Page 92 of Property of Whiskey

Then his mouth tilts. “That’s one of the things I like about you.”

The water bottle bends beneath my fingers before I realize how hard I’m squeezing it.

The basement door closes behind him.

I stare at it.

Like.

He said like.

Of all the stupid, infuriating, criminal, kidnapping biker bullshit I’ve dealt with today, that might piss me off the most.

Chapter Nine

Whiskey

The first clue something’s wrong is that Twila smiles at me. Not bares her teeth or gives me that mean little deputy smirk she wears right before threatening bodily harm. She actually smiles, sweet enough that every alarm I got starts going off at once.

Blondie spent thirty minutes trying to break out of Mama’s basement with a broom earlier. When I got back from the Lockup she looked just as feral. Now she’s looking at me like she wants my dick.

Ain’t exactly subtle.

I stop halfway down the basement stairs with two barbecue sandwiches, fries, and a sweet tea balanced in my hands. “Oh, hell no.”

One boot stays planted on the stair while I tighten my grip before sweet tea becomes collateral damage.

Twila sits on the edge of the old sectional with her long legs crossed and blonde hair loose around her shoulders. Before I went upstairs for food, I unhooked the second set of cuffs from the chain around the post, leaving her wrists cuffed together but she can move around the basement more now, just not get through the door without dealing with me first.

Apparently, she spent the time planning my murder.

Or whatever the fuck this is.

She tilts her head. “What?”

“You’re smiling.”

“I smile.”

“Not at me. Not like that.”

“Maybe I’m turning over a new leaf.”

“Maybe I’m the fucking Mayor of Hell.”

Her mouth threatens to twitch. “Yeah, you’re a dog, all right.”

I finish coming downstairs and set the food on Mama’s old folding table. Twila watches me too closely, so I watch her right back.

She’s changed tactics. Has to be.

Blondie spent the last several hours threatening to arrest me, shoot me, bite off parts I’m emotionally attached to, and have her daddy bury me beneath the county courthouse. Now she’s looking at me like I’m dessert.

Subtle as a tornado siren.

“What’d you break?” I ask.

“Nothing.”