I went straight to the restroom to repair my face. Knox Morgan sure did a number on a woman’s makeup. After I cleaned up the sad clown face and reapplied my lipstick, I gave my reflection a long, hard look.
The tiny shards of my broken heart were now ground into a fine dust thanks to Knox’s confession.
“No wonder,” I whispered to my reflection.
There were things a person never got over. We both just wanted someone to love us enough to make up for all the times we hadn’t been enough. It felt like such a waste that we could feel the way we did, but neither of us could be that person for the other.
I couldn’t make Knox love me enough, and the sooner I got over that, the better. Maybe someday we could be friends. If I won the custody hearing, and if Waylay and I decided to make Knockemout our permanent home.
Thinking of Waylay, I dug my phone out of my apron to check my messages. Earlier this week, I’d approved a messaging app for her laptop so she could text me if she needed to. In return, she’d downloaded a GIF
keyboard on my phone so we could exchange GIFs throughout the day.
“Oh, great,” I groaned when I saw the dozen new texts.
Silver: Nice undies.
Max: This better mean you guys are making up!!!!
Mom: Six flame emojis.
Fi: We’re covering your tables so feel free to have as many orgasms in Knoxy’s office as you need.
Sloane: Lina just texted (along with nine other people at the bar). Did that son of a bitch really carry you off like he was a caveman? I hope you rearranged his face and his balls.
Waylay: Aunt Naomi, I’m in trouble.
The breath in my lungs froze when I read the last text. She’d sent it fifteen minutes ago. With shaking hands, I fired off a response as I rushed out of the restroom.
Me: Are you okay? What’s wrong?
There were a lot of reasons an eleven-year-old could think they were in trouble, I rationalized. It didn’t mean there was an actual emergency. Maybe she forgot her math homework. Maybe she accidentally broke Liza’s favorite garden cherub. Maybe she’d gotten her period.
I also had three missed calls in the last five minutes from an Unknown number. Something was wrong.
I headed for the kitchen and scrolled through my contacts for Liza’s number.
“Everything okay, Naomi?” Milford asked as I hustled for the parking lot.
“Yeah. I think so. Just have to make a quick call,” I said before pushing through the exterior door into the cold night air.
I was getting ready to hit Call when headlights from a car blinded me. I held up my hand to block the light and stepped back.
“Naomi.”
My arms dropped limply to my side. I knew that voice.
“Tina?”
My twin sister leaned out the driver’s side window. I felt like I was looking in the mirror again. A fun house mirror. Her formerly bleached hair was now a dark brown and cut short in a style similar to mine. Our eyes were the same hazel. The differences were subtle. She was wearing a cheap fake leather jacket. She had multiple earrings in both ears. Her eyeliner was thick and blue.
But she looked as worried as I felt.
“He’s got Waylay! He took her,” she said.
My stomach dropped, and a wave of nausea crested as every muscle in my body tightened. “What? Who took her? Where is she?”
“It’s all my fault,” Tina wailed. “We need to go. You have to help me. I know where he took her.”
“We should call the police,” I said, remembering I had a phone in my hand.
“Call ’em on the way. We gotta move fast,” she said. “Come on.”
Operating on autopilot, I opened the passenger door and climbed in. I was reaching for my seatbelt when something furry clamped over my wrist.
“What are you doing?” I shrieked.
Tina grabbed my other arm, her fingernails digging into my wrist. I tried to pull away but wasn’t quick enough. She snapped the other cuff in place.
“For the smart one, you sure are stupid,” she said, lighting a cigarette.
My evil twin had just handcuffed me to the dashboard with furry sex cuffs.
“Where’s Waylay?”
“Relax.” She blew a stream of smoke in my direction. “The kid’s fine.
You will be too if you cooperate.”
“Cooperate how? With who?” I yanked against the cuffs.
She let out a cackle as she pulled out of the parking lot. “Pretty funny, right? Found those in a box of sex toys in my old asshole landlord’s storage unit.”
“Gross!” I was going to need to scrub myself with bleach when this was over.
My phone was face down on the floor. If I could get to it, I could call someone. I yanked on the cuffs again, yelping when they bit into my skin.
“Got your email,” my sister said conversationally. “Figured between you and that kid of mine, we’d find what I’m lookin’ for real quick.”
