The World is a Stage by Tamara Morgan Page B

same craggy lines of dissipation. They were brothers, probably, though the younger one had a lot fewer tattoos and a messy brown sweep of hair in place of Eric’s signature shorn look.
    “I know you told me to stay away from that place, but I can’t let them get away with saying that shit about me. I’ll just make a quick trip—”
    “Not now, Nick. I don’t care what kind of crap they pull. You have to keep your head down and just suck it up for once.”
    “But you said—”
    Eric gripped his brother’s arm, fury tightening in the corners of his mouth. “I don’t give a rat’s ass what I said. This is about a lot more than you and me. And I’m not talking about this with the girls and Molly standing right over there. Just play it cool.”
    “Does she know?”
    A grimace passed over his face, and Rachel’s blood went cold. “Eric?”
    Eric looked over at her, and she could tell it was a struggle for him to maintain a semblance of calm. “Hey, Rachel. What’s up?”
    For the first time, she felt out of her element talking to this man. Granted, she hadn’t been exactly going out of her way to have conversations with him, but she’d always felt assured in what she said and how she said it—tattoos and muscles notwithstanding.
    But with his face a closed off mask of irritation, his arms crossed over his chest with the veins standing out like twisted ropes, she felt something else.
    Fear.
    This was not a man to cross.
    “I just wanted to say your daughters are really cute. Do you have full custody of them?”
    A tic along his jawline worked furiously. “You want to grill me about my family? Here? Now? Well, here’s an easy answer for you. It’s not any of your damn business.”
    Fear gave way to irritation. “Molly is my business, and I think it’s a fair question. Are you or are you not responsible for the lives of two human beings that you may or may not intend to foist upon my sister?”
    “And Molly knows the answer to it. Why don’t you ask her?” He relaxed a little, rubbing his hand over his mouth and letting out a heavy sigh. “Look, Rachel. I get the protective act you’re pulling—I really do. More than you probably realize. But not everything has to be a life-or-death issue here. Yes, the girls are mine and mine alone, though if you feel like digging through their records, you’ll find lots of shit to rub my face in.”
    She arched a brow. This would be good.
    “Oh, you want it all? Fine. Their mother was a fucked-up junkie who cared more about her next fix than her kids, but all the judges in this city strongly favor the mother for custody cases. Even more so when the mother is the daughter of a politician and the father looks like I do.”
    Rachel’s brow fell, but she still didn’t move.
    Eric took it as a challenge. “What? You want more? You want to know about the dirt I had to sling to get her parents to back down from pursuing their rights? The campaign smear? The photos? Or do you want to go over there and ask my youngest how it feels to know her mommy abandoned her when it turned out she wasn’t going to win the case against me?”
    She did want to know more—a lot more—but she wasn’t about to say it. Rachel could tell when she was being baited. He was practically begging for her to ask questions so he could shove the sob-story answers down her throat. Well, she wasn’t buying it.
    He might try to mask it behind heroics, but there was more to that story, more to his life. He had baggage. There was also that look of intense anger on his face and the unspoken threat of violence as the two brothers squared off next to the family minivan.
    “Sorry I asked,” Rachel bit out, turning away. But she wasn’t sorry. She wasn’t sorry at all. If there was one thing Rachel liked, it was knowing what she was up against. She wasn’t one of those women who turned a blind eye to a man’s faults. She liked to name her foe. Look him in the eye.
    Rip him to shreds.
    “Hey. Have