Page 101 of Savage Daddies
Another hand redirects my fist back toward me.
I look at the dude. He’s the same height as me. I’m about to ask what his deal is and kick him in the nuts, but see the “SECURITY” label bold across his chest and think otherwise.
Paul had a different security guard.
He must’ve left after his death.
“Boys and Zoe, please follow me.”
Zoe, still in shock from her father’s words, lets the security guard loop an arm under her armpit to drag her away.
Brain delay is a phenomenon I’m familiar with.
I know what it’s like to have reality flipped on its head too.
“I thought…” she says as soon as we land back out on the strip. “I thought…he still cared. That there was still a soul inside of him.” She places two shaking hands over her face and sobs softly into them.
Another white flash blinks.
“HEY!” I bark. “Out of here.Now!”
The adolescent couple scurry away like mice, cameras dropped.
Poet and Wrangler each wrap an arm around Zoe.
“You can cry about this later,” says Poet. “But first, we have Fiona to sort out.”
24
WRANGLER
“Family feud:Zoe and Warren go at it at Cash Pot Palace as father catches daughter entertaining bikers again, even though they broke into her house the other night and attempted to rape her! Question for Zoe: are you okay in the head, girl? Maybe you should be put on some new meds.”
“This time, the men have gone for a more country theme, and are even more brutal than before. See photo below.”
It’s two images—one of me and the other of Poet as we hold Aaron up against the wall. One positive comes out of the situation—we look good. Like, very good. They captured us well in the topless cowboy outfits, and the light hits us just right. Anything for a hot, scandalous photo, I guess.
I can’t be mad that they painted us in a good light.
But fury burns my skin more than the Texas sun, because once again, they’re making entertainment from Zoe’s tears.
I read more of the captions.
“Protective much? Two of Zoe’s lovers caught earlier today fighting casino dealer for getting too close to their girl.”
Horseshit. Zoe wasn’t even fucking present at that point.
And there’s more. One more photo has been inserted toward the end of the article, and it’s outside of the building. I stare at the photo of Zoe sobbing into her hands, and feel my chest contract like I’m suffering multiple different heart conditions.
“Here, we see Zoe outside of the casino in tears over father-daughter dispute, but hey, at least she’s wearing Christian Dior and a fresh manicure! #FirstWorldProblems.”
I snort a laugh, and it startles the others.
Funny—the writer left out the juiciest detail.
The part where Zoe said Felix was going tomurderher sister.
Kicking my feet up onto Warren’s couch, I take a look at some of the comments. Three hundred and sixty of them, and the article only went live an hour ago.
