When morning arrives, I drive to Franky’s to collect my treasure, and for the entire ride, I contemplate the possibilities of what she discovered. According to Angie, her ex-husband cheated because she couldn’t have babies. But there has to be more to it than that. The woman is nuts, so maybe he just got tired of her dramatic ass and moved on to a new and younger girl to wet his willy. 

Hell, that’s what I did after banging Angie for a few weeks. I upgraded to Mindy. My beautiful sweet Mindy, who centers my world from spinning out of control.

But of course, right as I’m feeling good about myself, Jackson’s words flood in. Do you bring out the best in her?

These days I’m not so sure. Life has catapulted me into a field of landmines I have to tiptoe around or have my legs blown off. It isn’t safe for Mindy. Maybe I should stay away from her until the danger is clear.

But that’s a worry for another day.

This time when I enter Franky’s penthouse apartment, her boy-toy is in the kitchen cooking lunch wearing nothing but a leopard print thong. 

And I— 

Whatever. I ignore Mr. Magic Mike and head for Franky's living room. She’s sitting on the U-shaped sectional and leaning over the coffee table with her fingers gliding across a keyboard. Her head swivels my way as she pushes her glasses up.

“We meet again.” She turns her attention to the laptop but pushes a folder across the coffee table with her index finger. “Your request.”

“Indeed.”

I swipe the folder from the table and plop onto the couch, causing Franky’s attention to slide back to me. She’s not amused and folds her arms. 

“Relax. Just taking a peek.”

“This isn’t a library,” she says. “I’ve delivered your request, and now you can go.” 

“Sheesh. I get it…” I stand and catch a glimpse of what she’s looking at on her laptop. “Those are some fancy dresses. What’s the occasion?”

Franky shuts the laptop. “I was invited to the Abramovitz annual gala.” 

Breath hitches in my lungs like cat claws clinging to bare skin. It’s the same party Mindy is now involved with, and I still need to talk to them about hiring her. They did it to fuck with me. I know it. Perhaps Franky can give me more insight.

“So, what’s the deal with these Sisters?” 

“What do you mean?”

“How did they become who they are?”

“Google is your friend,” Franky says.

“Yeah, I tried that, but I just get random articles about their family’s philanthropy work over the decades and none of the juicy details about why people bend the knee to them.”

“Miguel, unless you have an ass like Pasqual’s…” She nods towards her half-naked man-candy. “My information isn’t free.”

“I’m not looking for a research report on them. Just thought you might know a little gossip.”

“Even gossip has a price.” She opens her laptop again and adds, “So unless you’ve got a thousand dollars in your pocket, it sounds like we’re done here.”

“What will a hundred bucks get me?”

Franky holds out her hand. “Show me the money first.”

Opening my wallet, I remove five twenty-dollar bills and lay them across her palm. She retracts her hand, sticks the money inside her bra, then relaxes into the cushions, eyeing me. 

“In 1905, the Abramovitz escaped persecution in Europe and arrived in San Francisco with a lot of money. No one knows what they were running from or where the money came from, but they know the Abramovitz had plenty of it to go around. Then when the 1906 earthquake hit and destroyed the city, the Abramovitz donated thousands to repair the damages. Back in 1906, thousands of dollars might as well have been millions, so the citizens never forgot their generosity.”

I nod, absorbing the information. “And from there, it manifested into what they are today?”

“I’m afraid that’s all the information one hundred dollars will buy you.” Franky shrugs.

“Right. I guess I’m good with that for today.”

Franky grabs her laptop and opens the screen. “I’d walk you out, but I have a dress to shop for.”

“No worries. Peace.”

Turning on my heels, I head for the elevator and walk past the kitchen. Lover-boy is preparing brunch, but he takes a moment to glance over his shoulder and wink. 

“Catch you later, mate,” he says in a thick Australian accent. 

And something about him saying that while wearing a leopard print thong has me scurrying into the lift, where I slam the gate closed. 

No, he will not be catching me later. 

In fact, I don’t want his half-naked ass to ever wink at me again. As the elevator descends, I remember there’s a folder full of dirty documents in my hand, so I open it and begin scanning Franky’s findings. 

By the time I reach the lobby, my brows are so furrowed I might give myself a headache. 

“The fuck…” I glance up.

Because Angie’s husband forced her into a mental hospital days before filing for divorce, and the reason on the medical record says attempted suicide. She was admitted against her will for posing a danger to herself and others.

Others.

Like who?

Scanning over the page, there’s a police report attached, which states she had to be physically restrained by the officers who were called to the apartment the night she tried to harm herself. 

“The hell…” I say to myself as I look at the photo of the officers stapled to the page. 

There’s no way that Angie, who is short and petite, would need two grown-ass men double her size to restrain her. She’s a Tasmanian Devil at times, sure, but she’s no Incredible Hulk. Rubbing the back of my neck, I think about how Chuck used to toss my mom around, and he wasn’t as tall or built as the officers. So, I can only imagine how defenseless Angie was against them.

