Stunned faces snap to hers, but Avery's expression remains placid as if she’s accepted it and moved on. In the echoing silence, a needle could drop and sound like a grenade.
Jon practically growls, “I don’t know why anyone is shocked. We are talking about Sean.” He seems pissed, and shoots a quick glance at me from the corner of his eye, then moves across the room to sit by Trystan.
There’s a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. Based on the facial expressions of the people here with me, I'd guess it’s contagious—we all feel it.
I keep my eyes down, but I hate that Jon said it. I hate the way no one tries to protect her. Strength on the outside is just that—outside. It doesn’t keep the world from trampling your heart.
I find my voice, “She’s more than that, you know.” The words spill out, and once I start I can’t stop. I jump up, dropping the jacket and blanket behind me. I pad toward him, standing there covered in glitter, my corset hoisting my breasts to my throat and my thong revealing my entire backside.
Jon realizes how it sounded and attempts to correct, but he’s already flown that thought into a mountainside. “I know, but—”
“No little girl says, ‘I want to be a stripper when I grow up.’ Not one of us would sell sex if there’d been another way to survive. Every single woman who works here has the same story—fucked up life, no money, and no hope. Don’t you dare damn her for it! If you do, you’re damning me, too, and I refuse to accept your pity, or whatever the hell this is.” I’m in his face, an inch from his nose, breathing hard. It looks like I’m going to pop out of my corset every time I breathe. Mounds of flesh swell well above the low neckline, glittering like twin disco balls.
I expect him to look at me, but he doesn’t. Jon presses his lips together, letting his silence build between us while the others stare in shock. When his blue gaze lifts to meet mine, he tips his head to the side. No trace of a smile softens his lips. Nothing subdues his sharp look. “You don’t know Sean. He’d show up with a corpse if it suited him.”
Something inside me snaps. I straighten, laughing bitterly. “You’re an asshole.”
“No, I’m not. I’m just saying—”
“Shut up, man. She hears exactly what you’re saying.” Trystan peers around the girl in his lap, forgetting his own awkward situation for the moment. The girl sits perfectly still, but I can see her thoughts running wild behind her eyes.
Jon growls, “No, she doesn’t. This isn’t about any of you. It’s about my brother and me.” There’s obviously a huge rift between Jon and Sean, but he’s poking a bear with Pixy Stix. What does he think is going to happen?
“It might also be about your apparent distaste for working girls.” Avery folds her arms over her chest and juts one hip to the side, glaring at him. “So, Little Ferro, spill it. Did your first hooker mistreat you? Or was it one of your strippers?”
Jon’s body tenses and he sits so still he might explode. It’s the moment of utter silence before a bomb detonates and blasts everything around it to bits. One of his fingers presses into the chair, and I see something flash across his face. It’s raw, a wound that’s still weeping.
He’s quiet for a moment, swallows hard, then stands and walks into the office. The door closes soundlessly behind him. Something happened to him. I’m sure of that. Someone hurt him badly.
Apparently Avery senses it too because she slips off the edge of the stage and rushes toward me. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
I glance at the closed door and then back to her pale face. “Neither did I. I’m not sure any of us did.”
CHAPTER 2, JON
I feel like a fucking idiot walking away to hide in the office. I’m not a kid anymore. This shit shouldn’t bother me, but it’s always lurking—ready to rear its fuck-ugly face when I least expect it. Of course they all think I had hookers and strippers. I’m not a priest. I’m a Ferro. I live up to my reputation and then some. But that’s not what made me back down. I know I don’t see things accurately at times. I know my past taints my vision, clouds it, and makes me respond in the worst possible ways.
I sit down at the desk and stare at the packet of papers. I wonder if I’m reacting to Sean or my past. How can I protect Cass when I can’t even deal with this?
There’s a knock on my door, and before I can answer, Avery steps inside.
“Hey," she says, "I didn’t mean to do that.” She's standing there, her long brown hair sweeping over her shoulders and a somber expression on her face. She steps around the door, pushing it shut behind her with the heel of her foot. No shoes.
“You didn’t do anything.” I’m not telling her shit. She’ll report back to Sean, and I don’t want him involved in this. His chance to intercede is long gone.
I shuffle through the stack of papers on the desk, ignoring Sean’s envelope. I’ll look at it when she leaves.
“Maybe not, but it seemed like I found a sore spot and ripped it wide open.”
I act like it doesn’t matter. I’m not telling her shit. “I misspoke. Cassie is hurting. It was reasonable to assume I insulted all of you.”
Avery stops in front of my desk, turns to a ninety-degree angle from me, and rests her denim-clad hip against it. She folds her arms loosely across her chest. “We’re all hurting.”
I glance up at her. Is that a hint? Is something going on with my brother? “Sean included?”
Her eyes dart to the side. She pushes off the desk and looks at a picture of the club on the wall. All the dancers are standing with the bouncers and the former owner, posing as if it were a
yearbook picture. “You don’t know him anymore, do you?”