Page 71 of Sire
It’s late summer, and drone footage can’t penetrate the deep canopy of the lush mountains. We could wait until after fall, but Sire’s losing his patience, and I’m convinced that while the weather is good, Waylon will go back to familiar hunting grounds.
The point being, we either leave today, when we can spot Waylon on the move, or we risk losing him to a cabin where he’ll hide this winter.
“Shotgun!” Jace opens the passenger door of our black crew-cab truck. It’s parked outside an old Naval bunker where they store their gear.
“Really?” Sire deadpans him. “Shotgun?”
Jace shrugs like,What? It’s a game and I won.
“Wren,” Sire turns to me, “ride up front with Loch. I’m grounding Jace to the back row with me.”
“What if I get carsick?” Jace gives me a little boost into the passenger seat.
“What if I kick your ass all the way to Tennessee?” Sire jumps into the back row.
We slam doors and buckle in.
“Why isn’t Nick here?”
“It’s the NFL preseason and his face is too famous,” Loch answers me before Jace mutters, “Then why aren’t we taking the jet?”
“Because our gear and seven asses weigh too much.” Loch checks the rearview mirror.
Axel, Nash, and Grant are in the truck behind ours, waiting for us to take the lead.
“Then why can’t we get a big SUV?”
“Jesus, Jesus,” Sire huffs at Jace. “Want some wine with that cheese?”
“Fuck, you, bro,” Jace grumbles.
I turn around, offering, “I really don’t need to sit up front.”
“Yes, you do, Angel.” Sire winks. “Our little snowflake here needs to learn not to melt.”
Jace growls, “This snowflake is six foot six and will turn this into a roadbitch, not a roadtrip, if he fucking wants. Why didn’t we bring the Tahoes?”
“Because,” Loch clips, “then we’ll be as obvious as a fart in church driving up those mountain roads. In the trucks, we look like hunters because we are.”
To ease the tension, I play Dolly’s songs and sing for them. Loch grins at my voice … or is that a grimace? Then, Jace puts on his playlist, and the big, hot assholes start laughing at TLC’s “Waterfalls.”
“What?” I’m offended. “What’s so funny? It’s a serious song. A man dies.”
Sire’s wiping his crying eyes. “Angel,whatdo you think the chorus says?”
I glare at Loch, Jace, then Sire. They’re pursing their lips like they’re about to burst.
“What?” I’d stomp if I could. “They’re saying, ‘Don’t go, Jason Waterfalls.’ It’s sad.”
They explode, howling. Loch may just swerve off the road, and Jace can barely breathe, grabbing the back of my seat and huffing, “Little one, it’s ‘Don’t gochasingwaterfalls’.”
“No, it isn’t. It’s about a man named Jason Waterfalls, who gets killed selling drugs.”
Loch snorts so hard, a brain vessel just burst, while Sire tosses his head back. “Fuck, Angel. You’re too damn cute.”
I narrow my eyes. “I’m fixin’ to show y’allcuteif you don’tquit laughing. Careful next time you sip your sweet tea. I may just put something extra in it for you.”
Loch cuts me a glance. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
