“Yeah, okay.” He grins. “Keep talking. She’s going to jail by the weekend.”
My blood spikes.
He leans in. “Probably getting railed through the bars by…”
I reach for my therapy toolkit like a man trying to plug a bullet wound with a wet napkin.
Breath one.
Grant me the strength to not go full felony in a public facility.
“… some tweaker who likes ‘em crazy. She’ll probably love it.” He sneers at me.
Breath two.
The patience to breathe through premeditated homicide.
He keeps talking. “She’ll be in county by the weekend. Bet she moans for the guards.”
My vision tints red around the edges. I don’t remember swinging.
But I feel the impact.
A satisfying, meaty crunch as his face explodes under my knuckles.
Chad drops. Nose busted, maybe cheekbone too. There’s blood on my shirt. On my hand. Glitter from her card still clings to my wrist.
Breath three.
Still don’t remember the fucking line.
“Kevin?” I call, turning away from the mess I made. “Gonna need you to cover my four-thirty.”
I head out, drive to the Econo Inn. The kind of shithole where the walls don’t hear a thing and the stains have stains. Then shoot her a text.
Me: Econo Inn. Room 4. Bring my glove. Wear my hat.
Delilah: On my way. Just need an hour. Running errands. Stay hard.
A fucking hour? She’s making me wait. On purpose. Little brat wants me feral.
She’ll get feral and hard.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Delilah
This morning is sponsored by rage, sexual tension, and the government’s inability to fund proper satellite infrastructure.
The tracking app is down. I know this because I couldn’t verify Benji made it to work without visually confirming his safety from the parking lot like a sugar-baby sniper with attachment issues and a Swarovski scope. Cute, right? Just girl things.
And then Detective Nosy McTrauma-Trigger calls me for the third time after asking, “Where were you Monday night?”
Bold of him to assume I even know what day it is.
I let it go to voicemail because I’ve already lied once and I’m not about to freestyle perjury until I’ve got a glitter knife and an alibi forged in morally ambiguous sparkles. Priorities.
I have shit to do.
