“Yeah.”
I close my eyes.
Thank God.
Then I open them and look at the bag.
Lottie’s voice softens by one dangerous inch. “Morning comes fast when you’re breaking your own heart.”
I press my hand to my mouth.
For one second, I think I will tell her no. I will stay. I will face Derby. I will face Jeremy. I will trust the men, the locks, the roads, the guns, the club, the love that has already made such a mess of me.
Then August laughs from the bedroom, and the sound is too young for this much fear.
I lower my hand.
“Then I better not sleep,” I whisper.
Chapter Seventeen
Derby
The holding cell smells like bleach, old sweat, and men who should have made better decisions.
So, familiar.
I sit on the narrow bench with my elbows on my knees and my cuffed hands hanging between them, blood dried in the creases of my knuckles. Jeremy Vale’s blood. Not enough of it, but enough to keep me from grinding my teeth down to dust while I wait for Twila Dix to decide how much of her afternoon she wants to ruin with me.
The fluorescent light overhead buzzes like an insect with a death wish.
Across from me, a drunk in a John Deere hat snores against the wall. He got picked up for trying to fight the inflatable tube man outside a tire shop. Apparently, he claimed it was mocking him.
I respect that more than I should.
My phone is gone. My cut is gone. My belt is gone. They took the knife from my boot and the second knife from the inside pocket of my vest because Twila has a suspicious nature and good instincts. She found the third one too.
That irritated me.
A man needs hobbies.
The door beyond the bars opens, and Twila steps into view with a folder in one hand and an expression that says she has already dealt with too much male foolishness for one day and I’m not even the worst of it, just the loudest.
Whiskey comes in behind her. He’s got his cut on, yeah. But also, a clean shirt. Trimmed beard. Calm eyes. Not a hair out of place. He looks like the kind of man who pays bail with a credit card that earns points.
Twila hates how useful he is.
I can tell by the way she ain’t looking at him.
Whiskey is absolutely looking at her.
Not like an idiot. Whiskey is too careful for that. He looks at her like she is a locked door with a loaded gun behind it, and he is already thinking about which key fits.
Twila feels that too.
Her lips pucker.
Interesting.