Page 102 of Alonzo

“They’re not staring at you.”

I whirl around and see Alonzo standing in the open door.

“They’re staring at me. But I heard what you just said. And now I’m wondering…” He doesn’t finish that statement.

“Wondering what?” I ask.

He shakes his head and frowns at me. “Just what kind of man you think I am.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN - ALONZO

Tara sputters out some incoherent words. But I’m not listening. I’m running her accusation though my head on repeat.

Sex slaves. She thinks I’ve been smuggling kids into the US for the sex slave business.

I look her in the eyes. Try to think rationally. “I get it. You thought you saw something in Long Beach—”

“I did see something!” Tara points to Diablo, who is standing behind me next to Quint. “I saw him smuggling in children! They came in freight containers. He was arrested for human trafficking and put in jail. There were guns involved, Alonzo! I know what I saw!”

Diablo takes a step forward to stand next to me. “I was found not guilty, Phoebe.”

“Trust me, I know that, Diablo! My whole life was upended because you got off.”

I… don’t even know how to process this. She thinks I’m a sex trafficker. Not just any kind of sex trafficker, either. Children. She thinks I sell children to pedophiles. It’s one thing to accuse Diablo. She said she didn’t know him. I kinda get that misunderstanding.

But me?

She knows me. We’re in love. She’s been like my best friend for two. Fucking. Years.

“OK, hold on here.” Everyone turns to look at Johnny. But he’s only looking at me. “Would you like to explain what’s really going on so we can move forward with a plan?”

“Yeah,” Creepy Wendy pipes up. “My friend is counting on me, OK? We cannot fuck this up!”

I look at Tara. I could explain. It would literally take about ten words to clear up her confusion.

But you know what? Nat-ah. I point at her. “Fuck you, Tara.”

And then I push through Quint and Diablo, walk out, and slam the door behind me.

I hop over the side of the porch. Hop up onto my porch, throw the front door open, and walk inside, slamming that one too.

I pace back and forth across my living room for several minutes, holding my head in my hands. Her words echo in my brain.

Selling sex slaves.

Alonzo Dumas is in on it.

That’s all I hear.

The door flies open and hits the wall. I turn around, expecting it to be Johnny. He’s here for a reason, after all. Seems we actually do have some mutual business going on tomorrow night.

But it’s not Johnny. It’s Tara.

“Lonnie—”

“Fuck you, Tara. Don’t even call me that.”

“Let me explain. It’s just a stupid misunderstanding.”