“Find what?” I nudged my phone with the toe of my boot in an effort to flip it over. The angle wasn’t quite right, and instead of flipping it over, it slid further under the dash.
“Doesn’t surprise me that you don’t know. One thing that doesn’t suck about my kid is she sure knows how to keep her damn mouth shut. My man and I got our hands on some pretty important information that a lot of people would pay a lot of money to get. Kept it on a flash drive. Flash drive went missing.”
“What does this have to do with Waylay?” This time the nudge was just enough to flip the phone over…and unfortunately turn the screen on. The glow was not subtle.
“Oh-ho! Nice try, Goody.” My sister leaned down and reached for the phone. The car swerved off the road onto the berm, headlights shining on a long run of pasture fence.
“Watch out!” I ducked as we smashed right through the fence and came to a stop in the grassy horse pasture. My head smacked against the dashboard, and I saw stars.
“Whoops!” Tina said, sitting up holding my phone.
“Ouch! God, you haven’t gotten any better at driving, have you?”
“Orgasms and undies,” she mused, scrolling through my texts. “Huh.
Maybe you got more interesting since high school.”
I leaned down so I could use a shackled hand to prod my aching forehead.
“You better not have hurt Waylay, you irresponsible ignoramus.”
“Vocabulary’s still workin’ just fine. What the hell do you take me for? I wouldn’t hurt my own daughter.”
She sounded insulted.
“Look,” I said wearily. “Just take me to Waylay.”
“That’s the plan, Goody.”
Goody was short for Goody Two Shoes, the nickname Tina had saddled me with when we were all of nine years old and she wanted to see how high we could shoot arrows into the air with our uncle’s crossbow that she found.
I wished I had that crossbow now.
“I cannot believe we’re related.”
“Makes two of us,” she said, tossing her cigarette followed by my phone out the window.
She cranked the radio and stomped on the accelerator. The car fishtailed wildly on the damp grass before careening through the gaping hole in the fence.
THIRTY MINUTES LATER, Tina turned off the pothole-ridden road that cut through a rundown-looking industrial section of a D.C. suburb. She pulled up to a chain link fence and laid on the horn.
Subtlety was not my sister’s specialty.
I’d spent the entire drive thinking about Waylay. And Knox. About my parents. Liza. Nash. Sloane. The Honky Tonk girls. About how I’d finally somehow managed to make a home for myself only to have Tina show up and ruin it all. Again.
Two shadowy figures dressed in denim and leather appeared and wrestled the gate open with an ear-splitting screech.
I needed to stick to my strengths and play it smart. I’d get to Waylay and then find a way out. I could do this.
We pulled through the gate, and Tina brought the car to a stop in front of a loading dock. She lit another cigarette. Her fourth of the trip.
“You shouldn’t smoke so much.”
“What are you? The lung police?”
“It gives you wrinkles.”
“That’s what plastic surgeons are for,” Tina said, hefting her significantly larger fake breasts. “That’s the problem with you. Always too worried about the consequences to have any fun.”
“And you never gave the consequences a thought,” I pointed out. “Look at where that got you. You abandoned and then kidnapped Waylay. Abducted me. Not to mention stole from me on multiple occasions. Now you’re moving stolen products.”
“Yeah? And which one of us is having more fun?”
“Actually, I’ve been sleeping with Knox Morgan.”
She eyed me through the smoke. “You’re shitting me.”
I shook my head. “I am not shitting you.”
She thumped the steering wheel and cackled. “Well, well. Look at little Goody Two Shoes finally loosening up. Next thing you’ll be jumpin’ on the pole at amateur night and shoplifting scratch-offs.”
I seriously doubted that.
“What? Who knows? Maybe you loosen up enough we might find that sisterly bond you were always whining about,” Tina said, slapping my thigh with what might have been affection. “But first, we gotta get this business taken care of.”
I held up my handcuffed hands. “What kind of business can I take care of with sex cuffs on?”
She reached into the pocket of her door and produced a set of keys.
“Here’s the thing. Need you to do me a favor.”
“Anything for you, Tina,” I said dryly.
“I bet my man a hundred dollars I could get you here without knocking you out or forcing you. Told him you were a natural-born sucker. He said there was no way I could get you to march on in there all free will and shit.
