Page 41 of Darcy
“How bad was it?” Prophet asks.
“Worse than Sully,” Slate says, grimacing. “But not as bad as Ems. Darcy…”
He trails off, and the rest of them look at me, uncomfortable.
“Coffee,” I suggest. “Then you can explain to me why none of you are surprised by any of this, and we can take things from there.”
Arlo heads towards the machine, quickly punching in some combination of buttons until the mug is full of caffeinated goodness before handing it to me.
“Thanks,” I murmur. “Now, explanations. That… Why would anyone do that?”
Arlo sits beside me, staring intently at me. “I don’t want to pry, but did you and Dodger have a fight, or…?”
I blush, taking a deep swig of boiling hot coffee to hide my reaction. “We disagreed on a few things.”
“Someone must have seen and put that together with him missing all the PR shit Miguel had lined up,” Slate curses. “They decided to go after her to make a point.”
Prophet’s head falls back, and he groans.
“You’re being punished for not turning up to photoshoots?” I ask. “By who?”
“It’s a long story,” Slate hedges. “But you should know, we’re in deep with some bad people. I’m not bullshitting you, but I think it’s safer for you to stay with us from now on.”
“It’s safer for her to get on a fucking plane and get out now,” Prophet growls.
“That worked so well when we tried it the last time,” Slate grumbles. “They’ll just terrorise her, and she’ll be too far away for us to do anything.”
Prophet says something in answer, but I’m too busy thinking to listen.
It’s cute that they’re worried about my safety. I should, by rights, be pushing for more details about the threat, but I don’t have the energy right now. My earlier anger is wearing off fast, and my tiredness is back. Right now, I have two options: book myself a new room, or take up their offer. I’m not sure I can do the former this early in the morning without drawing too much attention to myself.
That’s the weakest excuse you’ve ever come up with, Darce.
“If I stay with you”—because I can’t leave, not midway through a job—“then there have to be rules. And I want a trial period. You could all leave the seat up and snore like tractors for all I know.”
They all shut up quickly at that, shooting me incredulous looks.
Getting closer to the band will probably put me on a collision path with Miguel, but he’s brought that on himself. He was always going to die, but now he’s going to do so painfully.
I turn to Slate. “The soul mate crap stops.”
He presses his hands over his heart. “You wound me,mi vida.”
“We’re friends,” I insist. “I can’t pick one of you over the others—”
Arlo’s eyes widen. “You wouldn’t have to.”
His words stop me dead, and I take a reflexive sip of my coffee. “Excuse you?”
“We have a contract,” he explains. “One woman for all of us, or none of us gets serious with anyone. A committed, closed relationship between the five of us.”
“It was to stop some groupie getting in and splitting the band up,” Slate adds. “I know polyamory isn’t for everyone, but there are so many benefits—”
I hold up my hand, still trying to digest the fact that they’ve planned this. “Most of my sisters are with multiple partners. I’m well aware of the benefitsifit goes well. I’m looking for something more serious. You know I want to settle down. Can you honestly tell me you guys are ready for that?” I turn to Prophet. “You don’t even like me.”
He shakes his head. “I don’t want you pulled into his games. He’s trying to use you as a Band-Aid to patch up—”
“It’s late,” Slate interrupts. “We can debate how this would work in the long term after your ‘trial period.’” He air-quotes the words. “Any more rules you’d like to enforce?”
