Page 41 of Savage Daddies

“Nothing,” I butt in before Bullwhip has another chance to expose our intentions even more. “He’s just…a big fan.” I elbow him in the side, and that motivates Bully to force a wide, bracing smile Warren’s way. “We’ll be on our way now.”

“Yes,” says Warren. Another glare. “You know, if there’s one thing more suspicious than money in the wrong hands, it’s outlaw bikers.” He turns his back. “Oh, and, Zoe? Plans have changed. You’ll have to collect Sammy from ballet now. I’m too busy.”

Weird guy.

If there’s one thing more suspicious than Felix Fernando, it’s his crusty business partner Warren Warrington.

“Somebody get that man a shot.”

I turn around and see Poet.

“Save the best till last, is it?” Zoe widens the circle and lets Poet in.

God, I’ve never seen the man look so fucking smitten before. I’d wager his ex-wife didn’t even turn his cheeks this red.

He looks happy.

Too happy.

When you’re happy, you tend to speak more.

I nudge his side to grab his attention, and then shake my head in warning for him to not tell all about four years ago. I practically see the sentence form on his lips.

“Anything?” asks Bullwhip.

Poet shakes his head.

Where the fuck is Paul, and why is he handing over money to Felix?

He’s supposed to be on our side, not some billionaire freak’s. It’s worse too, now that Zoe has fed us information. The burn mark on her wrist tells us all we need to know that he’s up to no good. He clipped her wings. Dampened her spirits. Flashes of it surface now and again, so it relieves me that the old Zoe still exists somewhere inside…

But that’s not good enough.

I know what it’s like to lose your sense of self. Ranching was mine. I recovered a few pieces of my soul riding for Venom Vultures, and went back to feeling semi OK after Sheila’s death. I didn’t have Sheila to wake up to in the morning, but I still had beautiful sunrises and vast open plains on my doorstep.

And I’m OK with that.

My life has already reached its prime.

But Zoe hasn’t experienced hers yet.

Of course, I don’t know her life story, but I wager the closest she got was before Felix. She was so carefree during the masquerade party, not concerned about anything except having fun. There was so much life in her, so it must’ve taken a goddamn master manipulator to drain it all out of her.

Operation free Zoe from the shackles of Felix Fernando.

“Holy shit!” yells a voice. “Patrick.” A woman clicks her fingers. “Get over here.”

Confused, we all turn out of the circle to observe the commotion.

Guests gather around, simultaneously raising phones as they photograph the scene. I don’t know why. There’s not exactly much to report other than Zoe conversing with three men.

Shit. That’ll be the headline.

Patrick points this camera-looking contraption our way and snaps an image. The bright flash lasers into my eyes, and we all squint. All except Zoe—she’s probably used to random, glaring lights from paparazzi crew that don’t know the definition of personal space.

“What the fuck?” Bullwhip opens his gloved hands. “What are you doing?”

The crowd stare too deeply into phone and camera screens to have even heard Bullwhip’s question, chatting among themselves.

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