Her eyes move to Widowmaker. “Bike’s pretty.”
“Bike bites.”
“So do I.”
“Figured.”
Her smile turns wicked. “You ain’t as dumb as you look.”
“People keep saying that.”
“People are generous.”
I step closer half a foot.
Weapons shift again.
I stop.
“Jeremy is dead,” I say.
Whatever reaction I expect, Hot Mama doesn’t give it.
No surprise.
No guilt.
No joy.
She just looks at me like I told her rain fell in Oregon.
“Then she’s safer than she was yesterday,” she says.
There it is.
Cold.
Simple.
My stomach turns.
“You know already?”
“I know many things.”
“Did you do it?”
A few Queens go still.
Shortie’s eyes narrow.
Hot Mama doesn’t move.
“Do what?”
“Cut his brakes.”
Her smile is slow.