Page 109 of Property of Whiskey

Twila follows me out of Mama’s house under her own power this time. No cuffs, no chain, no kicking. That should make me feel better.

It don’t.

She walks three steps behind me.

Could’ve.

Didn’t.

I still ain’t decided what the fuck to do with that.

“Your security really does suck.”

“My security wasn’t designed for blonde deputies weaponizing their tits.”

She stops beside my Harley. Prospect dropped it off. “My tits had nothing to do with it.”

“Bullshit.”

“I picked your pocket.”

“While sitting on my dick.”

Color touches her cheeks. “That was tactical.”

“Sure was.”

“Shut up.” I grin and hold out the spare helmet.

Twila stares at it, then at me. “No.”

“Get on.”

“I have a vehicle.”

“Back at Pearly Gates.”

“My department has vehicles.”

“Also ain’t taking you there.”

“I’m not riding bitch.”

“Then walk.”

She looks down the empty county road, where afternoon heat shimmers above the pavement, then back at the bike.

“Fuck you.”

“Already discussed that.”

“Keep talking, Whiskey.”

“Keep threatening.”

She jerks the helmet from my hand. “Where are we going?”

“My place.”