Chapter 29
Bria
I was in the type of restaurant that made me feel like I had to whisper even when I was laughing—one that cost more than I used to spend on a whole week of getting high.
Maya was paying, though. This was her new life.
I guess mine, too, now, since I was wearing an outfit and shoes that cost high five figures and had Kael's black card in my new Birkin. Maya had invited me to dinner with some of the girls from high school. She said she didn’t like any of these bitches, but a few had dealings with her husband's family, so she had to play nice.
I should’ve said no when she asked. I knew that before I stepped out of the house, but Kael had encouraged me to go and call him if I needed him.
Halfway through the main course, Tiffany—wearing the same smug little smile she’d had since tenth grade—leaned forward with her wine glass and looked me up and down.
“Look at you,” she said, her voice sticky-sweet. “Loro Piana. Brunello Cucinelli. Everybody ain’t able… but I guess if you suck enough dick, the universe provides.”
The table went quiet.
Maya’s fork froze halfway to her mouth.
Tiffany kept going. “I mean, after everything with Darius… the beatings, the drugs, the whole mess. It’s just nice to see you cleaned up. Even if we all know how you paid for it.”
Everybody but Maya laughed.
Something hot and black slid down my spine.
Maya set her glass down hard. “Watch your fucking mouth, Tiffany. You don’t know shit about her life. And don’t act like you ain't sucked a dick or two. You just did it for free, stupid.”
Tiffany held up both hands, laughing. “I’m just saying. No judgment. Some of us had to work. Some of us found other ways.”
“Bitch, if you don’t shut your bobblehead ass up—” Maya cursed loud enough that a waiter glanced over, but it wasn’t enough.
Not even close. The words were already living under my skin like ants.
They made me remember every old bruise Darius left, every time I woke up on a bathroom floor with a needle still in my arm, every night I thought about dying just to make the noise stop. I didn’t want to remember.
I stayed quiet through the rest of dinner. Smiled when I was supposed to. Nodded. Fucking fumed.
At the end of the night, when Tiffany finally stood up to leave, I watched her walk out.
Then I followed.
Maya caught up to me in the parking lot, her heels clicking fast. “Bria—Bria, wait—”
The parking lot was dark. Tiffany was parked near the back, halfway to her car when I called her name. She turned, still wearing that little smirk.
Pompous ass bitch. Maya said she was married to an accountant now who worked with Caine. She had always thought she was better than everybody; her self-importance wasn’t new, it had just been amplified.
I didn’t talk. Kael told me never to be too loud because I didn’t need to be. Told me whatever I did, even if it caused the sky to fall, he’d hold it up for me.
I pulled the pink pistol Kael had given me from my bag and swung. The gun connected with her temple. I pulled back and hit her again—once more for the way she talked about what Darius had done to me, like it was funny, and once more for the years I spent smaller than I was.
Maya grabbed my arm. “Bria—Jesus Christ—Bria, stop! You're gonna kill the bitch!”
I stepped back, breathing hard, the pink gun still warm in my hand. Tiffany was on the ground, crying, makeup smeared, one eye already swelling.
Maya pulled me away far enough to talk and watch Tiffany.
Maya stared at me like she’d never seen me before. “What the fuck are we supposed to do now? I heard Kael’s been taking you on deals. Heard he had you kill Brook. But damn, Bria… now you’re beating people bloody in parking lots? You trying to end up in prison?”
I looked at her, still shaking with leftover rage. “Don’t be a hypocrite. You and your sister married the same type of man. Don’t act brand new, like this shit ain't normal.”
Maya opened her mouth, then closed it. Whatever she was going to say, she let it go because she knew I was right.
I already had my phone out.
Kael answered on the second ring. “Bunny.”
“I just pistol-whipped a girl in a parking lot,” I said, my voice flat. “She brought up Darius and the drugs, and basically called me a whore for the clothes on my back in front of everybody. It really hurt my feelings.”
Silence on the other end. Then, calm as ever: “Are you hurt physically?”
“No.”
“She still breathing?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you want her to keep breathing?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Alright. I’ll handle the rest. Just come home.”
I ended the call, slid the pink gun back into my bag, and looked at Maya. “Let’s go,” I said.
She looked at me with a mixture of surprise and weariness, but she didn’t argue.