17. Fiora

The burger joint is loud, which is a good thing, because it drowns out the memories of Braken and my masked stalkers who, though they are no longer wearing masks, are nearby. They were watching me when I left the cottage to walk over to Main Street for my meeting.

My body is still buzzing. I'm so wound up from everything swirling in my mind that I snapped at the waiter who offered me a solo table. As soon as I left Braken's office yesterday, I called Marco and asked to meet for lunch. He was a bit hesitant at first, not wanting to travel all the way to Heathens Hollow, but eventually said he'd come as soon as possible.

I've been waiting ten minutes, and each feels worse than the last. Marco and I are unspoken. There was a time in college when we messed around a few times. Stolen kisses here, some fingering and blowjobs there. But we never went all the way and could never make it official.

"Your dad would kill me if he found out," Marco said, laughing when I asked him to be the one to take my virginity. "I want to do this the proper way. Get his blessing and all. You're worth waiting for, Fiora."

Thanks to this ring on my finger now, it will never happen.

Fuck, the ring.

"Fiora!"

I turn to see Marco approaching, hand raised in a happy wave. Before I greet him, I knock the engagement ring off my finger with my nail and stuff it into the pocket of my jeans jacket. He doesn't need to know about the engagement yet. If he does, we'll get sidetracked. Right now, the most important thing is finding who killed Mason.

I stand to give him a hug and let him hug me for just a bit longer. He's not as tall or sturdy as Braken, and he smells like cigarettes that he chain-smokes when he doesn't have any leads.

A vision of Braken's cock pressed against my thigh flashes through my mind and I must clench my thighs to stop the aching. Goddamnit. Now is not the time for this.

"Sorry, was working on something," Marco says when he lets me go. He offers an apologetic smile. "Been waiting long?"

"If I waited any longer, the waiters were going to give me a pity drink on the house," I joke and retake my seat.

He takes the chair across from me and shrugs off his jacket. "Oof, that bad, huh?"

"I think that means you now owe me a pity drink."

"Sure, but I get to choose."

After the waiter comes and takes our drink and appetizer order, I lean my elbows on the table and smile at him.

"Thanks for coming. I know things have been hectic lately."

I need to get him talking about Mason's murder so I can glean any information he has. But I don't want to make it seem like I'm just using him for it. I enjoy his company, and right now, I need a friend to confide in. We sit in silence, taking in our surroundings as the awkwardness grows.

As soon as the waitress sets down our beers, Marco takes a large swig and smiles.

"It's been a long time since we've had a meal together like this."

"That's because some of us are busy working our way up the ladder," I tease, pushing my beer to the side. I'm not a big beer fan but it'll go well with the fried goodness I ordered for lunch. "Is that promotion any closer?"

"Should be." Marco sighs and sets down his already half-empty beer. "But there's always someone who's a friend of a friend who could get chief before me."

The police and the mob aren't too different in that regard. It's all about who you know and with whom you place your loyalty. One wrong move, and you're up shit creek without a paddle.

"I'm sure you'll get it. There's no one who works harder than you." I sigh wistfully, placing my chin in my palm. "It honestly feels like yesterday that we were even talking about you becoming a police officer."

"Are you getting sentimental on me, Fiora?" Marco jokes, reaching over the table to flick my nose with his finger. "Thinking about yesteryear?"

I scrunch my nose and lean back. I hate when he does that, but he never listens. We return to awkward silence, and I wonder if it's always been this way between us. Hard.

Our appetizers arrive, and Marco immediately digs into the boneless wings before the waiter even places down the napkins and utensils.

"I mean, when I first met you, you didn't even know what major you wanted."

"It was a waste of thousands if you ask me," he says, mouth half-full of chicken. "That school is insanely expensive. Some of us don't have Godwin-type money, you know."

Normally, I can brush off his good-natured jokes and answer with a quip of my own, but something about it this time stings. Using Daddy's money to parade around like a princess,Braken's voice rings in my mind. It's louder than the other patrons and the pop music playing over the speakers. I shiver, running my hands up and down my jacket-covered arms to ward off goosebumps. I worked hard to get my degrees, even if my father paid the hefty university tuition for it.

"Yeah," I say, reaching out for the last piece of chicken before Marco can finish it off. He's already halfway through the cheesy nachos by the time I'm done. "But still, it's nice to see you achieve your dream and all."

Especially since mine died a long time ago. All that studying, and for what? To be a socialite who hopped around parties in Seattle, spending Daddy's money and waiting for the day I'd get to use my multi-thousand-dollar degree. Now it is even more useless because I am doomed to become nothing more than Braken Frost's trophy wife. At least Jescie and Sable aren't getting married right away. They still have a little time. To Papa, we aren't anything more than cattle he can sell off whenever he feels like it.

All for the family.

"Yeah, it's kinda crazy. I'm getting so much more responsibility and all that. But everything's been on hold since… you know."

Since the day my life changed. Since my brother was taken from me. Since our family lost everything.

