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Mercy turns it over in her hands. “Better.”

“That’s all?”

“You want a sticker?”

“No.”

“Then better is what you get.”

“Will you give it to her?”

“If she wants it.”

That catches me.

Not I'll give it to her.

If she wants it.

“Yeah,” I say. “If she wants it.”

Mercy’s eyebrows rise. “Look at you learning grammar.”

“I preferred you threatening my balls.”

“I can do both.”

“I know.”

I leave before she enjoys herself too much.

The next thing I do is find Trixie.

She is in the clubhouse with a cup of coffee, talking to one of the club girls. When I walk in, conversation does not stop, but it changes.

Everybody knows.

Good.

Let them.

Trixie looks over the rim of her cup. “If you brought flowers, I'm calling the police.”

“I ain't got flowers.”

“Then maybe I'll let you live.”

I stop a few feet away.

“I’m sorry.”

Her expression shifts, not because she has not heard the words before, but because now Boogie, Ghoul, Sweeney, Carver, Nevermore, and half the clubhouse can hear them too.

“I used you because I wanted to hurt Sweet.”

“I’m aware.”

“I also cheated on her with you after promising her there would not be anybody else. You didn’t know that.”