So here’s how this is gonna go. I’m gonna uncuff you and take you upstairs to my man and kid. You’re not gonna tell him about these.” She ruffled the purple leopard fur on the cuff closest to her.
My sister was an idiot.
“If I uncuff you and you try to run or if you open your tattletale mouth up there, I’ll make sure you never see Waylay again.”
An idiot with a surprising grasp of what motivated people.
She grinned. “Yeah. I knew you’d like her. Figured she’d like you too, seein’ as how you’re into all that girlie shit. Knew you’d be the best place to park my kid till I was ready to hit the road.”
“Waylay’s a great girl,” I said.
“She ain’t some whiny tattletale like some people,” she said, shooting me a pointed look. “Anyway, I win my bet, you get to spend some quality time with the kid before we head off to our payday.”
She wanted to take Waylay with her. I felt an icy sickness settle in my gut but said nothing.
“We got a deal?”
I nodded. “Yeah. Yes. We have a deal.”
“Let’s get me my hundred bucks,” Tina said cheerfully.
I counted three more swarthy degenerates, all with guns, inside the warehouse. The first floor had nearly a dozen flashy vehicles parked inside.
Some were under tarps, some sat with their hoods up and doors open. On the other side of the loading dock were boxes of TVs and what looked like other stolen goods.
It was cold, and I wasn’t dressed for it.
“Let’s go, Goody. Got shit to do,” Tina said, leading the way up the metal stairs to the second floor, an area that looked like it had once housed offices.
My sister threw open the door and strutted inside. “Mama’s home,” she announced.
I hesitated outside the door and sent up a silent prayer to the good twin gods. I was scared. I would have given anything to have Knox or Nash or the entire Knockemout Police Department with me. But that wasn’t going to happen.
I needed to be my own hero tonight or I was going to lose everything.
I straightened my shoulders and crossed the threshold to do what I did best, triage the mess. There was heat inside, thank God. Not much, but enough that at least my lady parts wouldn’t freeze. There was also a distinct odor of old takeout food, most likely coming from the stack of pizza boxes and to-go containers on a long folding table.
Dingy glass windows overlooked the warehouse floor and the exterior.
Against a third wall was a futon topped with what looked like very expensive sheets and no fewer than six pillows.
There were two rolling racks of designer clothing that created a makeshift closet. A dozen pairs of high-end men’s sneakers and loafers were organized on another folding table.
The floor was sticky. The ceiling had holes in it. And there was a thick layer of grime on the windows.
I itched to find the Lysol and start scrubbing until I spotted the table stacked nearly a foot high with bundles of cash.
“Told ya,” Tina said triumphantly, hooking her thumb in my direction.
“Walked right in, didn’t she?”
I stopped short when I recognized the man in the large, leather office chair in front of the flat-screen TV.
It was the red-haired guy from the library and Honky Tonk. Only this time, he wasn’t dressed to blend in. He was wearing a flashy pair of jeans and a bright orange Balenciaga hoodie.
He was rubbing a cloth over an already gleaming handgun.
I gulped.
“Well, well. If it isn’t my old lady’s doppelganger. Remember me?” he said with a villainous smirk.
“Mr. Flint,” I said.
Tina snorted. “His name’s Duncan. Duncan Hugo. As in the Hugo crime syndicate.”
She was bragging, making him sound as if she’d just told me she was dating a sexy humanitarian lawyer or an orthodontist with a beach house.
“What did I tell you, T? You don’t say my fucking name to any fucking one,” Duncan barked.
“Pfft. She’s my sister,” she said, flipping open a pizza box and pulling out a slice. “If I can’t tell her, who can I tell?”
Duncan pinched the bridge of his nose. A move I’d seen my father and Knox make. I wondered if all Witt women had this effect on men.
“This ain’t ladies’ night out, woman,” Duncan reminded her. “This is business.”
“It’s business after you pay up. You lost. I won. Cough up the cash.”
I didn’t think it was the best idea to taunt the man holding the gun, but Tina did what Tina always did—whatever she wanted to do regardless of the consequences.
“Put it on my tab,” the man said, continuing to study me. He brought the barrel of the gun up to scratch his temple.
“I don’t think that’s a safe way to handle a firearm,” I interjected.
He studied me for several seconds then his face broke into a mean grin.
“That’s funny. You’re funny.”
Great. Now he was pointing the gun at me like it was a finger.