Flipping through a few more pages, my gaze hooks onto the name Ana. So I begin reading the paragraph, and after a few sentences, I learn that Ana and Angie were orphaned as teenagers when their mother died of cancer, and their father took his life a year later. 

Further down the paragraph, it says that a year before filing for divorce, Angie’s ex-husband took over legal guardianship of Ana, then put her in the care home she’s in now. Not only that, when Angie was in the hospital following the suicide attempt, he was granted guardianship over her too.

Attached to the page is a document with Angie’s squiggly signature, agreeing to the terms. But I’ve seen her penmanship before, and it’s a pretty collection of letters strung together in neat little coils and strokes, not whatever chicken scratch is on that document. Did she sign under duress?

What in the Britney Spears!

When I reach the exit doors, I smash my palms against the crash bars and exit the building as if someone was strangling me, and they’ve finally allowed me to breathe. There’s so much more I need to read and digest, but I can’t process this shit alone. So, I hike onto my motorcycle, roar the engine to life, then peel out of the neighborhood to head for Jackson’s apartment.

A few minutes later, I barge into his place without bothering to say hello. For the entire drive, my mind spun over what Franky discovered, and now I need to sit and process everything. So, I flop onto a stool at the breakfast bar and slap the folder on the granite counter. 

“Jeez, good morning to you too…” Jackson shuts the door.

“Look at this shit.” I open the folder and slide it to him.

“Can I at least make some espresso first?”

“Sure. Knock yourself out.” I lean back.

However, I’m restless and start toying with the edges of the pages. Jackson ignores me as he carries on merrily while using the espresso machine. He’s shirtless, with navy blue sweats on, and hums along to the drip drip of the coffee. Steam rises as the liquid gurgles into a tiny cup better suited for an infant than an adult. 

“Gonna need a bigger cup,” I say.

“Nope. Not for this.”

Whatever, I’m not bougie, so I don’t understand the tiny cup. Then again, Jackson’s newly constructed apartment screams trendy bachelor with its loft design, grey walls, and stained concrete floors. He lives near the ballpark like Angie, where new condos have been erected to attract young and financially stable individuals. I don’t know how he affords it with his divorce, and I’m kind of jealous.

“Drink this.” Jackson hands me the microscopic cup.

“Nah, I’m good. I drink regular coffee.”

“Drink it! It’ll calm your ass down. I see you bouncing your leg like a dope addict fiending for a fix.”

Grunting, I grab the cup, take a sip, and my eyes widen. The sweet yet bitter and creamy flavor hits my tastebuds with a hint of caramel, and holy shit—this is fucking delicious! 

“Good stuff, huh?” Jackson bobs his brows with his hands resting on the counter, causing his triceps to bulge. 

“Did you workout this morning?”

“A little. There’s a gym in this building. By the way, you’ve got a little blood crusted on your lip from last night.”

“I know.” I dab my mouth. “Still hurts like hell too.”

“What are we gonna do if Chloe insists on killing Barry?” he asks.

“Fuck if I know. That’s a worry for another day.” I tap the folder. “You gonna read it or what?”

“Sure.” 

Taking the documents in his hands, he begins reading, and with each turn of the page, the crease above his brow becomes more profound. I open my mouth to ask him what he’s thinking, but the front door swings open, and in waltzes Alma with thousands of groceries in hand.

“Jesus, woman. Are you an octopus?” Jackson scolds her. “I told you to text me so I could meet you downstairs and help you carry it up!”

“I’ve got it.” She plops the bags onto the counter and removes her sunglasses to narrow her eyes at me. “Hi, Miguel.”

“Alma.” I nod.

“Your mouth is all fucked up.”

“Yeah…” I rub my chin. “I had a run-in with the Sisters’ yes-man, Kay.”

“He didn’t lay a finger on you, did he?” she turns to Jackson with brows furrowed.

“Nah. He was there to teach Miguel a lesson. It had nothing to do with me.”

“Well, good. Because I’d kill him.” Alma circles her arms around Jackson’s waist but then reaches for the folder. “What’s this?”

“Nothing…” I say and try snatching it, but she slaps my hand.

“Like hell, it’s nothing! Angie’s name is all over this thing. So, what the fuck?”

“I paid for information on her.”

“Are you fucking kidding me!”

“We know nothing about her background, but now we do,” I say.

“You could have asked me!” Alma slams the folder on the counter. “Angie is my best friend. You think we don’t talk, Mr. Suddenly-Fucking-Mindy.”

“Alma…” Jackson growls.

“No,” she huffs. “This guy has some nerve. One day you’re banging Angie’s brains out, and the next, you’re in love with Mindy?”

“I’ve had strong feelings for Mindy for months,” I object. “It’s nothing new.”

“It’s true.” Jackson bobs his head, but Alma smacks his chest. “What? It is true. He’s been in love with her for months.”

“In love? Oh please,” Alma laughs and pulls her black, pin-straight hair into a ponytail. So, I brace myself in case she’s about to slap me. “If you were in love with Mindy, you wouldn’t have been hooking up with Angie the last few weeks. Face it, Miguel. You’re just as much of a player as every other asshole in the street.”

