"Let's wake her up."Em snaps her fingers, and a guy appears from behind us. Fear settles in my stomach and metastasizes like a slow, infectious disease through my body. I bite the inside of my cheek to prevent myself from making a sound. He's huge, tattoos snaking out of the top of his black tee, up his neck, and over his shaved skull. He glances in my direction dismissively, and I notice the ink extending to half his face. He catches me staring, and his lips peel back, revealing a row of silver teeth. His impassive stare turns to a leer, promising me things I never want to think about. It takes every ounce of control not to avert my gaze. What is he going to do to King?
He handles her with equal roughness as Em treated me, bending her head back and holding something under her nose.
"Watch it, Cal!" Em snarls, and he…gentles?...his hands on my friend.
Confusion mingles with the terror rushing through my veins.
"Sorry, boss." His deep voice contradicts his dismissive apology.
King's eyes snap open, and she bucks against her restraint. Her eyes fly around wildly. She takes in her position, then sweeps her surroundings. Her eyes land on me, and we stare at each other. I want to apologize to her, but the biting in the back of my throat chokes the words. King continues her scan of our surroundings until she finds Em. She visibly pales, and her mouth opens and closes several times. "Rae?"
She breathes the name I've only heard King and Wes use on a few rare occasions. Rae. Rachel. King's sister.
My gaze jumps from my friend to our captor. "Rae? But—" I block out the effort it takes me to speak. She introduced herself asEmat La Déesse. The edges of my vision become blurry, and I have to close my eyes to regain my focus.
Rae/Em snaps her fingers again, and Tattoo Guy rolls a cream-colored leather desk chair over. She lowers herself with the same elegance I saw when she came for her fitting. "Technically, you're both wrong." She crosses one knee over the other and leans back, resting her manicured fingers on the armrests.
"What the fuck is going on here? Rae, what the—?" King tugs on her restraint, making her chair jump forward. "Cut me loose."
If she's afraid, she doesn't show it.
I try to remember the few facts I know about King's sister. Rachel is ten years older. She abandoned King when she was eleven, leaving her and their mother to fend for themselves—more than they already were. Stephanie Monroe had worked multiple jobs for years until she was diagnosed with cancer, and King was forced to sell her dignity atThe Poleto help pay her mother's hospital bills. King's father had been out of the picture long before Rae took off.
"I can't do that Roe-Roe." The reply is calm, almost affectionate. "You were not supposed to be withher," Em…Rae sneers, pointing a manicured finger in my direction.
Wha—?I was her intended target? The scene in front of me slows. Why? What did I ever—
"And Jennifer Davis?" King's sister glowers at me. "How will I explain to Marshall what happened to his beloved daughter?" The previous warmth directed at King is snuffed out when her eyes are trained on me.Happened to his…Did she kill—"You didn't make this easy, did you?" Rae's eyes narrow.
This? What isthis?I want to yell at her. The room begins to lean, and I feel like I'm experiencing the worst case of vertigo.
"You said your name was Em," I whisper—my only way to get the words out.
Her expression morphs again, this time to the person I met at La Déesse. "It is, but notEm. It is M, as in the letterM." She rolls her eyes, exaggerating the mmm sound.
"What the hell are you talking about?" King's voice has become less furious, and a crease forms between her brows. She still doesn't seem afraid. I'm not sure if this is a good or bad development.
"I guess you never heard my full name from your mommy, did you?" She swivels the chair toward King. "My name isMaraRachel Turner," she elaborates, waiting for us to catch on.
Mara?
"Mara?" King repeats slowly.
"Think, Roe-Roe," Em, Rae…fuck, Mara continues to address King with her childhood nickname—the only one still using it these days is Kiwi.
I'm getting nauseated.
"Please tell me you didn't believe your whole life that I was your biological sister? Stephanie was only six years older than me. You're smarter than that." Mara's warmth mingles with condescension.
King has gone pale at the mention of her mother, but eventually, she whispers, "I knew."
"And what exactly is that?" Mara cocks her head at her sister. Half sister? I swallow the sickening feeling down. I guess it makes sense, seeing them together, but I never thought about their age difference in combination with King's mother. But I also never knew her exact age, just that she was much younger than King's father.
"I knew they adopte—" King begins, but Mara cackles a manic laugh.
"Adopted? They didn't adopt me," she spits the word at King, spins, and jerks out of her chair. She suddenly holds something between both hands. Where did—? It's a knife. And not just any knife. The same one King used to carry everywhere: a CRKT Du Hoc.
Mara has the hilt in one hand and the point poking into her forefinger of the other. She whirls around, stabbing the chair with the curved blade before she peers at King across her shoulder. "My father was R.J. Turner, Kingsley."