5

Jule fidgets impatiently while Piper serves us tea. I watch her, enthralled by how she expertly pours the hot water from the metal pot into four fragile, tiny cups. I'm not a tea drinker, and neither is my brother, yet our hostess politely declined our inability to act like guests.

This meeting had turned into an evening chit-chat and not the aggressive scheme I had in mind. I had come here, pounded on her door with my overly grown teenage brother at my side, and then barked at her. It wasn't until I realized she was dressed differently, in sweats and a hoodie, with a warm smile on her face while inviting us in, that I quieted and relaxed.

Her sister Macy sits in front of me, perched quietly with her hands folded over her lap, her tired and puffy eyes scrutinizing our every move. She is prettier than I remembered; her dark blonde, straight hair is combed ordinarily, and she wears simple, tight black sweatpants with a red t-shirt that says Volleyball in white bold lettering on the front.

"Sugar in your tea?" Piper calls to us.

It's all so fucking strange. Having tea in a meat shop. Sure, the place has been renovated, although its basic structure is still the same. The backside is turned into a rather small yet cozy living area, complete with one loveseat, two recliners, a coffee table, and a cot lying near the far wall with puffy, warm blankets folded neatly near the edge. A basic plastic table, I hope has never held raw or cooked meat on it, has a few basic pots, pans, two plates, two plastic cups, as well as a handful of spoons. I have no idea where Piper materialized these four tea cups from, and I don't care to find out.

Jule nods to a question I'm not paying attention to–I'm much too engrossed with how this space has transformed in just one day.

"Thank you."

My brother's voice is husky, and it quakes slightly. Nothing too obvious for our two hostesses to spot, but I know my kin.

"Why don't we cut to the chase, Piper? I'm not here to drink tea, so might as well get to it."

Macy's eyes grow wide with my outburst, yet she smiles politely at her sister while carefully cupping her tea as if it were flammable. She dares a look at me, and her cheeks burn red when she notices me looking at her. Her eyes drop to her tea as if she wants to shrink, dive into it, and drown instead of listening to me speak.

Piper sits next to her sister and plants my cup on the coffee table directly within my reach. I roll my eyes at her and she smiles when my brother takes a small sip. Something about the taste makes him grin like a fool, and I look away, ignoring the traitor.

"I know why you're here, kid," she says calmly.

I grit my teeth. "Did you tell those cops about me?"

"What? No! Why, did someone witness what happened?" Piper's voice cracks, and something about the way she moves tells me she isn't lying; she has no idea the cops are on to me. She sets her tea down, her eyes glued to my face. Next to her, Macy reaches for her hand, the blood drained from her cheeks.

"Apparently someone did," I stutter, taken aback by their reactions. "Those two cops tracked me down, said they were told about the gun and everything."

The cup in Macy's trembling hand rocks. She picks her feet up and folds them up and underneath her.

"I thought you were here to persuade me to show the images on your blog," Piper whispers.

"Well, that's partly why I came, but only because I was confused. First, you didn't want me to share the info, and then you tell the cops? It didn't make sense."

Piper throws an arm around her sister's shoulders. "Yeah, well, it didn't make sense ‘cause I'm no snitch."

It's as if she's trying to control herself, but her voice increases in volume and the veins on her forehead pulse. This was the Piper I had met the other night, and it dawns on me that the only reason she was trying to control herself was for the sake of her sister. Who, unlike the previous day, is wide awake and attentive to our conversation.

I draw a deep breath. "Right, I get that now. Well, it must have been the person that called the sirens to begin with, I guess."

"What is it that you're not telling us?" I almost jolt out of my seat upon hearing Jule's thunder-like voice. I forgot he was here.

"That's none of your business. I'm going to ask that you please leave… now." Piper's voice morphs into a menacing, low growl. Macy buries her face into her sister's chest, obviously terrified by our conversation.

I understand Piper's eagerness to protect her sister, but Jule is right. There"s something she isn't telling us, and if it puts my family in danger, I have the right to know. I stand and signal Jule to do the same.

"Remember what I told you before–we're on the same side here. You can trust me."

Piper's eyes glisten, and she buries her chin in her sister's hair. "I'm sorry, kid. But I don't trust my own shadow. What makes you think you're an exception?"

I nod and turn to leave.

Forget her. If she doesn't want my help, then her problems will no longer interest me. I have far too much to worry about to be concerned with helping out a pair of skinners that don't want my help to begin with.

