Page 62 of Property of Whiskey

“The Lockup.”

“Your clubhouse.” I give one sharp laugh. “Fuck that.”

That gets his attention.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you found a missing woman at Pearly Gates, assaulted a deputy, stuffed us both into a van, and now you’re taking your witness back to the Kings’ clubhouse.”

“She ain’t our witness.”

“She is now.”

“No. She’s a girl bleeding through a fucking blanket.”

“Who you’re taking somewhere controlled by your club.”

Whiskey glances toward the dark stain spreading through Kaylee’s blanket. Whatever smartass answer he had dies before it reaches his mouth.

“For medical care.”

“You got a hospital in that old jail?”

“Got people who know how to keep their mouths shut.”

“That makes me feel so much better.”

“Wasn’t trying to.”

I lean forward as far as the seat belt allows. “You expect me to believe you’re protecting her?”

His fingers tighten once around the edge of the bench before he forces them loose. “I don’t give a shit what you believe right now.”

“That’s convenient.”

“Twila.”

“What?”

“Stop.”

I look at him for a beat, then smile.

It ain’t a nice one.

He knows it too.

“You really still haven’t figured out that telling me to stop makes me wanna do it harder?”

“Yeah. That lesson’s starting to stick.”

“Good. Then tell me what the hell is happening.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t know enough yet.”