Page 16 of Devil's Work: Dark

Her face grows tight. “I get it. I’m not sure what I can offer you, but we’ll figure something out.”

Normally, fucking me would be payment, but since I’m not going there with her, ever, I answer, “Yeah, we’ll figure something.”

“Okay, how about that water? I’ve got ice,” she says. The gorgeous bitch wiggles her eyebrows at me.

“Nah, I’m good.”

“Well, make yourself at home while I finish making lunch.”

“Don’t you have someone else to do that shit? You’ve got to be tired as hell, driving all night.”

“Well, I already gave the cook and the nanny the day off,” she says sarcastically and I laugh. I can’t help it.

Then, because apparently, I’m a pussy too, I walk into the kitchen to help her out. “Sit your ass down. What are you making for lunch?”

“Mac and cheese. Homemade, not from a box. I had a bag of shredded cheese in the freezer and it’s one of the only dishes you can make with powdered milk that doesn’t suck.”

Powdered milk? I wrinkle my nose. “Why the fuck do you have powdered milk?”

“Because the kids need milk even when I’m broke. It’s gross but better than nothing. It’s the one time I allow Ty to have chocolate milk. I keep a canister of Nesquik on the top shelf in the pantry.”

“You got steak? I’m killer on the grill.”

“Sorry. You won’t find steak here.”

“Why? You vegetarian or something?”

“No.” She sighs and swear to god, it sounds broken. “I’m poor.”

Here I thought she was being cheeky with all thisI’m-brokeshit. I didn’t realize she meant it.

“What about your ex?” I ask. “He not sending child support? The brothers can rough him up a bit, put the fear of God in him. He’ll pay up.”

“Not an ex,” she says.

The fuck?“You still got a man, where is he? Why am I here, then?”

“No. I don’t still have a man.” She reaches her delicate hand up to pinch the bridge of her nose. “I’m widowed, Dark. My husband died in a car accident when I was pregnant with Lacy. Right now, we live on his social security benefits, but it’s not much to make it on every month.” She wipes her eyes.Shit.Is she crying? “I’m sorry this won’t be a comfortable assignment for you. I’ll cook, I’ll do your laundry—but aside from that, I don’t have anything else to offer you. I’m a broke single mother who has perverts out to get me. If I went to the movies and saw my life, I’d get up and walk out because it’s too ridiculous.”

She turns her head, attempting to hide the tears falling harder down her cheeks. I’m in unfamiliar territory here. I don’t know what to do when a bitch cries. They don’t do it around me. The bitches I’m used to are hard as fuck. They get angry, not sad or overwhelmed. They’re strong. No, that’s not fair. I got a feeling that Rae is always the strong one. She’s giving me her vulnerability. I don’t know what to do with it.

My feet move me over to where she’s sitting in an ugly wooden kitchen chair. I didn’t even think about it. “Hey,” I say, pulling her in close by wrapping my arms around her shoulders to draw her in. She plasters her face to my stomach, wetting my shirt. “You and your kids are safe with me here. Okay?” She doesn’t say anything. “Won’t let anyone hurt you.” It takes a minute, but she wraps her arms around my waist, and about a minute after that, she seems to stop crying.

Then abruptly, she pushes me away, wipes at her eyes, and stands. “Time to stop whining,” she says.That was her whining?

“You’ve had a hard couple of days. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

“Whining doesn’t get us anywhere or do much more than annoy the people around you.” She hobbles over to the stove, not looking back at me once. “If you want to watch TV, I only have PBS. The network channels come in fuzzy and aren’t much good unless you want to listen to the news. So hopefully, you have Netflix or something on your phone.”

Dealing with this kind of shit is above my paygrade. But considering she’s keeping her back to me, I walk into the living room and pull out my phone, tapping the Netflix app. Probably twenty minutes pass and the trailer is heated like a fucking sweatbox. The windows are open and everything, but it’s got to be in the high 90s outside and hotter in here. I think she turned the oven on.

She’s got an air conditioning unit in the front window. “There a reason the air not on?” I call out to her. She hobbles over to the threshold of the kitchen and living room. “The unit broken?”

“No,” she says. “They work. I have one in the front and one in the back hallway. Um… if you shut the windows…” She trails off. “I don’t tend to run them because of the expense. But you’re staying here. Go ahead and turn them on.”

Now I feel like an ass, but I won’t be able to stay here without some relief. I don’t know how her kids aren’t out here whining about the heat. Don’t know where the boy ran off to, probably his room. It can’t be cooler in there, a little room in a little trailer. “I’ll pay for the air, sweetheart.”

Her face goes from soft to hard and her back goes ramrod straight. “No, you won’t. I’ll make it work.”

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