40

Blow

“Thanks. I had to get the fuck out of there,” Angel said, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning against the door frame.

Bryce beckoned her inside, but she just scowled at him. “You just going to stand in the hallway the rest of the day?”

She sighed and stepped inside. Bryce heaved his duffel bag onto the bed and zipped it open, pausing with excessive drama that made her roll her eyes before reaching inside. He pulled out a small ziplock bag and held it up for her inspection.

“Got my own, thanks.”

“Oh.” The man deflated slightly. “Pills, too?”

She snorted. “Last thing I want is being around when an ambulance comes to fetch your sorry middle-aged ass ‘cos you’ve gone and had a coronary.”

She wriggled her fingers over her shoulders, turning to leave when Bryce caught hold of her arm.

“Blow?”

“1940 called, it wants its—”

“Jesus, you wanna get high or not?”

Angel stopped, and grabbed hold of the door frame, tapping her purple fingernails against the wood. She glanced over her shoulder, taking in Bryce with a sweeping glance that lingered for a long time on the man’s eyes. There was nothing to read in them; they were empty.

“Why are you here? Drew hates you.”

Bryce shrugged. “Drew’s always been a drama queen. And I’ve always been there to watch his performances.”

“Guess you hate him just as much,” she said quietly.

“I don’t hate him. And, despite what you might think, he doesn’t hate me either. We’re family.”

She snorted again. “That means you can’t hate each other?”

“It means we can’t do anything about it, even if we did.”

“So you got me to fuck you because you love Drew so much?”

Bryce went over to the small dressing table opposite his bed and began cutting a line of cocaine, his attention fixed solely on his task. “You have brothers? A sister?”

“Nope.” She stuck her head out the door, glanced both ways, and closed it behind her as she came back inside. “Doubt I’d understand, even if I did.”

“True,” Bryce said, running the edge of his credit card over his tongue before sliding it back in his wallet. “Well, suffice it to say, he had it coming.”

She tried suppressing a shudder, failed, and crossed her arms over her chest instead.

“Like, he deserved it?” She shook her head, watching as Bryce bent over the table and snorted up one of the four lines of coke he’d cut on the piece of mirror he’d taken from his goody bag. “What the fuck could he possibly have done—”

“He tell you about Juliet?” Bryce paused, positioned his glass snorter against a new line, and went at it without waiting for her reply.

“His wife?”

“His dead wife.”

“Penny did.”

Bryce lifted his head, pinching his nose at her. Then he laughed, stepped away, and gestured at the table with the hand holding the snorter. “Shit. You really know Penny?”

“Why’d I lie about that?” She glanced at the table, inhaling a long, slow breath as she stared at the two lines of blow, as Bryce had so archaically put it.

Maybe just one… One wouldn’t hurt. Bryce didn’t strike her as a tweaker — he would probably only be willing to cut a new line every six hours or so. That wouldn’t get her into trouble—

The thought evaporated as she stepped forward and held out her hand.

“I’m sure you lied about plenty, baby girl. Being friends with his daughter seemed insignificant.”

She bent over and snorted up a line, straightening in a rush that made her grab the back of the chair as her head spun. “Never lied,” she said, her voice high and nasal as she pinched her nose and tried to get everything up it with another ladylike snort.

When she held out the snorter for Bryce, he waved it away and crossed his arms over his chest. “That’s yours.”

She looked down at the table, exhaled, and bent down.

“Penny wouldn’t know. Not what really happened.”

“What really happened?” She set the glass snorter down and hurriedly stepping away from the table as her head sung to her.

“That he stole her from me.”

She spun to Bryce, her fingers still by her nose as she tried to will away the sting in her nasal cavities. She barked out a laugh, ran both hands through her loose hair, and laughed again. “God, this shit must be good. I thought you said he stole her from you.”

Bryce’s eyes became shadowed; the dark of a forest. The middle of a forest as a cloud crossed over the sun. Shadows lengthened. Animals retreated to their burrows. Cool, exploratory breezes fiddled between the leaves of creepers chasing away the insects and making the forest sigh and moan like it was morning its own death.

