Page 54 of Overdose
I slam the photo down on the bar between us.
Her eyes flick to it and then widen.
Her mouth twists. “Shit.”
“That’s one word for it.”
“I can explain?—”
“Can you?” I bark a laugh. “Because I’m having a real hard time understanding how mydeadass missingsister is making out with Noir in a photo I just found while hauling your vodka.”
Cass sighs like she just got handed the worst tab of the night. “I can’t tell you that. Just take an Uber back to your motel and talk to Dagger when he gets there.”
“Not fucking likely.”
“Blair, you’re making this a bigger deal than it needs to be?—”
I snort. Loud. “My missing sister showing up on a rave shrine making out with the guy who just the other night had his cock buried so deep inside me I thought I was going to die, and you think I’m overreacting? Nah, you’re right. That’s totally casual. Totally fucking normal.”
She throws a bar rag at my face, but I dodge it with a grin that’s all teeth.
“I have customers,” she says, exasperated. “Look. I get it. It’s shit. They lied to you. They—fuck, they kept alotfrom you. But it’s not my place to tell you. Besides, I don’t evenfullyknow everything. Only what I saw.”
“Cool. Then tell me what you saw.”
She shakes her head. “Go back to the motel and talk to Dagger?—”
“You were supposed to be my friend. Shit, I thought us girls were like, supposed to stick together and shit. But you never said a fucking thing?”
“Blair—”
“Tell me where I find Dagger?”
“I can’t tell you that.”
I lean in across the bar, voice dropping low. “Cass, I’m not gonna sit in some shitty motel room like a good girl while everyone around me keeps lying to me like they don’t think I can handle the fucking truth. So either you tell me where the fuck to find him, or I go out there, alone, still kinda high and pissed off,while I walk the streets looking for him, and we both know he won’t fucking like that. Not one bit.”
She mutters a curse under her breath. “Fuck. You’re exhausting.”
“Yeah, well. I’m also right.”
Cass breathes out a long, soul-deep sigh, like I’ve just aged her five years. She leans in, eyes darting around, and gives me the address. Quiet. Fast. Like it’s a secret she’ll pretend she never told.
I don’t thank her.
I grab the Polaroid, shove it into my bag like a loaded fucking weapon, and sling the strap over my shoulder.
Let Dagger be pissed. Let Noir rot in his shadows, brooding like some tortured little puppet master.
I’m done playing the pawn.
Done being lied to. Touched. Twisted up in whatever sick little game they’re waging like I’m too stupid to see the strings.
They both broke something in me—but at least,so far, Dagger hasn’t fucked my twin.
Small mercies, right?
He’s got answers.
