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Laughing, he didn’t leave, but he did back up. “Right, you’re just a germaphobe all of a sudden.”
I flipped him off as a soft melody chimed from somewhere close. It took me a moment to realize it was coming from my pocket.
I pulled out the phone I’d grabbed from Ophelia’s purse to see two texts. “No password. Who the hell doesn’t have a code on their phone?”
“Someone with nothing to hide?” He thought for a moment before adding, “Or someone with a controlling pimp, who only uses it to schedule Johns.”
Scowling, I opened the messages.
Megan: Hey, you’re on the schedule 4 2day.
Megan: U OK?
Shit.
I scrolled through to get an idea of how Ophelia usually texted. There weren’t many messages, just a few about switching shifts. I stopped when I saw one from a month before.
Megan: Sorry, I know it’s your night off, but Mr. Henderson is asking 4 U. He’s refusing to C NE other girl.
Ophelia: He saw Gigi last time.
Megan: Apparently she did something he didn’t like. Said it has 2 B U. Sorry.
Ophelia: No problem, I’ll get changed and leave here in fifteen.
Unfamiliar jealousy and anger burned in me like road rash.
Maybe Jury was right about the Johns.
Scrolling back down, I typed up a message using her unabbreviated style.
Ophelia: I’m sorry, I’m sick. I think food poisoning. Was trying to call, but I kept having to put the phone down. I haven’t been able to leave the bathroom.
Megan: Poor thing. I’ll take U off 4 2day and 2morrow. Let me know if U need longer.
Thank Christ it was that easy.
Ophelia: Thanks. I’ll be in touch.
I scrolled through the other messages quickly, but there was nothing that stood out one way or the other. Talk about schedules, nights out, TV show recommendations, the usual gossip shit.
Pulling a bag off the top shelf, I tossed it on the bed.
“What’re you doin’?”
“Maybe she was trailing us. Maybe she wasn’t, and this shit is nothin’ but coincidence. Either way, she’s staying with me until we figure it out. I’m not letting her run back to Nash or whatever shit,” I gestured around us, “is happening here.”
Crossing his arms, he asked, “And that’s it? You’re just a good Samaritan tryin’ to keep her safe?” At my curt nod, he smiled. “Good, then I’ll have her stay with me. My place is private.”
“Fuckin’ try it,” I snarled.
He shook his head. “Seriously, man, what the hell is happening here? I’m not askin’ as your Mayhem brother, I’m askin’ as your actual brother. I get being cautious with all the shit swirling around, but kidnapping is pushing the line, even for you. I’ve got your back, but I need to know what the hell is goin’ on in you head. Because this isn’t just about watching our back or hers.”
Scrubbing my palm down my face, I admitted, “I don’t fuckin’ know. Saw her as soon as we pulled in, and it was like… boom. Something just fuckin’ hit me. Then she was trailing us, and with everything going on, I don’t know who to trust.”
When Jury remained quiet, I turned to pack some clothes—starting with that damn poofy skirt.
He broke his silence—and showed he had my back—by jerking his head toward the bed and asking, “Want me to pack any of this?”
