Page 2 of Cover Up

When Zeke appeared like some sort of biblical angel with a message from God, Felix knew it was a sign. This was his chance, and even if Max and Paris had declined, he wasn’t going to turn it down. He knew jack shit about the South except that it was thousands and thousands of miles away. And nothing was going to stop him from putting that distance between him and his family.

He left like a thief in the night. He rode beside Paris in his truck, and it wasn’t until they’d crossed into Texas that he sent a message to his mom and sisters, letting them know what he’d done.

He was definitely expecting the call that came through seconds after he hit Send, and a small part of him had whispered not to answer it, but the deeply ingrained guilt he’d been trained to feel after disobeying her forced his hand.

“Felix. Where are you?” He could barely process his mom’s shrill demand, and it sent shivers down his spine. She’d been like that since he was a kid, and it had taken years of prying her claws out of him, one by one, to realize just how much control she tried to have over his life.

“It doesn’t matter,” he’d told her. Paris reached out to hold him by the shoulder, and he almost burst into tears. His voice trembled. “I just wanted to let you know that I left.”

“You can’t just leave. You’re sick, Felix. You’ve got problems. You can’t take care of yourself on your own.”

His eyes went hot. “I’m fine.”

“I’m going to court over this, do you hear me? You need a conservatorship. You cannot be trusted. There’s no way you can…”

He never did get to hear the rest of her rant. Paris plucked the phone out of his hands and held it to his own ear. She went on for ten minutes before she realized Felix wasn’t there anymore, and he could hear her screech after Paris said, “Don’t worry, lady. He’s not on his own. Catch you later.”

Paris made him block her number, which left him feeling nauseous, and it took weeks of Max checking in with him and reminding him it was for the best before he ultimately deleted her contact so he couldn’t unblock her even if he wanted to.

And then…life moved on.

He settled. He made more friends with the new artists that were trickling in. He met the guys from the sister shop in Denver, who treated him like they’d known him his entire life. He found people he could relate to.

And no one at all, not once, gave a single fuck that he could rarely remember them at first sight.

He started to feel like a person again.

He started to…

“I need’a gimlet.” The sharp, slurring voice drilled past the wall of fog created by Felix’s rusted old memories, and he snapped back to reality. Turning his head, he saw a woman dressed in tight jeans and a crop top leaning over the counter, trying to grab one of the bottles from the well.

“Whoa,” Felix said, hopping up. He grabbed her by the elbow and eased her back. “That’s a bad idea.”

She turned and gave him a shove so hard he toppled into the stool. “Fuck you, man. Fuck your fuckin’ face.” She was still slurring, but he could hear one of those Deep South, Appalachian accents under it—just like Jeremiah’s head chef, Deimos. “I need a drink a’fore that son of a bitch comes in here. If he’s gonna beat the fuck out of me, I don’t wanna feel it.”

Felix was halfway to his feet when Jeremiah slid over toward her, and Felix glanced out of the corner of his eye to see the fury on his friend’s face.

“Who’s coming in here to beat the fuck out of you?”

“Some asshole,” the woman said, waving her hand. “Don’t worry about it.” Her hair was thick and curly and very black, tied at the nape of her neck in a messy bun. She had lipstick on, but it was smeared, and in the dim bar light, Felix could make out a bruise forming on her jaw.

It definitely looked fresh.

“Someone definitely hit her,” Felix murmured, leaning toward Jeremiah. “Recently.”

“Fucking hell,” he groaned. “Do me a favor and get her out of here. Take her out the back and call a car. Just have them put it on the restaurant tab.”

Felix nodded and took a step closer to the woman. “Hey. You okay?”

She froze halfway to reaching for the liquor again and gave him an up-and-down stare. “Yeah, I’m fine, baby. We can fuck if you want, but not up the ass.”

Felix almost choked on his own tongue. “Oh, honey. You’re not my type.”

She hummed in thought. “Okay, fiiiine. You can put it in my ass. But you gotta buy me a gin first because I don’t wanna feel that neither.”

Felix wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh in her face or wrap her in a blanket and feed her soup until she sobered up. Instead, he offered his hand. “Wanna go for a walk?”

She scoffed, but she linked their fingers together anyway. “I ain’t a hooker.”

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