“About Brad…”
“I haven’t told him fuck all, if that’s what you’re insinuating. Your business is just that. Your fucking business. I couldn’t give a shit about the little gangster games you run around playing. My focus is here, on teaching, on my career, on the kids’ lives I can hopefully have an impact on and make better in some way.”
“But do you want that bad enough not to sell us out?”
“Where the fuck is this even coming from, Nico? You haven’t given a shit about me knowing stuff before.”
“Times are different now.”
“Oooh,” I say, realisation dawning on me. “You think I’m going to go running to the first corrupt Italian I can find and spill all your dirty secrets? Jesus, if I was going to tell them that I know where their missing soldier is, I’d have done it long before now, don’t you think?”
“Depends on what they might offer you in return.”
“Wow,” I say, an unamused laugh bubbling up my throat. “You really don’t trust me, do you?”
“I don’t even know you, Brianna Andrews.”
“Go on then. Ask me. Anything you want to know.”
20
NICO
Istare at her for a beat, thrown by her openness.
I guess if I had bothered to dig beyond the surface and the pleasure Brianna offered me in the past, then I might already know some of the stuff that Theo showed me last night.
I should have known that he’d have pulled everything he could find about this woman the second both she and Jodie entered our lives. But I was probably too pussy blind to even consider it.
“Tell me about your mum,” I demand, my voice hard and cold.
As I walked away from Damien last night, the thought of her being the leak dripped through my veins like poison to the point, I almost bailed on our session at Mickey’s and marched over to her flat to have it out with her. But I didn’t want to do it there, in her home where she’s comfortable, I wanted to do it here. Where she’s out of her comfort zone, surrounded by people she struggles to relate to and is trying to impress.
The insane outfit she’s wearing today—bought by me, obviously—is just another reminder of how different life here is compared to her usual one. I just never realised quite how big that divide was. Until last night.
And I’m not sure if reading the truth helped settle my unease or just make it worse.
“M-my mum?” she stutters.
“Sure, why not. If I want to know if you’re as trustworthy as you make out, where better to start than the very beginning?”
“Uh…” She hesitates. I kind of understand why now I know the truth. It’s not a great story to tell. “My mum was… well, she was a kid herself when she had me. She rebelled against all the rules and expectations placed on her and she ran to stop my grandparents from forcing her to put me up for adoption.”
Reading that little fact on paper was hard enough, but hearing it from her own lips? Ouch. Not that I’m going to allow her to see that reaction.
“So where did you live?”
“To start with, we lived in various sheltered accommodation that was designed for teenage mums. Obviously, I don’t remember any of those. But as I got older, we continued to move around, mostly in council flats.”
“Your mum, she sorted herself out?” I ask innocently, making Brianna bark a laugh.
“My mum was a dreamer. She knew exactly what kind of life she wanted, but unfortunately, she had no clue how to get it. So she ended up with every kind of scumbag in the country as long as he made the right promises. She tried to find her answers at the bottom of a bottle or an empty baggie of whatever she could get her hands on.
“Pretty sure she never actually worked a day in her life, unless you count lying back and spreading her legs for kicks.”
“She was a prostitute?” I ask, having not seen that in her background check. Although, I can’t say I’m surprised. That’s not usually the kind of job anyone puts on their tax return.
Brianna laughs again. “No. She was just a whore. She didn’t have the patience to go out touting for work or finding clients. She just made use of anyone who happened to stumble into her path.”