Page 28 of Property of Whiskey

I sit like the loyal dog I am.

Royal is still smiling, so I make a note to ruin his week.

Legend studies me. “Seems you’re the perfect one to warn ol’ Twister off.”

“She won’t listen to me.”

“Deputy let you put hands on her and you still have both of yours. Figure it out.”

“That ain’t how Twila works.”

“Twila? Sound like you know her pretty well.”

“I know trouble when I see it.”

Royal mutters, “Trouble looks damn good in Daisy Dukes.”

I look at him. “Say it louder.”

He leans forward. “Looks. Damn. Good. In…”

“Keep picturing her ass, and I’ll put yours through the wall.”

Legend kicks the side of Royal’s chair.

Royal shuts up.

Mostly because he’s laughing too hard to finish.

I close the folder and drag it back toward me. “I’ll talk to the deputy.”

“Talk,” Legend says. “Don’t drag her into it.”

“Sounds like she’s already dragging herself.”

“Then cut the damn rope.”

Easy for him to say. Twila ain’t built for warnings. Every no sounds like a dare to her, and every closed door might as well have a sign telling her to break the fucking lock.

I should let Sheriff Dix handle his own daughter. Let the law keep its people out of club business. I should probably stay the hell away from a woman who looks at me like I’m a challenge she plans to win.

Instead, Prez just put her in my path.

And I already know exactly how well telling Twila Dix to keep out of trouble is gonna work.

Chapter Four

Whiskey

Church ends twenty minutes later.

By then, the old jail is fully awake. Music plays louder out front, somebody is arguing over a pool game, and a woman squeals from one of the old cells right before something crashes and she runs out front naked.

Typical morning.

I step through the side door into sunlight and find Twila’s black Jeep Grand Cherokee parked across the road. It’s her personal vehicle.

Speak of the damn devil.