I'm mumbling exactly those words under my breath and reaching for the doorknob to the back door when I realize Jule isn't by my side. I turn, panic-stricken, and see him place a small piece of paper on the coffee table.

"We truly do want to help. Believe me, there's a lot we may not seem to understand, but we do. Nik's just hard-headed." Jule is looking at them, his back facing me as he points in my direction. He turns, still smiling one of the most charming grins I've ever seen on him, and joins me.

Piper's brows furrow in confusion, but it's her sister's gleaming green eyes that strike me the most.

"Thank you," Macy says, staring at Jule.

It's the first time I hear her speak. Maybe even the first time she's ever spoken by the way Piper stares at her, shocked. I'm not about to stick around to unearth the secrets of their vocabulary, so I stalk off. Jule waves like an idiot and repeats the words you're welcome, like eight times before finally closing the door.

"What did you write on the paper?"

Jule has this stupid grin on his face, one I can only recognize as a ‘star-struck smirk'.

"Our home address."

I stop walking. "Why the hell did you do that?"

"That could've been our mother, Nik. I'm sorry, but what else was I supposed to do? They look terrified, and if we don't help them, who the hell will?"

I look away, rolling my eyes in the process. I hate it when he's right. When did my little brother grow up, when did he begin to understand the complexities of life, when did he mature enough to outwit me? Wasn't I chastising him to respect these two women just the other day?

Fuck. "Alright fine, just wipe that stupid smirk off your face."

We walk and then jog through the sharp bends and curves of the maze-like quadrants, stopping against dark alley walls only when we come close to being spotted. We can't afford to be detected. On our way, we notice various police vehicles, as well as a few officers, walking the streets.

Jule says nothing, but we share the same expression and most likely our thoughts coincide. Either these cops are seriously looking to find the girl with the Tec9 or Vork has finally attacked prime skin. Who the hell are these two girls, and what do they know? I can't risk going back. The evening is rolling by quickly, and I have to get ready for work.

My hungry stomach rumbles as I squeeze into some black pleather tights. I curse under my breath and wriggle into an equally tight, dark blue corset, which makes my already abundant chest stick out. I sit on the small, squeaky bed and feel the bodice wrap around my torso like an anaconda about to feast on its prey. I can barely breathe.

"I'm not going to last the night with this ridiculous outfit, Jasmin."

"Well, that's what you get for not owning your own."

She sounds like my mother, but she's right, though. I have to wear one of her many skimpy work outfits tonight since my regular attire—jeans, sneakers, and a t-shirt—are unacceptable dress code.

I stare at my best friend. The differences between Jasmin and me go beyond height. Aside from being five inches taller than me, Jasmin is thin with smooth, dark skin, bright caramel eyes, and luscious, tight curls. She's a Dominican goddess.

"Whatever, toss me my shoes."

"Are you insane? You'll ruin the look with your Chuck's. Wear Mom's heels."

"Now you're the one who's insane."

What did it matter what shoes I was wearing? All I was going to do all night was usher partygoers of a much higher class into a busy nightclub on the outskirts of this fucked up city. I would not sit for the rest of the night, let alone lean on a wall, so why would I want to parade around in heels? Only a crazy person would put their feet through such torment. But Jasmin reaches for my shoes and shoves them inside a drawer, then digs around until she finds a pair of insanely high-heeled pumps she seems satisfied with.

"Damn it, Jas. Curse the day I said I'd fill in for your friend."

"You need the money, Justice… That's why you agreed, so just keep your mind on that and not your clothes. Besides, everyone there will be dressed in much less, trust me."

I'd been dodging Jasmin's attempts to get me to work with her at the nightclub. The thought of being surrounded by people, loud music, sweat, and booze I can't drink? No thanks. But she's right, we could use the extra income. I nod dismissively and reach for my camera. I sit on the floor and skim through the footage.

"It's gone," I gasp.

Jasmin spins around. "What?"

"The images, the video… it's all fucking gone." I press the buttons frantically and scroll left and then right.

Jasmin drops to the floor next to me and resists the urge to yank the device away to search for it herself. Our gazes lock.

"Has this ever happened before?"

I look around, my eyes bouncing from one surface to another. "Yea, but … I always thought it was due to my weak ass equipment. It's the first time with the Pentax."

I drop the camera and lean into the wall. My eyes burn. For the first time, I had concrete evidence. My first initial thought rushes to Piper, but she's never even held my camera. I don't know of anyone else close enough to erase the data, who would want to jeopardize my work.

"Fuck," Jasmin and I both blurt in unison.