“She was mine.” Bryce’s voice was quiet. “She was always mine. He turned her against me. Manipulated her. Made her think I was some kind of womanizing bastard who couldn’t hold a steady relationship if someone paid me to do it.”

“But you are.” She sat on the edge of the bed, pulling her legs up a second later with another laugh. “You can’t.”

“I’m not incapable,” Bryce said, his voice tight as he cast her a quick glare. “But I was fucking twenty years old when we met. She wasn’t supposed to be Mrs. Fucking Sugar. I was supposed to have a hundred and fifty thousand fucks between her and my wedding night.”

Angel’s legs flopped down. Sitting cross-legged, she blinked as Bryce took a seat beside her, hands on either side of him, leaning forward so he could carry on staring at the floor.

He hadn’t drawn open his curtains yet; the room was dim and gloomy; even the white bedspreads looked gray.

“But she wasn’t, was she?”

“No, she wasn’t.” Bryce sniffed, thumbed his nose, and twisted his head to look at her. “Back then, I didn’t know that. I was having too much fun to notice.”

“But Drew noticed,” Angel whispered. Ephemeral fingers skimmed in a wavering line over her spine, making her shiver. “Didn’t he?”

Bryce was quiet at this. “Fuck it. It doesn’t matter anymore. What’s done is done.”

“But what happened?”

“Nothing.” Bryce gave his head a hard shake, and that introspective darkness vanished from his eyes. He stretched his arms up, his back popping loudly. “God, I love this place. The air, the lake. Feel like a million bucks down here.”

“You’ve been here before?”

Bryce glanced at her, a suggestive smile spreading across his mouth. “Been here? Me and Juliet all but lived here last year.”

She blinked a few times, trying to clear the spiderwebs from her mind. “But…”

“Yeah?” Bryce’s smile became smug.

“Weren’t… Drew and Juliet…”

“And?”

She swallowed, hard. Pushed herself to her feet. “Fuck. And you still want to get back at him? Don’t you think you’ve done enough? Her? Me? Kelly?”

Her voice was almost a shout, but Bryce didn’t seem to notice. He reached out, grabbed hold of her wrist before she could pull away her hand, and tugged her closer.

“Never, baby girl.” Bryce ran his hand up the back of her leg, skimming over her ass and lower back. He dug his fingertips into her shoulder blades as he leaned forward and nestled his face into her belly. “Nothing I can do will ever be enough.”

A voice shouted up to them. “Angel? Breakfast isn’t going to make itself!”

Bryce snorted, running his hands over her breasts and squeezing them hard through her jersey. “What you are you, his servant now?”

“Coming!” She yelled, turning to face the doorway. “As if,” she said to him. Then she shrugged. “He seems to think I need all the fucking practice I can get.”

“What, to be his wife?” Bryce’s fingers were sending lascivious tremors through her body.

“Something like that.”

“You could say no.”

“And make him send me back?”

“He won’t send you back. He needs you. Needs you here. You’re part of his plan.”

Ice bloomed in her stomach. She pushed away from Bryce, her hands on his shoulders as she peered down at him through slitted eyes. “His plan?”

“Drew always has a plan.” Bryce ran his tongue over his teeth, grinning up at her. “Problem is, he never thinks it all the way through.”

“Bryce…” She shifted, tugging her hair into a ponytail at the back of her scalp before letting it fall down around her shoulder again. The man watched, seeming entranced.

“Yeah?”

“What’s it mean, if someone makes you their beneficiary?”

“Of what, baby?” He asked, but there’d been a spark of recognition in his eyes when she’d said the word ‘beneficiary.’

“Of… of a trust.”

Bryce shrugged. “Depends. Every trust’s different. Stipulates what everyone gets. Usually down to the cent.”

She gave a small nod. “There’s something…” She swallowed. “Thursday, Drew—“

“Angel!”

She jerked, her eyes flashing closed as she willed her heart to stop thumping. Bryce grabbed her hips in his hands and twisted her from side to side until she grabbed his shoulders.

“I told you, baby girl.” Bryce’s eyes glittered when she looked down at him. “He’s always got a plan.”