Page 71 of Look at Her and Die

“Sure thing, boss man,” Yates said. “I have my baby brother here today. School holiday or something.”

I frowned. “What?”

“School holiday?” I stopped abruptly. “What do you mean it’s a school holiday?”

“They’re off for some teacher in service thing.” He frowned. “Wouldn’t you know that?”

I was already shaking my head. “It’s not a school holiday. The kids were picked up by the bus this morning.”

Yates’s eyes narrowed, then he was walking past me with a purposeful stride, letting me know his baby brother was about to get his ass reamed.

I snickered as Posy caught my hand and pulled me to the front of the house where his bike was.

On the way, he grabbed his ball cap that was on the fence post near where I’d been sitting, and his t-shirt that was a few rungs down.

Shrugging the white t-shirt onto his body, I asked, “Why always white?”

“White’s not as hot,” he answered as he stopped at his bike. “You don’t have your helmet.”

“It’s okay,” I said. “We’re not going far.”

He shook his head and disappeared into the house, coming back out with a sparkly pink one that made me cringe.

“There’s nothing for it,” he laughed as he fitted it onto my head. “I’m not going to be responsible for letting that pretty head of yours crack against the pavement.”

Gah, even the most horrible things sounded good coming out of his mouth with that beautiful voice of his.

“You say the sweetest things,” I teased.

His eyes warmed as he cupped my helmet-covered head and said, “You are the sweetest thing.”

Eighteen

I appreciate the effort you put into this clusterfuck.

—Searcy to Posy

SEARCY

I was a millionaire.

Holy hell.

How many times did I have to keep telling myself that before it seemed real?

The rumble of motorcycle pipes shook the shitty house around me, and I got up, nerves singing along my synapses, and checked out the window.

Sure enough, there he was, waiting for me at the curb.

Usually he came up to the front porch, but he was on the phone with someone, and hadn’t made it off his bike yet.

He had one hand on the bike, both legs on the ground, and his free hand in the air in front of him as he spoke to whomever it was on speaker phone.

I grabbed the helmet that he’d bought me to leave at my place, and the fanny pack that I used to carry my shit around when I was on the back of his bike, and headed out the door.

I didn’t bother to lock it.

Mom was home, as was Calliope.

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