Bane (Sinners of Saint #4)(67)

“Not to mention he’s got a name for himself as the town’s escort,” Pam added, chewing on a piece of chicken twenty-seven times. She’d read about it in a women’s magazine once and had been eating like a toothless turtle ever since. It was abnormal on so many levels. I refrained from mentioning how Pam didn’t seem too bothered by Bane’s reputation when she’d wanted to get into his pants, and a flame of jealousy immediately licked at my core. She’d tried to hit on Roman. My Roman. And now she was acting like he was dirt.

“Well, whatever his reputation is, I accepted a job at his café,” I said, and, because I knew timing was everything, brought an asparagus spear to my mouth, biting the tip and patting Shadow underneath with my socked foot. Pam’s eyebrows nosedived, and Darren put his utensils next to his plate, trying hard not to slam them.

“I wanted to talk to you about it. I’m tho happy you’ve dethided to find yourthelf a job. How about you come work for me? I’ll offer a nithe paycheck, a daily ride, and of courth, you can take ath much time off ath you need.”

There was an apology in his smile, and his eyes clung to mine.

“I’m happy at Café Diem. Thanks, Darren.”

“Stop being so ungrateful,” Pam snipped from across the table. “Darren is offering you a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I think you should take it.”

“You took it.” I grinned. “Didn’t make you too happy, did it?”

She stood up, throwing her napkin on her plate. Guess she was done with her tiny piece of chicken. “How dare you!”

“How dare I?” I asked, still seated, my pulse slow and calm. “How dare you? You conveniently forgot about my existence until Bane walked into the picture, and we both know why you’re interested in my life now.”

“Jethy!” It was Darren’s turn to stand up and slap the edge of the table. “Don’t talk to your mother like thith!”

For the sake of good, synchronized choreography, I stood up, too. “Grow some eyes, Dar. She is sleeping with the better half of Todos Santos, and not even hiding it.”

“I don’t care about her!” he snapped, his face red, his eyes bloodshot. “I care about you. Are you and Bane friendth, or more?”

“More,” I chirped. “So much more, Darren. You have no idea.”

This was directed at Pam, a clear back-off statement, but it was Darren who looked about ready to explode.

“You’re thleeping with him?”

“Sheesh!” I shook my head, laughing. “It’s none of your business who I sleep with. You’re not my real dad, remember?”

“In that case, you’re not my daughter!” Pam yelled from across the table. God, I wished it were the truth. Unfortunately, the resemblance between us prior to her plastic surgeries was uncanny.

I shrugged. “I would tell you to sue me, but I have nothing to my name other than a rich stepdaddy.”

“That’th not true. You will inherit everything I have, Jethy. You know I care about you. When I die, everything will go to you.”

Actually, I had not known that. Pam hadn’t known it, either, based on the way her eyes widened and searched for his, but he was still looking at me.

I pushed my chair back and rounded the table. “I know you’re protective of me, Dar, and I understand why, because my mom isn’t, but please know Bane is not the issue. He is the only person who really understands me.”

“He doethn’t underthtand you.” Darren gripped the back of his chair, his face reddening further. What the hell was up with him? Sometimes I wished he’d just man up. Stand his ground and say what he needed to say. It was sad, but if he were to divorce Pam and find a nice woman who wasn’t turned off by his submissive nature, I’d be really happy for him.

“Hmm, yes he does.”

“He’th…thweetheart, your mom thaid it right. He ith an ethcort. He shouldn’t be mething with you. He should be helping you.”

“You don’t know him,” I gritted out.

“Neither do you.”



I wasn’t proud of what I did next, but it needed to be done. I stormed out of the kitchen and went up to my room, where I slammed the door like a moody teenager and dove headfirst into a sea of fluffy pillows. It took me minutes to finally catch my breath and look up at the pin board wall. At all the backs of all the faceless people I’d taken pictures of.

I’m losing my mind trying to find out what happened. But I will. I will solve this riddle.

Then Roman sent me a text (or maybe it was a sext?) asking for an orange onesie-less picture, so I complied.

At some point, he stopped texting and just called me.

“I needed to hear your voice.”

“Why?”

“Because I had a feeling you were touching yourself, and I would pay good money to listen to that shit.”

“How romantic,” I said, a smile on my face. “You know, sex is not about money.”

“My little grasshopper. Everything is about money. Are you gonna touch yourself?”

“Are you gonna touch yourself?” I taunted.

He was silent for a moment. “I’m a dude, and I’m talking to my girlfriend in the middle of the night. I’ve been playing with my dick like it’s Nintendo for the past ten minutes now.”