“Alma has a point,” Jackson sighs. “Plus, Mindy is too good for you, and you know it.”

“Wait,” Alma furrows her brows at something in the documents. “Is this for real?”

“What?” I say.

“Angie was in a mental hospital for trying to kill herself?”

Scooting forward on the stool, I say, “That’s what it looks like, and if you read further down, there’s a legal document where Angie agreed to have her husband be her guardian, but the signature appears forced.” 

“Maybe she was heavily medicated?” Jackson says.

Alma points to the signature. “Yeah, I’ve seen Angie’s writing, and it does not look like that.” 

“Maybe she was under duress,” I add, and Alma looks up.

“Angie told me that Jeremiah keeps close tabs on her. Like, what time she gets home, and what she buys, but this sounds like some Britney Spears shit.”

“That’s what I said!”

“Right.” Alma furrows her brows. “So the truth is that her dick head ex-husband controls what she does because he’s her legal guardian. It all makes sense now. No wonder she pays everything in cash. She probably doesn’t want him getting notifications each time she purchases with her debit card.”

“Do you think she actually tried to kill herself?” Jackson looks at us.

“Maybe.” I shrug. 

“No. She wouldn’t,” Alma insists. “Have you learned nothing about her? Ana is all Angie talks about when we’re together. She loves her sister, so there is no way she would leave Ana behind with Jeremiah. Ever.”

“Well, we don’t talk about deep shit, and I think Angie likes it like that,” I reply.

“Ugh!” Alma rolls her eyes. “Men are all the same. I bet she’s told you lots of things, but you weren’t paying attention. Typical.”

Jackson scratches his shaved head. “So, if Angie didn’t try killing herself, she must have been set up.”

“It would make sense.” Alma nods. “She said her husband tried killing her once. They were in a hot tub, and he pushed her head under the water and wouldn’t let go. Afterward, he laughed and said if he wanted to kill her, he wouldn’t drown her. Or something like that. It had Angie spooked.”

“Yeah, but what if Angie was just being dramatic?” I rub my chin because this is all too bizarre to digest. “Maybe he was messing around.” 

“No.” Alma shakes her head. “He choked her out recently.”

“What!” Jackson and I exclaim.

“Yeah. She came home late, probably after fucking you, Miguel, and he was in her apartment. He wanted to know where she’d been, but when she refused to tell him, he slammed her against the wall and started choking her. The only reason he stopped is that she warned him it would leave a mark and her doctor would see it at their next appointment.”

“Jesus…” Jackson blows out a breath. “So, not only is her ex manipulative, he’s dangerous too.”

“Their appointment? Like, couples counseling?” I say, and Alma shakes her head.

“Technically, it’s her psychiatrist, but Jeremiah always goes with her. He’s probably worried she’ll tell the doctor what a piece of shit he is, and now that we know he’s Angie’s legal guardian, it all makes sense. 

“Nah,” I say, with my fists curled into tight balls on the counter because I hate controlling assholes like Jeremiah. They deserve to be whacked in the back of the head with a baseball bat... not that I know anything about that. “The only thing that makes sense is he’s a controlling fucker. No wonder she wants him dead.”

“Yeah…” Alma rubs the creases on her forehead. “But I’m still worried about the part that says she was hospitalized for attempted suicide. I know she got depressed after the miscarriages and felt like her womb was useless. It got so bad that she started cutting her lower abdomen to punish herself, but I never got the impression she did it because she wanted to die.”

Jackson rubs his chin and says, “Do you think Jeremiah used that against her? And that’s how he got her hospitalized?”

“Probably,” Alma says. “It’s a real asshole thing to do, and the man is a total prick!” 

Sitting back, I process her words, recalling all of the scars on Angie’s lower stomach—the ones I thought were stretch marks at first. Then I remember Angie standing alone on the sidewalk outside of Penthouse, wiping her eyes after I used her scars as a weapon to call her crazy. The same guilt that cocooned me that night as I drove away regurgitates itself, and I’m newly washed in the shame. 

However, the feeling doesn’t last because the doorbell rings, and it sobers me up. 

Alma’s eyes widen when she looks at her phone. “Shit! The time.”

“Shit…” Jackson scrambles to collect the documents, and Alma shoves them into a drawer by the sink. Meanwhile, I’m sitting here confused. 

“What’s going on?” I glance between them.

“It’s Angie,” Alma whispers as she makes her way to the door. “I almost forgot I invited her over for brunch!”

“Fuck,” I say.

“Fuck is right,” Jackson snorts.

Then, I brace myself for an afternoon of tiptoeing around her dirty truths as she steps into the apartment wearing a pair of skin-tight jeans and stiletto boots. I slide off the stool and stand to greet Angie as she slinks off her fur coat.

Her gaze flashes to me, but she doesn’t smile. 

“Hey, handsome.” 

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Ello! If you've made it this far, I just wanted to give a heads up that there's a slight delay with chapter 32 & 33 due to technical difficulties. When I try posting them, they show up with a paywall when they should be free. I'm trying to get it sorted with HQ. Please bear with me 🙏🏽