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“That’s stupid.”
“Now you sound like my kid sister, not some operative spewing extraction plan bullshit.”
She nudged him with a playful elbow. “Leave him alone. It was more than ten years ago.”
“I’m not having some guydomy sister and not have hell to pay. You deserve something, someone special or some crap like that.”
“It’s not like he was my fir—”
“Do not finish that sentence.” He shook his head, then all but covered his ears.
“Roman, I wasn’t a—”
“Shut it. Now.”
“I was a sophomore in college, for Christ sake.”
“You were my innocent kid sister.”
“I think we’ve already established that nothing I do, or have done, has been that innocent.”
“Cash is a slut. You need to stay away from him. I should’ve told you that in college. I just didn’t know. Or realize. I thought we were all buddy-buddy.”
“Cash is your best friend. Was mine too.”
“Dudes don’t have best friends. No BFF necklaces and shit like that. There’s a code, and there’s repercussions. You two might’ve been tight. Best friends or whatever, but he and I were buds.”
“I loved him.”
Well, that shut up the banter. Roman’s jaw hung to the ground. He threw his hands in the air. “That I’m not touching.”
“I did. Love him, I mean, and I think...”
He turned back to her, almost pityingly. “’Cause you’ve known him your whole life. That’s not love. That’s like… brotherly affection or something else.”
“No, Roman. You’re wrong. I fell in love with him the day he let me ride his dirt bike in grade school. Again the day he took that girl everyone in high school picked on to the prom when he was Prom King. And the day in college he tried everything to keep me from kissing him.”
“Whatever you two were, it wasn’t much if he tosses outdoing you on the side. He deserves a beat down, if for no other reason than leading you on. That piece of shit.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Neither do you. Stay away from him. He’s my bro, but he’s a man whore with indiscriminate taste. Hell, I don’t even know you anymore, but I know you deserve better than that.”
***
This house had shitty insulation. For middle-class suburbia, it could have used better interior construction because, for everything he did to ignore the brother-sister convo, Cash failed.
Hewasa piece of shit, and Roman was right. He was always down for a fuck, but damned if that busted-up beauty hobbling in the kitchen wasn’t the cause of it.
At least brother and sister were making amends. He and Roman would duke it out in the morning. Wouldn’t be the first or last time they’d throw down. It worked for them, and truth be told, he felt like a beating might kill off the emo bullshit bouncing around in his brain.
Cash took off the ankle holster, laid the gun under his pillow, and looked at Betty. “Looks like you’re the only one in my life. Glad you can’t hobble away.”
Then again, he wouldn’t have Betty the Shitkicker if things hadn’t gone down with Nicola the way they did. He’d be married, kicking it with a white picket fence somewhere out in Small Town, USA. No idea how he’d earn a living. It sure as shit wouldn’t be traveling all over the world, blowing the brains out of other POS. And his wife wouldn’t be up to her cute nose in the CIA.
“Night, Betty.”
But saying goodnight didn’t accomplish his sleep-focused end game.