He sighs. “Fine. But if Wildcat reorganizes my garage, I’ll bury him in it.”
Whiskey types something on his phone. “Legend already sent Wildcat and Oaks ten minutes ago.”
Derby stares. “Excuse me?”
Whiskey doesn’t look up. “Prez knew what Sophie would be asking. And he recognizes your emotional resistance.”
“My emotional what?”
Sophie smiles. “Resistance.”
“I heard the words. I reject them.”
Whiskey’s phone buzzes. He reads the screen. “House is clear. Garage is a disaster. Wildcat used worse language.”
“That’s my garage,” Derby says proudly.
I should not smile.
I do.
Derby sees it.
For one strange second, the room narrows down to his eyes on my mouth.
Then August says, “Can we get cereal?”
The moment breaks.
Thank God.
Or unfortunately.
I don’t know anymore.
Derby points at him. “You are obsessed.”
“I like marshmallows.”
“That ain’t cereal. That’s candy in a bowl lying about breakfast.”
“I like lying candy.”
Sophie laughs.
Whiskey says, “I’ll add cereal to the list.”
“I don’t need a damn list,” Derby says.
“You absolutely need a list,” Sophie says.
I sit back on the edge of the bed, overwhelmed all over again. They are talking about cereal. Cereal and garages and lists. As if moving a woman and child into a biker’s house under threat from her husband is something that can be handled with logistics and sarcasm.
Maybe here, it can.
That’s the frightening part.
This world shouldn’t make sense.