“You’re threatening me?” she squeaks. Her earlier bravado has already started to leak out of her voice. Through my fingers, I can feel the clear tremor of her wrist.
It reminds me of an old Chinese saying: The mantis stalks the cicada, unaware of the oriole behind it.
Meet the f*****g oriole, b***h.
“Mrs. Hill,” I say with a hint of amusement, “the only reason you’re getting a choice at all is because your children are here. And because, unlike your deadbeat husband, I don’t enjoy hitting women and kids.”
I catch a flash of surprise across April’s face. Eleanor’s off-handed mention of Tom shouldn’t have meant anything to me—so how do I know? I can practically read the question written across her face.
But April’s too smart not to put two and two together. In a second, her expression c
