“I don’t think Mom is worried as much about Mav and River getting pregnant as she is about Uncle Colt killing Maverick for having sex with his daughter,” Monroe told her twin.
“True. But River is only fourteen. She shouldn’t be having sex anyway.”
“Maverick is only fifteen, and neither should he.”
“Wait.” I stopped and turned to face them both at the top of the stairs. “Aren’t you two fifteen?”
“Yup,” Mila confirmed.
“We’re triplets,” Monroe explained. “Maverick is the oldest.”
“By three minutes,” Mila muttered. “And he doesn’t let us forget it either. I swear, he acts just like Dad, not letting us do anything fun.”
“Our definitions of fun are totally different, Mil,” Monroe told her.
“Staying locked in the house all the time is not fun, Mon. I don’t care what your definition is.”
Laughing at the two of them bickering, I led the way into my room. There was a hair dryer in the cabinet under the sink, and Mila pulled it out before grabbing the brush. “Let’s see what we have to work with, Tavia,” she said as she plugged the dryer into the outlet beside the bed.
I took the towel off my head and shook out my hair, letting it fall down my back.
“Well, hell,” Mila said with a shake of her head. “No wonder you need help. My arms would get tired having to dry all of that mess too, and I don’t even have a gunshot wound to deal with.”
“Mil,” Monroe scolded.
“What?” the other girl grumbled. “It’s not like she thought we didn’t know.” Her gray gaze went to me. “Don’t worry, though, Tavia. We haven’t told anyone about you. We know better than to talk about MC business to outsiders.”
I sat up a little straighter, but I gave her a small smile. “I wasn’t worried.” And for some reason, I wasn’t. Oddly enough, I trusted everyone in this house, most of whom I hadn’t even really met yet.
It took a while, but the two sisters did a great job on my hair. After they were finished, my hair felt softer and thankfully wasn’t a static-filled wreck that resembled an angry cat that had just been struck by lightning.
Monroe stood in front of me, straightening up the mess the two had made while blow-drying my hair. When she bent forward to pick up the towel off the bed, her necklace fell forward, and the charm she’d kept tucked under her shirt came out. It was a silver medallion, but I couldn’t make out what it was.
On instinct, I reached out, grasping it so I could take a closer look.
“It’s Saint Michael,” Monroe told me, pulling the chain from me and tucking the charm back into her shirt.
“It’s from her stalker,” Mila commented, making me look at her in surprise. “And she never takes it off.”
“Mila!” Monroe hissed at her.
“What? Like Mom doesn’t know you wear that thing as a talisman.”
“But she doesn’t know where I got it,” Monroe muttered.
“Neither do you. Anyone could have left that thing for you,” Mila shook her dark head. “A serial kille
r could have given it to you, for all you know.”
“He’s not a serial killer,” her sister defended. “Why would a serial killer give me a medallion that is supposed to protect me?”
“I’m not arguing with you over this. I’ve told you over and over again you’re insane for not telling Mom and Dad you have a stalker, but you never listen.” Muttering to herself, Mila left the room.
Bemused, I watched the door close behind her.
“Tavia…” Monroe’s hesitant voice pulled my gaze back to her. “Please don’t tell anyone what Mila just said. He’s not really a stalker.”
I didn’t know if I should be amused, concerned, or frightened for her. But there was a real plea in her voice, and I didn’t want to let her down. “He?”