She calls to check in on them more than she ever did me. Whiskey calls her an uppity stuck-up bitch. He’s not wrong.
“So what did you get into last night, sis?” Yara calls from the other table as she passes me the bowl of mashed potatoes that I hope aren’t contaminated.
“Nothing.”
“She stayed at the clubhouse,” my father volunteers.
Shit.
“Was there a big turnout?”
“No party this year. Just Death was there to keep an eye on things.”
Yara eyes me but I ignore her while flames shoot across the back of my neck. “I bet he did.”
“Gravy,” I croak. “I need gravy.” I shove my chair back and give Yara a side eye glance. She takes the hint and follows me into the kitchen.
The kitchen door swings shut behind her as I grip the counter at the edge of the sink staring out the window to look out at the back yard.
“I can’t believe you,” she whisper shouts, coming to stand next to me. “Death? As in VP and Dad’s oldest friend. Oh my god. I never thought you had it in you.”
“Shut up.”
“Well.” She nudges my shoulder. “How was he?” She smirks, her lips stretching into a sneer that could rival the Grinch when he’s stealing Christmas.
“You have to promise not to breathe a word to Whiskey. We both know he has a big mouth, and I’d rather our father not kill him.”
“Cross my heart and stick a needle in my eye if I’m lying.” She makes the motion with her hands.
“Fine. He was good.”
“Like good. Or ya know good, good. Spill the damn tea. You know I only bone Whiskey so I gotta live through you.” I wish she knew that it wasn’t a bad thing. I wish I had a man who loved me even half of what he loves my sister.
“Good, good,” I confess because he was.
“Are you going to see him again?”
I shake my head. “Absolutely not. It was one night.” I’m too ashamed to tell her that I wasn’t enough for him. Not even two times. He must have the stamina of a horse to do it three times in one night.
“Liar.”
“Get the damn gravy.” I close my eyes. She’s wrong. I’m not going through that shit again.
Chapter 8
“I’m sorry. You must think I’m a gross slut. I’m so embarrassed I just want to die,” Margo cries as she leans her head against the passenger window of my truck. Fucking hell, I can’t get rid of her fast enough. I’m going to kill Crow for this shit.
What the fuck was he thinking? I know looks aren’t everything but god damn. She looks even worse in the daylight. Old and washed up.
“I’m sure you’re nice enough but honestly I don’t give a shit. I’m just giving you a lift.” I start my truck and turn up the radio hoping she gets the hint that I don’t want to make chitchat.
“I’m not a bad person,” she starts, and I already want to drive a screwdriver through my ears. Her voice is all whiny and nasally. Like nails on a damn chalkboard. “I don’t usually do this sort of thing.”
“What? Shit on strangers?”
She gasps and let’s out a sob before bursting into full blown tears. Fuck. I said that shit out loud.
“Look, I want to forget what happened as much as you do. Wasn’t pleasant for me either.”