Page 45 of Savage Daddies

And it’ll be all my fault.

I make it to the restroom—the one furthest away, and corner myself into a cubicle, sliding the lock. Pressing my back into the wall, I release the biggest sigh, but only a fraction of the frustration bubbling inside of my body exits.

Only three things will restore me to a neutral, pH-seven balance.

One of them looks like he could break every bone in my body.

One has bone structure like a god.

The other is my old literature teacher.

I slip out my phone and search the web. Press releases act quickly. There’s a chance the image is already…

It’s not even been anhourand they’ve uploaded it already?

I close a hand over my mouth, vision blurring, then unroll a thick layer of toilet tissue and pat dry my eyes. Sliding back the latch, I kick open the door and carefully mop up any dark splotches of makeup in the mirror before they leak down my face and erase my foundation.

Paul definitely hired quite the interior designer for this bathroom. One long rectangular mirror stretches across the four marble basins, the gold framing giving it a renaissance-painting kind of look—fitting, given women in that time period experienced little to no freedom either.

Diamond-tile flooring stretches across the bathroom floor, and the shapes start to morph the more I look at them.

I stick my nose into the air, sniffle, and blow out a steady breath.

Get it together, Zoe.

I reach for my phone again.

Headlining on the first page of some online article titled “Juiciest Celeb Conspiracies,” is a photograph of me and the bikers being caught “red-handed.”

“Captured above, we see Zoe getting her rocks off with three biker-cosplaying showmen. Do successful billionaires with enlarged bellies not do it for her?! Felix? Are you a bore in the bedroom? Time to swap out the suits for leather!!”

I scroll through some of the comments:

“He probably lets her see other people, TBH”—Gregory, Nevada

“Gross! How disrespectful can you get? Felix gives Zoe everything and this is how she repays him?”—Mary-Rose Jane, New York

“More like boar in the bedroom. Is my guy bulking or binge eating?”—anonymous

I snort at the last one, the noise echoing through the bathroom. Stress eating, probably, but stressed over what? Money’s supposed to erase all of your worries, not compile more.

I put down my phone and examine my reflection in the mirror again. It’s not so bad. Clearly, paparazzi were so eager to capture the perfect shot that they missed the truth.Biker-cosplaying showmen?Gosh, what a mouthful.

But the photo still remains a risk.

A very high one.

I corner one final clump of mascara out of my eye, and then turn away from the mirror, clutch wedged under my arm as I make for the door.

My days of fun, masquerades, and orgasms are over. This is real life, and in the real world, people get hurt. Continuing to interact with the bikers doesn’t just risk my sister’s life, but the bikers.

Felix founded his real estate business at just eighteen years old. Now, at forty, I’ve yet to see him lose. If someone sketched out his success onto a graph, they’d be drawing one positive, diagonal line until they’re off the paper.

Some people just do not fail.

Why is it always the psychos?

Straightening my posture, I go to push the door open. I need to find the bikers and tell them to get the fuck away before they get caught in one of Felix’s many webs.

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