Page 154 of Bona Fide

“What are you doing?”

Enzo glances up. “Oh, just signing that I didn’t see the President of the United States tonight. You know, security purposes.”

"You must go through a lot of those," I comment to the closest douchebag next to me. His eyes flick down at me, but his head doesn't move, silent as a grave.

I hear Indie squeal in delight at something—Wade—and my nostrils flare.

"I'll get the car." I don't wait for Enzo to argue; just push through the glass door and hit the pavement.

Wade is a piece of shit that won’t keep his ugly stench away from me.

I’ve been done.

Poor Indie is just beginning.

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