Page 21 of Savage Daddies
But one eyelash flutter hardens my balls.
“Zoe,” presses Poet, “did you run away?”
She stares at him for a moment. I almost see the lump form in his throat as he tries to contain himself. What sort of teacher-student relationship did they have?
Definitely a non-physical one.
But now a butcher knife couldn’t even cut the tension between them.
“Yeah,” she says. “I did, but it’s never successful, and I don’t know why I still do it.” Her eyes narrow, like she’s searching for a reason. “That’s my problem. I don’tthink. I just do. I even left Sammy at the house.”
“Sammy?”
“My little girl. I normally include her in my escape plans, but it was too obvious. If it gets late and Sammy’s not home—must mean I’ve snuck out again. I’m always caught, and it’s because wherever I go, there are people. All it takes is one person. One person to recognize me. To ask, ‘What are you doing out here so late?’ as they phone the police to report me.”
Zoe rolls her eyes. “Felix pays people generously if they find me. He says I sleepwalk, and I get lost, run away in an attempt to escape my nightmares. Honestly, it’s complete bullshit, but he says he’s taking care of it, and is in contact with doctors to see if my sertraline dose needs increasing. I don’t even fucking take sertraline. I don’t sleepwalk. Trust me, it’s all a conscious decision. Thing is, people don’t question anything that ever comes out of that man’s mouth. Instead of asking themselves why I’m having nightmares and running away, they’re peeling their eyes extra wide at night just in case they win a thousand bucks.”
I raise my eyebrow. Talk about a monologue.
“Shit. Sorry.” She shakes her head. “I’m talking too much.”
“Talking is good,” says Poet.
Bullwhip and I both know that talking is the number one cause of death.
Zoe half smiles at Poet. Then she exhales. Rubs her head. “Look, I just thought if I could get out in the morning, and without Sammy, I’d have a chance of escaping successfully. But there is no successful escape, especially not out in the desert, and especially not without Sammy.” Another head rub. “I need to go back. You guys could get into trouble.”
“We’re always in trouble, darlin’. That’s why we base ourselves out here.” I sniff a laugh. Continue looking at her. Red hair parts around her face so perfectly.
But that’s not the only thing that’s red.
Her eyes fill with the color too.
“Lay down, gorgeous.” I flash a smile at her. “You’ve trekked ten miles out into the desert. You need a rest.”
Instead of obeying my command, she tilts her head and says, “Nice accent.”
Boy, if I had a shot of whiskey every time somebody said that.
Her saying it feels different, though.
The oral equivalent of eating cake.
“He’s right, Zoe. You need to sleep,” Poet says.
One look into Poet’s eyes has her kicking off the six-inch heels and shuffling further up the bed. Her head hits the pillow, and Poet and I untuck the comforter and bring it around her as Bullwhip, poker-faced, watches.
“I can’t believe I’m being tucked into a whore’s bed,” she murmurs.
Sun streams in through the window, bronzing her face and shimmering the diamond ring on her finger. That thing needs to hurry up and set beneath the horizon before I’m ripping the jewel from Zoe’s finger and tossing it out into the desert for the coyotes.
Feelings boil in my stomach. Many feelings. Too many to count.
I knew Venom Vultures wasn’t gonna be simple and stress free, but it’s times like these when I wish I was back at the ranch. The sun was worse there and burned your skin if you stayed out in it too long, but times were simpler, and life had this uncomplicated feeling to it.
From dusk till dawn, I was outside herding cattle. Riding horses out into the desert searching fornewcattle to make our family even richer.
Even though the Tyler name already stank of money.
