Page 25 of Savage Daddies

“Look at the road,” I say.

“I’m looking at you.”

My heart misses a beat. Even in the early hours of the morning, his eyes still find a way to shine. Those stark blue eyes always used to find me during class. God, he was the hottest teacher my pubescent self had ever laid eyes on.

He still is, although he no longer calls himself a teacher. To me, he always will be.

At one point, I got too carried away. People used to think I started dressing like a slut for other boys in my grade, but Mr. Reeves’ eyes were the only ones I wanted on my body. I could never explain it. Still can’t, to be honest.

Boys my age didn’t know how to string sentences together and would say random things from the internet that they thought sounded cool. Mr. Reeves, on the other hand, spoke so eloquently, each word precise. Poetry used to roll off his tongue, and my pussy used to shudder every time he read Lady Macbeth’s line, “Unsex me here!” Anything mildly sexual in nature used to make the class chuckle.

But it used to turn me on.

I still remember the over-pronounced way he used to saysex.

His eyes briefly catching mine as he said it.

I roll back my head to admire the network of stars above. They glitter in the sky because out here, it’s dark enough to see them.

A mountain range lines the horizon too. Having lived in suburban Vegas my entire life, my eyes have only ever seen glimpses of them. Seeing the entire thing without obstruction for the first time ever silences the noise in my head. Felix’s demands. His team’s. It’s like my entire life, I’ve been holding my breath, and now I’m exhaling. Letting go.

That’s the funny thing about freedom. You don’t realize you’re stuck until the walls aren’t closed around you anymore.

I roll back my head again. Exhale again, as we increase speed even more. Wind screams in my ears, but it no longer sounds like my sister’s scream. It whistles a rhythm I’ve never heard before.

And I want to hear it again…

Except Mr. Reeves isn’t driving me into the sunset.

He’s driving me back to Mr. Money.

Wrangler pulls up alongside him, and the two share a conversation I only catch pieces of—the Harley engines roar too much.

“What do you think has gotten into him?” is the only sentence from Wrangler that my ears manage to understand.

Bullwhip, they’re talking about? The giant man with a presence more stoic than Marcus Aurelius himself?

He looks like he could eat me for lunch.

Wrangler, on the other hand, looks hungry…but resistant. I see it in his eyes. When he turns to look at me, they shine the same silver color as the full moon above us, and oh god, isn’t he gorgeous? A light peppering of stubble decorates his cheekbones, contouring them even more. I don’t know. There’s something about the gradient of stubble that pops naughty images into my mind, like how it’d feel if he rubbed his face up against my?—

“What is your address, darling?” Mr. Reeves pinches my thigh again.

“MacDonald Highlands, number?—”

“Holy shit, quite the neighborhood to live in,” yells Wrangler over the engine.

“Duh,” says Mr. Reeves. “Remember who she’s married to.”

I watch his face pale as soon as he says the words.

Wrangler shouts directions to Bullwhip up ahead, and at the intersection he swings a left. I’m unsure why the others tagged along too when only one person was required, but I’m not complaining.

Guilt should thread through me every time one of them makes my pussy pulse, but I’m too hungry to care.

The revving engines.

The thick smell of gasoline.

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