“Fuck your tab, Dunc. Gimmie the cash,” Tina insisted.
“Where’s Waylay?” I demanded.
“Oh, yeah. Where’s the kid?” Tina asked, glancing around.
Duncan’s grin got wider and meaner. With his boot, he gave the chair next to him a kick. It rolled across the floor, the seat slowly spinning to face us.
“Mmmph mmm!”
Waylay, wearing pajamas and sneakers, was gagged and tied to the chair.
She looked mutinous, her expression mirroring her mother’s. Waylon was sitting in her lap. His tail thumped when he spotted me.
I forgot all about being scared and almost felt sorry for the red-headed moron. If Tina or I didn’t kill him for tying up Waylay, Knox would for stealing his dog.
“Why is she tied up?” Tina demanded.
Duncan shrugged and used the barrel of the gun to scratch an itch between his shoulder blades. “Little bitch called me a dickweasel and tried to kick me in the balls. Fuckin’ bit me too,” he said, holding up his forearm to show off the bandage.
“Well, were you bein’ a dickweasel?” my sister asked, crossing her arms.
Waylay, eyes narrowed, nodded vehemently.
“Me?” He pointed the gun at his chest, all innocence. “I just told her not to eat another piece of pizza, else she’d get fat, and no one likes fat chicks.”
Tina stomped over and drilled a finger into his chest. “You don’t tell my kid about getting fat. That shit goes to a girl’s head. Body dysmorphia and shit like that.”
I was impressed.
“Bitches are so sensitive,” Duncan said to me as if he could expect my agreement.
“Give me my money and untie her,” Tina demanded.
I couldn’t help but notice the order of her priorities and tabled my newfound respect for my sister.
Exasperated, I started toward Waylay. Waylon scrambled off her lap and tried to approach but was stopped by his leash.
“Uh-uh. One more step, and we’re gonna have a problem, Not Tina.” The warning was accompanied by the racking of a gun as Duncan came to his feet.
I glared at him. “My name is Naomi.”
“Don’t care if your name is Queen Latifah. I need you to stand right where you are.” He gestured with the gun. “Now, Waylay—whatever the fuck kind of name that is—where’s the fucking flash drive? You got ten seconds to tell me, or I’m gonna shoot your aunt right between the eyes.”
The cigarette in Tina’s mouth fell to the floor as she gaped at him. “The fuck? That wasn’t part of the plan, you asshole!”
“You shut your mouth, or I’ll drop you next to your sister. Hey! What’s sadder than a dead twin? Two dead twins!” Duncan howled at his own feeble humor.
“You dirty double-crosser,” Tina snarled.
He stopped laughing. “Now hold on there, T. I ain’t double-crossed you yet. I meant what I said. We can take the drive, sell it and start building something real. Something that’s got nothing to do with my fuckin’ dad or the fuckin’ family business!” His arms flailed, the barrel of the gun pointing everywhere at once.
“Could you please gesticulate without the gun?” I suggested.
“Christ. Again with the daddy issues,” Tina scoffed at Duncan. “My daddy is a big-time crime lord. It’s so hard to live up to his example. Boo-friggin-hoo.”
Again I began to inch my way toward Waylay.
“You know I don’t like it when you talk to me like my mom,” Duncan howled.
“You’re actin’ like you’re large and in charge. But who’s the one who tricked the kid into the car by pretending to be my sister? Who’s the one who got Naomi here?”
“Hey! I’m doin’ this for you, T. We could finally get the equipment to make those fake IDs you’re always runnin’ your mouth about. Or set up a black market organ donor farm.”
I wrinkled my nose. “Gross! Is that a real thing?”
“Don’t you yuck my yum, Hot Tina,” he said to me.
Tina backhanded him in the shoulder. “What did you just call her?”
I used the distraction to sneak closer to Waylay.
“Ow! I meant Not Tina,” Duncan insisted.
My niece chose that moment to heave herself forward, trying to tip the chair over, only succeeding in knocking into the table with the fat stacks of cash.
I raced forward, untangling dog leash and rope.
“One more move, and both of them get it,” Duncan warned, the gun trained on me as he stared at Waylay. “You got five seconds, kid, to start talking. Where’s the drive?”
Waylay’s eyes were wide and scared and pinned to me.
“Five…four…three…two…”
