Page 9 of The Vows We Keep

“One of who?” she asks.

“Fuck.” I shouldn’t have said that. I need to keep my answer to the minimal ... minimum. Words are weirdly confusing. She doesn’t need to know that even though I don’t recognize her father, I helped kill the rest of them.

“You saw some of the Los Reyes bikers, didn’t you?”

I nod, unable to stop myself. More like my head falls forward of its own accord.

“And my father was there, wasn’t he?”

“No.” I look up at her. “What’s your name?”

“My papá was the most senior member on that ride out, he should have been at the front.”

“Guy with brown hair.”

She looks over her shoulder.

Man, I feel like I just did forty consecutive Tabatas with Bates.

“What happened to them?”

Whatdidhappen to them?We ambushed them because they were coming ...

Why were they coming?

It’s starting to blur.

“We killed them. They came for us. They came for King.”

“Yes, they came for you. How many of them were there?”

I stare up at her. “Babe. I can barely remember my name right now. Is it meant to make your tongue feel thick?”

“How much did you give him, Neva?” she asks.

“Enough to keep him alive,” Neva says. “People can react differently. You know this, Cat.”

“Cat, Cat, Cat.” The name swishes around on my tongue. “Is that because you have a cute pussy?” I can’t help but laugh, but the chuckle comes out on a cough. “Fuck, I’m not kidding, it feels like my tongue is growing.”

I stick it out and try to look down at it.

“You ever see this kind of reaction?” Cat asks Neva.

“Maybe it’s all the alcohol in his system. Perhaps the drink and drug in his system are having a meet and greet.”

That makes me laugh too. There are worse things in life than finding yourself partying with two girls.

Wait, why are my arms tied to the chair?

I lean over to look at the legs of the chair, and as the chair tips, I’m unable to stop it. I hit the floor, slamming the other side of my head on the floor. And I need a concussion right now like a fucking bullet to the skull.

“Motherfucker,” I gasp. Air leaves my lungs in a whoosh.

“Help me get him up,” Cat says.

With a bunch of grunting and groaning, they manage to grab hold of the chair. The position means my head is right near Cat’s stomach. I take a deep breath. “You smell good,” I say. She does. Something citrus. Oranges.

With a grunt, she manages to get the chair back onto four legs. “Too bad you reek of booze.” The two of them right the stool.