“Watch your ass out there, brother. Don’t take him out if you two can’t get away free and clear, you got me? Thatmiserable fucknut ain’t worth doin’ time over. We can get him some other time if we have to.”
“I’ll be careful. I’m too pretty to get stuck behind bars.” Cowboy laughed at my claim, as I’d intended. “Keep those assholes around here in line while I’m gone.”
“That’s another reason you need to make it back. I ain’t takin’ over the president’s spot. It’s too much fuckin’ work.”
I laughed as I opened the truck door and swung my body into the driver’s seat. “I’ll check in when we get there.”
He nodded grimly as I started the truck, fastened my seat belt, and pulled away. We hadn’t even cleared the front gates before Trick turned and flashed me a shit-eating grin.
“Irish was right. All that CSI forensic shit you watch is really paying off. Either that or you need to talk to a professional about your paranoia,” he joked.
“You won’t be talking shit if the cops come sniffing around, brother. My paranoia, as you call it, is what’s gonna keep the two of us from wearing orange jumpsuits with ‘Inmate’ stamped on the back.”
“Yeah, that would fuckin’ suck. I can’t imagine how hard it would be behind bars with no access to pussy for God knows how long. I just couldn’t do it.”
I snorted a laugh. “No pussy? That’s what you’re worried about if you land in prison?”
“Hey, it’s a valid fuckin’ concern, Prez. My dick would be so damned confused if he didn’t get his regular workout, he might stop working altogether by the time I got out, and that would be the real crime.”
I rolled my eyes. “Well, thanks to me, you shouldn’t have to find out. And quit talking about your dick like he’s a person. Actually, just quit talking about your dick, period.”
Trick chuckled at the disgust in my voice, then we got down to the serious business of planning what we would do once we reached the strip joint in Missouri.
