warning: This chapter includes Kimber being predatory in a way that's specifically fetishizing Trixie's Blackness, which is very gross and I don't condone it at all; it's nothing explicit but it does vaguely reference stereotypes about Black women's sexuality that are incorrect and offensive. If you want a version with those lines removed, please let me know and I will be happy to provide it.
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soundtrack: sptfy.com/bbf15
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"Do not be deceived: 'Bad company ruins good morals.'" —1 Corinthians 15:33
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"Are you alright?"
It was hardly what Trixie had expected him to say, but Tommy was full of surprises this evening. Here they were, pulling up in Kimber's long, winding driveway, the sun setting low and casting them in golden light that would've been impossible to achieve in Birmingham. Part of Trixie wanted to flee the scene altogether, and just sit in Kimber's garden while Tommy sorted it out, but that was hardly a real option. So she sat up a bit straighter and nodded. "Yes," she said. "Why?" she added, to be combative.
Tommy bristled. "Kimber had his hands on you."
"Oh, that?" Trixie said, as if the memory wasn't making her nauseous at the very moment. She shrugged in a poor attempt at nonchalance. "It's not important."
In the driver's seat, his grip on the steering wheel turned white-knuckled. With a grimace, he dug something out of his pocket. "Give me your hand."
Trixie eyed him for a moment, but offered her palm. In it, he deposited something wooden. "What's this?"
"Butterfly knife," Tommy replied. "Keep it latched so you don't stab yourself, please, but if he gets out of hand, use it."
She pressed her thumbnail against the latch and pulled the knife open carefully, a glinting silver blade concealed between the split wooden handle. Trixie had never stabbed anyone before, but if she had to start, she might as well start with Kimber—though Campbell was an equally appealing contender. "Can't imagine it would be good for business if I stab him." That brought his eyes to her, and Trixie wrapped her hand around the handle of the knife, jutting the blade out forward. "You think he'd be more amenable to a deal if he was bleeding out?"
He almost looked amused for a fleeting second, only to inform her, "You're holding it wrong."
She looked down at the knife. "What do you mean, I'm holding it wrong?"
