Hot Mama’s eyes catch the movement.
She says nothing.
That is somehow more unsettling.
Dinner is loud. Chili, cornbread, sliced apples, sweet tea, and enough jokes to make the pavilion feel like a family reunion held after half the family learned self-defense. I meet Wildflower, who looks exactly like her name for three seconds until she lifts her pant leg to show a knife tucked into her boot because August asks if all flowers are soft.
“Not this one, sugar,” she tells him with a wink.
Shortie handles security and apparently dessert because she brings out a tray of brownies and a sidearm at the same time. Sagebrush tells me she runs breathwork, herbal steaming, massage, trauma release, and shotgun maintenance because “healing should be well-rounded.” Harlot, the shaved-headed mechanic, looks me up and down and says my truck back in Kentucky is probably insulted I left it behind. Baby Doll, who is pretty enough to make men stupid and mean enough to make them regret it, hands me intake forms and tells me nobody here writes down what can be used against me unless I want it written.
“Court stuff?” I ask.
“Lawyer stuff,” she says. “Medical stuff. Protective stuff. Not gossip stuff. We got standards.”
August eats two bowls of chili and cornbread with honey. Princess Chomp sits beside Blue Rex. He laughs when another boy puts a noodle on his head like a wig. He gets dirt on his pajamas and sauce on his chin. He forgets to look for the door.
I watch him forget.
And I feel relief so deep it nearly takes me to my knees.
After dinner, Lottie finds me near the fire circle.
Her bag is already over her shoulder.
The sight of it sends panic through me.
“You’re leaving now?”
“If I wait till morning, you’ll spend all night dreading it.”
“That isn’t a good reason.”
“It’s a practical one.”
I fold my arms. “Does Hot Mama know you’re going?”
“Hot Mama knows when a fly sneezes near the gate.”
I look toward the main building. Hot Mama is there, talking to Shortie and Baby Doll, but her eyes flick to us like she heard her name through smoke.
Of course.
Lottie touches my arm. “You’ll be safe.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t. But you will.”
I swallow. “Derby will hate you.”
“Derby already hates me. It’s part of our charm.”
“He’ll come.”
“Yes.”
“What do I say to him?”