Start a War (Saint View Psychos #1)(87)

The little smile on her face said that maybe she was beginning to.





31





BLISS





Everett and Verity ran around the kitchen chasing each other in their pajamas, their little giggles like sunshine on a cloudy day. I loved when they were home, filling this big house with laughter. It was a stark difference to the worries that plagued the adults who lived here.

Nichelle rummaged through the pantry, dropping packets of snack food at her feet. “Everett, here. Take this and put it in your school bag for tomorrow. We were so late this morning; we need to be more organized.”

Everett groaned. “A packed lunch again? When do we get to eat at the cafeteria with everyone else?”

I hadn’t realized they’d cut the kids’ cafeteria allowance. I wouldn’t embarrass Nichelle in front of them, but I made a mental note to contact the school tomorrow and at least pay for that. The party last week had been successful, and I had a fat stack of cash in the safe at Psychos to prove it. I’d have some left over after I paid Axel’s supplier.

Not enough to do much more than that though. I’d severely underestimated how much these parties actually cost to run, but it was the beginning of getting myself and my family back on track.

It was rapidly approaching the end of the month, and I was on pins and needles, waiting for some sort of sign from the dealer. The fear had mostly disappeared, leaving behind only a low thrumming excitement about the potential these parties had. But I needed more product.

Guilt nibbled at me for supplying an illegal substance. What I was doing was dangerous and reckless, but what choice did I have? I was already locked into Axel’s contract. Making it bigger only made it more beneficial for me. And everyone was over twenty-one. All consenting adults.

I patted Everett’s little blond head. “I happen to know that your mom makes the best packed lunches in the world. So much healthier than the cafeteria stuff.”

Nichelle raised a questioning eyebrow to me. We both knew she was hardly Martha Stewart in the kitchen.

I shrugged, and she went on with her organizing of the kids.

I slid off my stool, grabbing my car keys from the countertop. “See you little monkeys later. I gotta get to work.”

Everett and Verity threw themselves at my legs, wrapping them tight with their sweet cuddles, and I hugged them back. I missed working with children every day. “Go brush your teeth, okay?”

Nichelle poked her head out of the pantry again as my little siblings ran up the stairs. “Is that where you’ve been going at night? To the daycare? What kind of daycare runs a night shift?”

I paused. I still hadn’t told her or my father about Axel and Psychos. Every time I thought about it, I just imagined the disappointment on my father’s face. It had just been easier not to. “I’m actually working at a bar.”

She wrinkled her cute nose. “Gross.”

I laughed because her assessment actually wasn’t all that wrong. “It is a bit actually. Sometimes anyway. Spilled beer gets sticky really fast.”

“Your father won’t be happy. He’ll say that sort of work is beneath you.”

It would be even worse if he knew which bar it was and where it was located. “I know. That’s why I haven’t told him. I don’t really need the lecture.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “I won’t say anything either. It’s your life. If you want to work in a stinky bar and put up with men swearing at sports games and dropping food on the floor like toddlers, then that’s your prerogative.”

I was almost a little disappointed that she agreed with my assessment to not tell my father. The truth was, he’d be embarrassed. He’d maybe even try to force me into quitting to save face if any of his friends found out what I was doing. Working at the childcare center had been bad enough. A bar was just the height of slumming it.

Nichelle’s manicured fingernails tapped against the pantry door. “You had some mail today, by the way. I left it on the entrance table for you if you want to grab it on your way out.”

“Okay, thanks. See you tomorrow.”

I left Nichelle to her attempts at organization and walked to the door, grabbing the small bundle of envelopes on the table as I passed, as well as my bag from the coatrack. When I tugged the door open, cool night air smacked me in the face, and I shrugged my jacket on, relishing the fluffy interior on my goosebump-covered skin.

I was seated behind the steering wheel before I got a chance to look at my mail.

Bill. Bill.

The third envelope had me frozen.

It was gold, where the others where business white. The other thing distinguishing it as different was the fact my name was typed on the outside, but not the address. There was no postmark.

Someone had hand delivered it.

I tore the back open and pulled out a single gold card, the edges beveled and embossed with an intricate black design. It was so pretty it could have been a wedding invitation.

Except that all it had was a date and time and place.

8:00 p.m. Saint View Bluffs.

The date was today.

My stomach clenched. “Fuck,” I whispered. I glanced at the clock on the dashboard. It was already seven-thirty.

With my heart hammering, I started the car and put my foot down so hard on the accelerator that the wheels screeched a little.