Page 114 of Turning Back

“Who knows. You hate everyone.”

“Not true. I love a lot of people. I just hate opportunists, Bric.”

“Like me,” I joke. I take another sip of my drink.

“It’s not funny, asshole. I have a pretty good idea what kind of person Rochelle really is and this stupid fucking game the three of you are playing is gonna turn very bad as soon as you pull your heads out of your asses and get that DNA test.”

“Why’s that?”

Smith and I both turn away from the bar to find Quin right behind us.

“What?” Smith says, playing dumb.

“Why would we regret playing this game if we got the DNA test? I just talked to you about this yesterday and you were all supportive and shit.”

“No,” Smith says. “I was evasive. And if you didn’t have your head up your ass, you’d have recognized that.”

“Evasive about what?” Quin asks. He looks as confused as I am.

“About your goddamned girlfriend. You don’t know anything about her, Quin. You never ask. Why the fuck do you let her get away with all this shit?”

“Hey,” I say, putting my hands up, trying to defuse the situation. “We’re not gonna do this again. Not here.”

“We’ve never actually done this,” Smith says. “I just keep minding my own business, hoping the two of you will finally come to your senses about this woman. She’s playing you assholes, Can’t you see that? I looked her up last year. Something you guys never bothered to do. But hey, who am I to interrupt someone’s fun, right? So I let that go. But then I fucking saw her last year—”

But my phone buzzes on the bar next to me and interrupts him. “Shit,” I say, looking down at the text. “We have a problem at the tea party.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight - Quin

“Saw her where?” I ask. But Bric is on his feet, already walking towards the White Room. Smith goes after him, so I have no choice but to follow. We push our way through the revolving doors just in time to see a woman throw a drink in Rochelle’s face. Some of it even lands on my mother. And Adley.

“What the fuck is going on here?” Bric bellows the words out so loud, the whole room lets out a shocked gasp.

The woman, who is so drunk she’s swaying, takes her fury to Bric. “This little cheating whore!” she yells. “She’s just like her mother. Just like her father. The disgusting deviant side in her comes naturally. She thinks she’s so much better than me? Well, let me tell you a little bit about Rochelle Bastille! She’s—”

But Bric has his hand over her mouth and is dragging her ass back towards the doors we just came through.

I walk over to Rochelle and take Adley from my mom. “Are you OK? What the hell was that?”

“I’m fine,” Rochelle says, wiping champagne off her face. I take my pocket square out of my suit coat and offer it to her. “Thanks,” she says, with a frustrated sigh. “And that was my father’s ex-mistress throwing a tantrum because Bric threatened to kick her sugar daddy out of the Club if she didn’t keep her trap shut about how she knows me.”

“How does she know you?” I ask. Smith’s words are still ringing in my head. You don’t know anything about her, Quin. You never ask. But then some guy in a gray suit starts dabbing my mother’s dress with a handkerchief. “And who the fuck are you?” I ask him.

“Sorry,” the guy says. He’s about Bric’s age, I’d guess.

“Quin,” Chella says, coming up next to me. “That’s Darrel Jameson. He’s a former FBI agent. Used to be my security detail back when I was young and wild.” She laughs.

“Oh,” I say. “Sorry about that. But I’m kinda wound up. My girls just got a drink thrown on them.”

“No problem,” Jameson says. “It’s nice to finally meet you. When Bric hired me to find Rochelle, we didn’t have a chance to talk. I got the info so fast.” He laughs. “It’s almost like he didn’t want her found. Anyway, I only reported to him. And it’s all working out, I see.” He beams a smile over to Rochelle, who looks very confused.

“What?” I have to shake my head a little to catch up with the conversation.

“Quin,” Chella says, taking my arm. Adley is smacking me on the face, babbling her little heart out, completely oblivious to the commotion. “I didn’t even have a chance to tell you. I introduced him to Bric and the very next day, Rochelle came home on her own. So we never needed him.”

“No.” Jameson chuckles. “I found her thirty minutes after you gave me her name, Marcella. I came to the Club to tell you that, but you left. So I told Mr. Bricman—” He stops talking. “Ohhhh. Yeah. Oops.” He winces. “Mr. Bricman did tell me not to tell you.”

“He what?” Chella says.