Page 31 of Savage Daddies

“Nothing.” Bullwhip straightens up. “Just directions.”

Paul nods and surveys all three of us once more. “I take it Grizzly sent you?”

“Yes.” I square my jaw. Confrontation has never been my strong suit. “He thinks you’re in trouble.”

“Because he spotted me handing over half a million dollars to Felix Fernando, right?”

“He doesn’t understand why,” says Bullwhip.

Paul is a similar age to Grizzly and looks younger, but that’s because he works under a fake sky counting cash,notbounty hunting out in the desert all day. I commend him anyway. He’s a fair man and his trusting reliance on Grizzly puts us in his good books—especially because we’re the cleaners that ride in to trash anything that makes a mess, like thieves and people trying to dig into potential money laundering scandals. I don’t know why the latter stresses Paul out so much when it’s not true, and why he rings up Grizzly asking for the club’s “immediate assistance” to eradicate investigators.

But Paul says bad press still ruins a person regardless of whether it’s fake or not.

The man chuckles. Shakes his head. “Tell boss man to pick up a hobby. He has too much time on his hands. Later, boys.” He throws up his hand and disappears through crowds of guests, leaving the three of us to eye one another.

“What do we make of that, then?” asks Wrangler. He crosses his legs at the ankles and leans against the table next to him. A pair of dark-washed denim jeans hug his large thighs. Wrangler jeans. The only fucking brand of denim he wears—hence the name. I have no idea what his former name is. “We should get out of here.”

Slacker.

“I know what to make of it.” Bullwhip narrows his eyes. “Two o’clock.”

I turn my head and there he is—Felix Fernando live and in the flesh, relaxing in one of the VIP booths surrounded by brownnosers.

“Oh, look at that. He stole our spot,” says Wrangler.

My fingers curl into fists. Son of a bitch. That’s the Venom Vultures designated hangout area in Cash Pot Palace.

Bullwhip stands and stares.

Wrangler proposes an idea. “Let’s break into his home.”

“You’re fucking kidding,” growls Bullwhip.

“No, seriously. Perfect Paul is acting up. If we want answers, we’re gonna have to pay Felix’s mansion a visit. Break in or something. It washisname on the envelope.Hisinvoiced money.” Wrangler pushes off from the table and breaks into a walk, leaving us no choice but to follow him. “Come on, let’s go. I wanna know what’s up between Grizzly’s long-lost bestie and Fernando, don’t you?”

“There’ll be surveillance on every wall. Youdorealize that, don’t you?” I ask.

“That’s why we have Bully.” Wrangler pats him on the shoulders. “Don’t we, buddy?”

Bullwhip is unamused as always.

“So, let’s investigate,” Wrangler says. He turns to me. “Besides, Poet, you might get lucky again.”

I won’t be getting lucky again.

I’m not messing around with a billionaire’s wife.

None of us are.

Wrangler continues speaking, locating the exit. “We slip into the house, leaf through some documents that explain why Paul has dealings with a billionaire realtor, and get the hell out.”

“Fine.” Bully turns to me. “But no stopping to smell the roses while we’re inside.”

Oh, but roses are exactly what Zoe smells like. Tuberose, to be specific. It’s an intoxicating scent. Familiar too. I don’t know where from, but the scent kisses the air with nostalgia.

We hop back on the bikes and return to MacDonald Highlands, where palm trees decorate the roadside. Rolling up at Fernando’s palace, I notice three of them blowing in the wind, long leaves brushing the air as a gentle breeze passes.

Felix uses Axis Communications to secure the property.

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