending weekends with. The little girl I would braid hair for and share secrets under the covers when Vick was too busy for us. But I don’t see her in there anywhere.
Maybe she was never there to begin with.
“There’s a dress hanging in the closet for you,” Taylor says.
I drag myself across the room and slide open the closet door. The plastic of a garment bag crinkles in my hands as I unzip it, revealing a pale-blue dress inside.
It’s too tight. Too short. Meant to be noticed.
Taylor yanks it from the hanger and shoves it at me. “You need to look the part,” she says. “You remember.”
Unfortunately, I do.
I remember standing in front of cracked mirrors in dozens of other motel rooms just like this. Squeezing into dresses that made me look older than I was. Smiling at men I didn’t know. Sitting at tables stacked with cards and cash, pretending I wasn’t scared, pretending I had control.
I remember Vick’s voice in my ear. Just one more time, Lucky. I swear.
It was never just one more time.
I step into the dress, pulling it over my body, the fabric stretching too tight across my skin. It clings in places I don’t want it to, and cuts higher on my thighs than I remember these dresses ever doing before.
Taylor stands behind me, running a brush through my hair.
The cheap motel mirror reflects the both of us, the glow from the bedside lamp casting uneven light across our faces.
She works quickly, fingers twisting and smoothing, arranging the strands just right.
Not because she cares about how I look, but because she needs my hair to fall exactly where she wants it, blocking the cuts and bruises her cosmetics were too cheap to cover.
I hold still, watching my own reflection, barely recognizing myself. My face looks the same, but there’s something different in my eyes, something hollow and glassy. I’m already a corpse. Vick’s voice echoes in my head. Just one more time, Lucky. I swear.
How many more times in my life will I have to hear that lie?
I’ll never get out from under Vick’s mess, will I? No matter how far I go, how much I try to build something real, he’ll always pull me back. He’ll never leave me alone. I’ll always be the one cleaning up after him, enabling him to be the worst person he can be.
I grab Taylor’s wrist, stopping her mid-motion. The brush in her hand hovers near my cheek. “Taylor,” I say, my voice tight. “I don’t want to do this. It’s not Dad’s money. He stole it.”
Her expression doesn’t change. She doesn’t flinch or look guilty. There’s no hesitation, no second-guessing. Just an icy calm. “He’ll give it back,” she says, voice even, detached. “Once you use it to make us more money.”
“I don’t want to do this. It’s not right.”
“What other chance do we have to get our hands on that kind of money like that to play with?” she asks.
I stare at her, my fingers tightening around her wrist before I force myself to let go.
I don’t understand how she can think this is okay.
I can’t understand. How did we get here?
How did she become so much like Vick? How did my family turn into people who see nothing wrong with this, who can justify stealing from someone who can’t even remember what was taken from her?
“Taylor, please, listen to me,” I say, desperation coating my words. “We can fix this. All we have to do is give back the—”
She cuts me off, her voice sharp, snapping like a whip. “He’ll kill you. Don’t you get that?” Her eyes blaze, something fierce and unrelenting in them. “You have no idea how we’ve had to live here. No idea what Dad’s done. What he’s always done.”
My veins turn icy.
“Just do what you came here to do,” she says, her shoulders squared, her chin lifted. “That’s the only way you get to live.”
My mouth snaps shut. I have no idea what’s really going on, do I? I stare past her, my heart pounding, my mind spinning. “So where is this game?” I ask, my voice quieter now, not because I agree, but because I don’t see another way out.
“It’s in a mansion,” she says excitedly. “In the Ridges.”
“Do you know what happened to Damian and his brothers?”
“Who cares about them?”
“I do,” I say quietly.
Taylor narrows her eyes. “Oh my God,” she says, grinning wickedly. “You screwed one of them, didn’t you?”
Heat rises to my face, but I don’t give her an answer.
“Which one? They’re all hot, I’ll give them that. I bet it was Bridger. Is his dick big?”
“Stop.”
“Okay, not Bridger.” Her eyes widen. “Don’t tell me it was Damian. He’s the worst one! And you’re giving me shit about me picking the wrong guy?” she sneers. “Like you’re any better?”
I shake my head, pushing the brush away from my hair. “Dad stole that money from Damian’s mother,” I say, trying to get her to focus on what’s really important. “She has dementia.”
Taylor shrieks, throwing her hands up. “Oh, shut up, Marlowe. Who cares?”
I gawk at her.
“I don’t care,” she says, loudly. “It’s my turn to get ahead. I want this money. I deserve this money. Me and Joel. And you’re going to get it for us.”
Nobody is going to do the right thing and help me. Nobody is going to give Delilah her money back. Even if I win them all the money they want, they’ll never return it. Everyone is out for themselves.
I take a shaky breath, trying to find the sister I used to know somewhere in the hard-edged person standing in front of me. "What the hell happened to you?" I whisper.
Taylor laughs, sharp and bitter. "Oh, please, Marlowe. Don’t act so fucking shocked. Life happened. You think you’re the only one who’s had it rough?"
I step forward, my pulse pounding. "We can fix this. You and me. We don’t have to do this. We can get out of here, give the money back, you can help me with The Frosted Spoon, do something right for once—"
She claps, her hands cutting through the air between us, her face twisting in anger. "There is no getting out! This is the way things work. You either play or you get played."
I shake my head. "That’s not true."
She grits her teeth. "You’re so fucking naive. You think people like us just get to walk away? You think Dad’s going to change? You think Joel’s going to let you go?"
"He doesn’t own me," I spit back.
Taylor rolls her eyes, crossing her arms. "You really think this is about you? You think you’re some tragic little heroine caught up in a bad situation? Grow up. We all have to survive. And right now, you playing that game is how I survive."
"That’s all this is about for you? You and Joel? You actually think you deserve that money?"
"Yes, I do!" she screams, stepping closer, her face red with fury. "For once in my goddamn life, I want something to go my way. I want out of this fucking town. I want Joel and me to have a chance at something better."
My hands clench into fists. "At the expense of a woman who doesn’t even remember what was taken from her?"
Taylor snorts. "Why do you care? You don’t even know those brothers. They don’t give a shit about you. It’s not even their money."
I flinch.
She notices it and smirks. "Yeah, that’s what I thought. You have no clue what’s really going on. Don’t do anything nice for Damian, Lo. Trust me, he’s a piece of shit."
I press my lips together, my chest tight. "I’m not doing this for him."
She shrugs. “Then do it for Dad,” she says. “They’ll kill him.”
I exhale sharply, feeling the walls close in.
Taylor steps back, smoothing down her dress. "So stop being a little bitch about it and do what you’re clearly so good at."
I look at her, and for the first time, I really see her. There’s no saving her. She doesn’t want to be saved. And I’m completely, utterly alone.