Page 108 of Savage Daddies

“Aaron. The dealer that two of your men threw up against the wall? It wasn’t long, only two minutes or something, but yeah, he was speaking about…what’s his name—Harrison Reeves? Apparently he’s always been a bit of a pervert. Always had a wandering eye for the girls he taught.”

Aaron? The son of a bitch who named himself Senior Year King?

The boy who took my virginity?

“It’s all bullshit, I assure you,” I say. My mouth feels like explaining what happened at the casino in full, but I’m tired and saving my breath for the event, where all will be revealed anyway—fingers crossed.

So when they ask what I was arguing with Father about, instead of telling them the truth—that he’s a psycho man who loves money more than family, I answer, “Can’t remember. Just some stupid, petty shit.”

Lenon adds another curl to my hair. “Are you gonna stop seeing the bikers?”

I take a look at myself in the mirror—red hair, red makeup, red dress incoming. I lied about the argument with Father, but that’s different because I don’t see a future with him like I do with Wrangler, Bullwhip, and Poet. The bikers. They’re different, and I imagine a future with them more every day. Sammy is Poet’s. There’s no denying it.

I observe the red getup for tonight and feel confident. If people used colors to describe romantic relationships, red is the one I’d use for how Wrangler, Poet, and Bullwhip make me feel. It’s hot and it’s passionate, and above all, red is the color of love.

Tonight, I embody us.

And so in response to Lenon’s question, I say, “No. I will never stop loving them.”

Even though that wasn’t exactly the question…

The room falls silent after that. After hair and makeup, a third person enters—Rosaline—to fit me into the dress that takes almost twenty minutes to get on. I twirl in the mirror. I love it. The mock neck accentuates my curves, and the skirts, tight around my legs, hug my curves. The design is simple and classic, and the silk material adds a touch of je ne sais quoi.

A black limousine waits outside for Felix and me, and we plonk ourselves in the back seat.

Silence again.

A thick coat of foundation covers Felix’s skin—two shades darker than his natural skin tone to give him that bronzed look he needs. A bow tie has been fixed around his collar, black like his heart, and the salt-and-pepper hair has been raked back away from his face which makes a change—usually, it just lies flat.

“I need you to smile tonight,” he says, ironically with a very straight face. “And if anyone asks you about the bikers, you say it’s over—understood? The doctors increased your sertraline dose to prevent the sleepwalking and running away. You weren’t thinking straight. You tell them that. Got it.”

I nod, but in my head I’m running through the script of how to end his career, hoping and praying that it all turns out to be a success.

Fiona hasn’t been mentioned. The last time Felix and I spoke about her was the night the bikers got arrested. Perhaps I should say something.

“I haven’t seen Fiona, have you?”

He looks at me blankly. “You told her to run.”

That, I can admit. I nod. “Yeah. Naturally, one tends to pick up the phone and tell their sister to run when their husband threatens to kill her.”

“Stop with the cockiness. It’s not a good look.” Felix turns away and pulls out his phone. In peripheral, I catch the ABC logo at the top of the page as he scrolls down. The news? He must be waiting for them to announce Fiona’s suicide. For some reason, he can’t drop it.

Then, he clicks onto his messages. He catches me looking at the screen, so I turn away and use the blackout window to my advantage. The reflection isn’t the clearest, but the two Ws at the top of the message thread indicate that he’s talking to Father.

A two-word message.

The second word isFiona.

Discreetly, I turn my head from the window to make out the first.

“Where’s Fiona?”says the message.

Odd, I thought Felix knew where Fiona was—on the hanging tree.

“She’s not here,”replies Father.

“What are you doing?” Felix clicks off his phone and stares at me.

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