Page 85 of Wicked Tricks

“Does Diana know?” I asked.

“Not yet,” Bea shook her head, “I caught Sierra packing her bags and I saw all the cash. She told me what happened and thought I’d actually be impressed,” she scoffed.

I understood, in a way, where Sierra was coming from.

She wasn’t loyal to us, only to herself.

She was still operating in survival mode, which we all knew too well.

We had all done terrible things for money, for the guarantee of our own safety and peace of mind. I wondered if I would have done the same thing a few years ago, but I shook the thought from my mind - I never would have stabbed a friend in the back like that.

“I wonder how much cash this is,” Bea mumbled, riffling through the stacks wrapped in elastic bands in the duffle bags.

Taking a deep breath, I scanned the contents of the bags, “looks to be about 200k,” I estimated.

“You’re fucking good,” Bea laughed, shaking her head.

She grabbed two wads of cash and stuck them in her pockets.

“Go get dressed. Lets go get fucked up,” she smiled, pulling me up off the bed.

“I’m not in the mood to go out, Bea,” I whined.

“Go!” she ordered, pushing me out the door and slapping me on the ass as I unwillingly dragged my feet to my bedroom.

I scanned my closet and sighed as I reached for the pair of jeans that were laid on the floor.

“Something nice!” Bea scolded from her room, and I rolled my eyes.

I wore a black, wrap-around shirt that tied at the front, and a pair of high waisted jeans that were actually clean. Wandering into the living room, I flopped onto the couch to wait for Bea to get ready.

It’s not that she was particularly fancy - just meticulous.

If time allowed it, she would spend an hour perfecting her eyebrows and ten minutes on each baby hair, taming them into the perfect curl. She came out of her room eventually, dressed in a beautiful, nude sweater dress that hugged her curves tightly. Her dark hair was pulled back into a sleek low bun and she had on a nude lipstick that perfectly matched her dress. As usual, she looked immaculately put together.

“I thought we were going to get fucked up?” I asked, frowning at her overly sophisticated outfit, “are you really going to wear that to JoJo’s?”

JoJo’s was the small pub that we frequented when we didn’t want to be bothered by regulars at Lilith’s when we were off duty. No one knew us there, and we didn’t get harassed by guys who recognised us from the club.

We were safe there.

“Bitch,” she snapped from the kitchen as she poured herself a glass of water, “I paid two hundred dollars for this dress. I’m going to wear it to JoJo’s, to the corner store, and to my damn funeral.”

I chuckled and shook my head.

We might have been well off now, but that survival instinct never truly went away.

Bea, especially, was still an extreme budgeter, thrifting goddess, and certified tight-ass.

“Let’s go,” she smiled, putting her arm around me and dragging me out the door by the neck. We strolled to JoJo’s, taking our time while chatting and wandering down the street in the cool breeze. I hadn’t been outside in days, and felt like I hadn’t seen the sunlight in even longer than that.

Nearly every man who passed us did a double take as they noticed Bea, and I grinned. She didn’t even notice, or at least she didn’t give them the satisfaction of knowing that she did. If Diana was the Ice Queen, Bea was next in line.

It was something that I had always admired in her, and desperately tried to mimic.

She handled any situation with a cool, level headed, unbothered reaction - whereas my temper did not allow that kind of grace. I was too hot-headed, and would take any opportunity to throw hands if someone tempted me enough.

The red neon sign in front of JoJo’s flickered against the orange brick of the old building. It stood out among the very uniform, metallic skyscrapers it was nestled in between. As we got closer, the deep sound of drums and the faint aroma of beer mixed with cigarette smoke welcomed us.

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