“Slide forward, baby.”
“Gio, you’re fully dressed.”
“I’m aware,” I said, as I sat behind her and pulled her up against my chest.
“You hate wet socks.” She craned her head. “And jeans.”
“My baby’s in a crisis, so I’m gonna deal,” Iretorted, kissing her temple. “Tell me what this asshat of a DA said.”
“He just said he went in for a follow up after his appendectomy and there was a mix-up or something, and Damon escaped,” Waverly bit out on a sob. “They had him, Razor. They let him go.”
Mix up, my ass.
Of course, I kept that thought to myself.
“You ready to let me handle this now?”
“The way Snarl handled it?” she rasped.
We had come to learn Snarl had been the one to emasculate Boneyard and leave him to rot. No one but Sundance, Lennon, Hatch, Snarl’s brother, Rocky, and now me and Waverly knew that to be the case, but Waverly had taken the news surprisingly well.
“No, baby, the way I’m gonna handle it.”
She craned her head again. “What does that mean?”
“What’d we talk about you askin’ questions you don’t actually want answers to?”
She let out a quiet sniff. “I just put your body back together. I don’t want you broken again.”
“Is that all you’re worried about?”
“That and you doing something that gets you sent to prison.”
I kissed her shoulder. “Well, neither of those are things you need to worry about, so you gonna let me handle it now?”
She sat up on her knees and faced me. “Promise?”
“Promise.”
Biting her lip, she met my eyes, then sighed. “Handle it, Gio.”
I shook my head. “Gio ain’t handlin’ shit, baby. This is all Razor.”
She nodded. “Handle it, Razor.”
“You got it.”
She leaned in and kissed me. “Now, how about you strip out of those wet clothes so I can dry them. I’ve got chili in the crock pot. You want cornbread?”
I frowned. “What kind of question is that?”
She put her fingers and thumb together and waved her hand in the air like a bona-fide Italian. “The kind of question I’m asking my full-blooded Italian man who doesn’t typically eat down home, southern cookin’.”
“We need to change that narrative, baby,” I said.
“Oh, yeah?”
I nodded. “If you’re cookin’ it, it could be shit pie, and I’ll eat it.”
