Page 63 of Dirty Deadly & Mine
After doing some housework and washing some clothes and bedsheets, I sit down in my empty house and contemplate giving Barrett a call.
I haven’t told him about the message thread between me and… well, whoever it is that thinks they can get me to help them bring the Marx family down. I can’t tell Barrett everything, like the fact that this person knows I have a lover, but perhaps the fact that he or she is watching me should have me more worried.
They haven’t threatened me. Just made me aware that they know my bloodline.
Scrolling through the messages, I decide to call my cousin. This is family business, not Crimson Angel business.
Getting my iPad, I bring up the secured app so I can video call Barrett instead of just voice calling, because right now, I really need to see his face. How else will I gauge his reaction to this news?
The video call rings for a bit, and I almost think Barrett isn’t going to answer, my eyes flicking to the time. It’s early Sunday evening, but he travels all around the world, so I suppose he could be sleeping.
“Good morning.” His deep voice comes through the speaker as his frozen image turns blurry on the screen before it clears.
“Morning? Where are you?”
He grins. “New Zealand. Just ordered my morning coffee.”
I snicker. This guy. He’s never in one place for long, and seen the world more times over than anyone I know.
He’s not wearing a suit jacket, but he’s still wearing a crisp white collared shirt, although more casually than normal with the buttons undone at the top, and his sleeves rolled up to show the inky vines that weave up one arm.
“You know you’ll never find a wife if you keep moving around so much, Bar. No woman wants to be left alone to raise kids by herself.”
He scoffs. “I don’t plan on having a wife. Ever.” He grunts before lifting his mug to his lips and taking a sip of his coffee.
“You know she’s older now?—”
“Did you call for something?” he snaps, cutting me off, and I sigh, my shoulders dropping at his dismissal.
My cousin has his own hang-ups involving someone much younger than him. Maybe I should tell him about Asher. Then he can see that age difference is no big deal.
Jesus, who am I kidding? This thing with Asher and me is a huge deal.
“Fine.” I give in and change the conversation to why I called. “I just thought you should know Imayhave engaged in a message conversation with my texting stalker.”
“The fuck!” Barrett snaps, anger flashing over his expression just as another voice cuts over his.
“What the fuck do you mean, stalker?”
I freeze at the voice, the screen showing Barrett’s phone getting knocked over, and when it’s lifted again, I come face to face with one of my brothers.
Devon.
For a moment, all I can do is blink at him.
“Lil? You have a stalker?”
Air seizes in my lungs, and in a panic, I end the call.
My hands are shaking as my eyes blur with tears, and I just stare at my iPad screen where my brother’s face was moments ago.
I haven’t seen him in over twenty years, but it doesn’t mean I haven’t followed what’s happening with my family through the Australian media. He’s not the young guy I left behind. He’s a grown man, very much resembling younger versions of the older Marx men in the family.
A video call starts flashing on the screen, and a sob escapes me as Barrett’s betrayal sinks in.
He knew my brother was there. He knew Devon could hear what I was saying, and he had no intention of letting me know.
How many times has he done that?