"I know," I answer quietly, setting down my fork. "Actually, I was wondering about that."

Marco narrows his eyes at me, and I pause. For some reason, he looks angry, and I can't place why. Is asking about my brother's case really a crime? I blink and the look is gone, replaced with a lopsided grin. Did I just imagine that?

"I don't know anything, Fiora," he says. "I'm as clueless as you."

"No one's talking about it?" I lean forward across the table. "It's a pretty big deal. It was all over the news."

"The Feds are doing their own investigation." Marco throws an arm over the back of his chair. It's an awkwardly casual position for discussing my brother's murder. "I'm Seattle police, so I have to take a step back."

"Can't you offer help? Have both sides work together?"

"And step on the wrong toes?" His question is incredulous, and so is his laughter. "Listen, I'm high up, but the big brass won't hear of it. It could get us in trouble."

I think of Braken, who, despite changing the subject, never refuted me when I asked about leads. That means he's looking into the murder himself and bypassing the useless Seattle cops. The information should soothe me, but if anything, I feel colder. Marco is the one who should be helping me, but it's a literal stranger who knows how to work my pussy until I'm?—

I reach out for my beer and take a few large gulps to ward off that thought. But it's too late—my body flushes hot at the memory of Braken's hand between my legs. I need to focus.

"Whoa, calm down there, Fiora," Marco chuckles. "You want another?"

I shake my head, setting down my nearly empty drink and dabbing at my lips.

"Our main dishes should be here soon?—"

"No one's come to talk to me," I press on. I won't let him change the subject. "It's almost been a week. Shouldn't I be interviewed or something?"

"We're still on this?" Marco sighs like I'm some annoying student, and he's my teacher. "Why are you so hung up on this?"

"Because I?—"

I slam my mouth shut. Guilt eats away at me, clawing against my throat and threatening to burst. I haven't told anyone, and I don't want it to come spilling out over bad beer and greasy burgers.

"It's my brother," I finish instead. "Of course I'm hung up on it. You'd be the same if it was your family. It's only been a week, Marco."

Marco's face softens slightly, and he taps his fingers against the table. "Yeah. Yeah, you're right. Sorry, but I don't know what they're doing over there, so maybe you should call them yourself."

"Can't you call them for me?" I question. "Say you're curious how the investigation is going. If they interviewed anyone or checked any footage. Stuff like that. Not as a cop, but as a friend."

"No," Marco answers so harshly that my heart drops. "Look, I can't lose my job over this. You know how hard I've been working for the promotion. One wrong move, and I fuck up my entire career, Fiora. Is that what you want for me?"

Of course not. I know how hard Marco has worked for both the police and as a double agent for my father. He's gone out of his way to get information or find shipments or traitors whenever my father asks. So why can't he do the same for me just this once?

"You said if I need anything to let you know."

Marco's face falls. "Fiora."

"Don't ‘Fiora' me," I snap in annoyance, throwing my thick napkin onto the table. "So, was that just a lie to make me feel better?"

"I want to help you, I really do, but I can't. Not everyone has the weight of the Godwin name and money behind them to get what they want, you know. You sound like a spoiled rich girl upset she isn't getting her way."

The barb feels like knives cutting my skin over and over. I thought Marco saw me as more than a Godwin, but maybe I was mistaken. Marco knows he fucked up, because his mouth opens and closes a few times like a fish out of water before he sighs.

"Look, that came out wrong. What I mean is?—"

"Buffalo burger with seasoned fries," our waiter cuts in, dropping the plate onto the table in front of us. "And a cheeseburger, hold the pickles, extra mustard."

I stare at Marco the entire time the waiter serves our food, speechless for the first time in our seven-year friendship. Between Braken's dismissal and edging earlier and Marco's refusal to even make a simple phone call, I'm one more stupid roadblock from exploding.

Once the waiter is gone, I grab my handbag, retrieve my wallet, and toss down a few twenties on the table before Marco can stop me. He reaches for my hand, but I pull away, and throw my bag's strap over my shoulder.

Marco stands when I do. "Hey, wait, Fiora, come on. Sit back down. I'm sorry."

"Give whatever is left over to the waiter as a tip." I flash him a sarcastic smile. "What's a few burgers to the Godwins, after all? I'm spoiled, rich, and"—I glare at him one last time—"go fuck yourself, Marco."

I leave Marco behind as he calls my name over the ruckus. I don't turn around and step out onto the street. I sense eyes on me, but I ignore it. Even in my heels, I'm close enough to walk, and the cool breeze feels good on my flushed skin.

Braken won't tell me anything. Marco won't help me. Papa certainly won't offer any information, even if I begged. Then who can I go to? Jescie? Sable? Would they know anything? Doubtful.

Maybe I can retrace Mason's steps. Meet with his friends to get his schedule before the Mariners game. I whip out my phone and scroll through my contacts to find just the person I'm looking for and press call.

As the phone rings, I make a vow to myself.

No matter what anyone says, I won't stop hunting for the truth.