The Token 7: Thorn (A Token Novel) by Marata Eros Page B

second, his hard eyes edged with softness.
    “Don't tell no one about Thorn.”
    I shake my head. “Never.”
    The secret of his still waters running deep is safe with me. I would never bring a drought to that.
    Thorn guards his goodness so well it would take someone seasoned to see it.
    For what I have to say, he'll need it.
     
    *
     
    Kiki slurps the last of her drink, a Sex on the Driveway, and stands. She totters on her heels. “I'm getting another. Any takers?”
    “Ya don't need another one, Kik,” Thorn says in a dry tone.
    I have to agree, but since I'm a guest in her house, I stay silent.
    Her eyes laser on Thorn.
    “Just sayin',” he says.
    “Yeah…?” Her eyebrows pop. “Don't.”
    Thorn's hands dangle between his knees. A muscular leg like a tree trunk presses against mine as we sit on her couch.
    “Fine!” Kiki throws up her hands then looks at me. “Spill.”
    I take a deep breath. Thorn lays his hand on my thigh then lifts it.
    Go ahead, his gesture says.
    “I don't want you to die,” I begin.
    They stare at me. Kiki's eyes are round, and Thorn's are thoughtful.
    She gives a little laugh. “Girl, Kiki doesn't want to die either.”
    I nod quickly, blinking often. I wring my raw hands. I’ve washed them three times, scrubbed off what I've done.
    But my soul remembers: them or me.
    “ La foule Français.” My voice is barely above a whisper.
    Kiki taps her chin with a nail tip. “Frenchie?”
    I glance at my clenching hands and nod. “Yes. Shepard.”
    I lift my chin.
    “I am their mule.”
    Thorn gives me a sharp look. I feel he might withdraw from me.
    My bravery balances along a tight wire.
    “What—a donkey?” Kiki asks, and Thorn hangs his head.
    I meet Kiki's eyes. “No, I smuggle drugs to foreign countries and provide... comfort for gentlemen of the trade.”
    Comfort comes out something like criminal.
    I let it stand. My remorse hangs in the air like the smell of rain before it falls.
    “So…” Kiki's eyes train on me with compassion. “You know I love ya, right?”
    I understand the American vernacular well enough to know she means she holds great affection for me.
    I nod.
    “So you put smack in your sweet spot, and then after it's delivered, you screw the men.”
    I close my eyes for a long second. That's not a perfect translation, but it’s close enough.
    I own it, though I am a prisoner. Was.
    “Yes.”
    “How?” Thorn clips. His word is like a painful slap.
    I struggle not to become defensive.
    “The mechanics of it, or why I would do it?”
    Kiki looks from me to Thorn.
    “Holy shit… both, Simone,” he exclaims.
    I search his face. I find many emotions there, including the one I hope for: faith.
    Thorn has faith there's a good reason for what I've done. That he can put it somewhere in his mind that makes sense.
    I start at the beginning. “My grandmother is Nigerian.”
    “ I knew you were a sista!” Kiki says, palm up.
    I've never felt less like high-fiving, but I slap her hand anyway.
    Thorn's eyes move over my features. I know that a little bit of my ancestry peeks out around the edges, but generally, people aren’t sharp enough to guess it. They merely lump everyone of color into the same dim category: black.
    I am Simone.
    Actually, I’m Juliette Marcel, and I consider myself French.

15
    Thorn
     
    “I know a little about the drug trade,” I say carefully. I watch her face. Shame, remorse, and some other slice of bad hangs around her features, smearing them until I want to wipe away those feelings.
    Her eyes snap to mine. “What?”
    I sigh. This isn't very undercover of me, but basically, my goose is fucking cooked. If my DNA is found at her apartment, I'm linked to those murders. I'm obligated to come forward.
    It's my duty.
    But I can't. If I do, they'll stick a microscope up Simone's ass and never let up.
    She's the victim here. I haven't heard her words yet, but I know it.
    The real story's probably worse than my speculations.
    I scrub my