Page 50 of Property of Whiskey

“Yeah. When you say it like that, it sounds bad.”

“Because it is bad.”

“Could be worse.”

“How?”

“You could’ve listened when I told you to stay the fuck away.”

Her eyes flash.

“You think you can tell me where I can go.”

“I was trying to keep you alive.”

A vehicle rumbles in the distance.

Finally. Bullet. I don’t look.

Twila does.

Her gun moves less than an inch. “Who’s coming?”

“Backup.”

Her attention snaps back to me. “You called more bikers. Hands higher.”

“If I get them any higher, Blondie, I’m gonna start praising Jesus.”

“Don’t call me Blondie.”

“Then quit pointing a gun at me.”

The van comes through the trees.

Twila adjusts her stance, rotating enough to keep me in her peripheral vision while turning toward the vehicle.

Smart.

Bullet pulls up hard and climbs out. No cut. Dark shirt. Jeans. Gun hidden.

His eyes go to Kaylee first. Not me. Not Twila’s weapon.

The joke already forming on his face disappears before it makes it out. Then he registers me standing with my hands up, Twila aiming at us, and Kaylee bloody on the Harley.

His eyebrows lift. “The fuck did you do?”

Twila looks at me.

I glare at Bullet. “Why does everybody keep assuming I did something?”

“Experience.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

Bullet lifts his hands when Twila swings the barrel toward him.

“Afternoon, Deputy.”