Page 143 of Property of Whiskey

“Looks that way.”

Her eyes harden. “And if they know that…”

“They probably know you were there too.”

The room goes quiet except for the refrigerator humming behind us.

Twila swallows. Her hand tightens around the chair back until her knuckles pale.

For the first time since I met her, she looks genuinely scared.

I hate it.

I move toward her, then stop before touching her.

“You ain’t leaving this house alone.”

She looks up at me.

“If you decide you’re leaving, I’m asking you not to go alone. Not now. Not when whoever had Kaylee probably knows your face.”

Twila studies me for a second. Then nods. That scares me worse than an argument would’ve.

My phone buzzes again.

A message from Legend.

LOCK IT DOWN.

I look at Twila standing barefoot in my kitchen with bare legs and my fingerprints probably still warm on her skin. My shirt is wrinkled from her fists. Her daddy is hunting for her. Beth is threatening court. Kaylee is under club protection, and somebody connected to Pearly Gates just tried coming through our fucking doors.

Yet somehow the thing my brain keeps circling is what Twila said before Bullet called.

You ain’t my kidnapper.

Then what am I?

Fuck.

This stopped being simple a long damn time ago.

Now it’s fixing to get dangerous.

Chapter Twelve

Twila

When I walk into the Kings of Anarchy clubhouse voluntarily, nobody says a word.

That might be worse than if they’d laughed.

The old jail has gone quiet in that particular way a room does when everybody inside knows exactly who just walked through the door and none of them can decide whether shooting her would create more paperwork than it’s worth.

I stop two steps inside.

Whiskey stops beside me.

Not in front of me. Not behind me.