“Marissa only ever helps herself.”
Noise echoes in the background. “I love you, Russie. But please don’t ghost me for another three months.”
“That’s not what?—”
The noises get louder and more hectic. “I love you,” she says again. “I have to go.”
There’s a smacking sound, Daisy blowing a kiss in farewell. When the line drops, my ears buzz with silence.
A two-minute phone call. That’s all I got. But at least I know she’s okay.
At least sort of okay.
Lennie’s sneakers swim into my vision. “Are you okay?”
I nod, not trusting my voice.
Her warm brown eyes shine with worry. “Look, I’m not asking this because I’m trying to dig or anything, but was that Daisy Montgomery by any chance?”
Horror spreads in my chest.
She shakes her head, tucking her phone back into her pocket and keeping her hands there. She’s trying to be casual, I think, or less of a threat.
“You should know,” she says, hair falling away from her scar-free cheek, “that people are putting out feelers for her.”
“Feelers?” What does that mean?
“Looking for information,” she clarifies. “They know she’s connected to Marissa. People want to know why.”
“But why would they care?”
Daisy and I grew up in a shitty area, wrapped under Marissa’s influence but we’re not like the Zimin or Akatovs. There’s nothing exciting about our upbringing where our mothers struggled to pay the bills and we got jobs as soon as we could. Not because we wanted to buy anything fancy, but because we needed food.
Lennie lifts a brow, though. “She’s the reason you married Max.”
I tried to keep her off the grid but it didn’t matter. Now there’s even more of a target on her back.
“Nobody’s surprised about the stunt Marissa pulled,” Lennie says. “But then it turns out nobody could find her. That Marissa is keeping her close, but nobody knows why.”
Oh, fuck me. “Everybody wants to figure out the mystery.”
Lennie nods. “Information is power.”
And sometimes more powerful than a gun.
“What do they know?”
“She’s your best friend, whatever debt she has, you tried to pay. People assume she started working for Marissa and that she likes cocaine.”
“She does not like cocaine!” One summer she went a bit wild but I promise, “She’s clean.”
Lennie doesn’t dispute it, but the wary expression doesn’t leave her face.
“Thank you.” Not just for the phone, but for the warning.
“Is she okay?” she quietly asks.
The ringing in my ears has yet to go away. “I’m not sure.”
