24. Wrangler
24
WRANGLER
“Family feud: Zoe and Warren go at it at Cash Pot Palace as father catches daughter entertaining bikers again, even though they broke into her house the other night and attempted to rape her! Question for Zoe: are you okay in the head, girl? Maybe you should be put on some new meds.”
“This time, the men have gone for a more country theme, and are even more brutal than before. See photo below.”
It’s two images—one of me and the other of Poet as we hold Aaron up against the wall. One positive comes out of the situation—we look good. Like, very good. They captured us well in the topless cowboy outfits, and the light hits us just right. Anything for a hot, scandalous photo, I guess.
I can’t be mad that they painted us in a good light.
But fury burns my skin more than the Texas sun, because once again, they’re making entertainment from Zoe’s tears.
I read more of the captions.
“Protective much? Two of Zoe’s lovers caught earlier today fighting casino dealer for getting too close to their girl.”
Horseshit. Zoe wasn’t even fucking present at that point.
And there’s more. One more photo has been inserted toward the end of the article, and it’s outside of the building. I stare at the photo of Zoe sobbing into her hands, and feel my chest contract like I’m suffering multiple different heart conditions.
“Here, we see Zoe outside of the casino in tears over father-daughter dispute, but hey, at least she’s wearing Christian Dior and a fresh manicure! #FirstWorldProblems.”
I snort a laugh, and it startles the others.
Funny—the writer left out the juiciest detail.
The part where Zoe said Felix was going to murder her sister.
Kicking my feet up onto Warren’s couch, I take a look at some of the comments. Three hundred and sixty of them, and the article only went live an hour ago.
“Sounds and smells like a public stunt to me. How much money does this family need?” —Angela, Indiana
“It makes me laugh that the writer left out the best part. Didn’t Zoe say that Felix was going to kill her younger sister, Fiona? I was there this afternoon when it happened” —Sara, Nevada.
In response to Sara: “Yes, girl, so was I, and it’s clearly bullshit. Felix wouldn’t say that. He’s in the process of setting up Nevada’s first school for orphans, FFS. It’s all cap, and Zoe only said it because she knew the cameras were present. Clearly, she’s been fucking these other men, and is trying to sway attention away from herself. Quit trying to get likes on your comment, and take your conspiracies elsewhere. It’s embarrassing” —Robina, Nevada.
That starts a message thread.
“Embarrassing? Says the one who’s just come back with an entire paragraph. Felix is a prime example of patriarchy. Can’t you see that Zoe is oppressed?” —Sara, Nevada.
I scroll some more.
“There’s bigger fish to fry.” —Ruban, Kentucky.
“This is so mediocre. Another rich girl upset about the world she chose to enter.” —Harper, Nevada.
I toss away the phone and stare at the white walls in front of me instead.
Bullwhip and Poet observe two other photographs that collect dust on the windowsill, so I decide to be nosy myself. Zoe is in these, and she stands beside Felix, hair all done up, pouting at the camera with red lips to match the strip of carpet beneath them.
“I have another one on Friday,” she says. “Some wine tasting networking event, I don’t know. They just dress me up nice and escort me into a car.”
I turn around and see she’s had a wardrobe change. She wears jeans—Levi’s—and a plain white tank top hugs her hourglass figure, cinching her waist. She looks natural. Much better like this, especially without all of that goddamn makeup that failed to hide how devastated she’s looked this entire day.
“Fiona’s not here,” she says.
I walk over to her and bring her into a hug, and her tears soak my shirt.
“We’ll find her.”
That’s rich coming from Bully. A mute has spoken more words than him today.
Wrangler and I turn around.
“How?” Wrangler asks.
“I’m not sure yet, but we never fail.” Hesitantly, Bullwhip takes a seat and looks at us. “There’s something you should know.”
Wrangler and I share a look.
Bullwhip continues, “He wants to monetize the casino scene in Vegas.”
“Take over?” Zoe pauses her crying for a moment.
I don’t know why she’s shocked, to be honest. He’s always been a power-hungry hound—looks like one too.
“You mean, own every single casino in Vegas?” she asks.
Bullwhip nods stiffly. “There’s something else,” he adds. “He also….asked me to join him.”
“What?” Poet sticks his hands on his hips. “Why would he ask that?”
“To trick you, maybe?” I ask.
Bullwhip stares long and hard at me, like he’s finding the answer to his own question in my eyes. “Probably, yeah.”
“And you said no?” Poet pushes.
“I asked him for bathroom directions.”
“Bully—”
“I’m not joining forces with him, okay. Chill out.”
But he was debating it. Poet and I share another look. Was it a trick, or was he being serious? Everybody and their dog knows that Bully is best behind a gun. He kills without a second thought, and if Felix has been watching him—likely, since he has eyes everywhere—maybe he does see something valuable.
The thought definitely crossed his mind. I know Bully. Have for many years. Before the masquerade party that knitted us all together, he was a lone wolf and preferred to bounty-hunt alone. Sometimes, he misunderstands himself. Each time you act violent—in Bullwhip’s case, shoot somebody down or enforce a whip—a little piece of you dies with the victim. It explains Bully’s stoic exterior.
Explains why he sees himself as the bad guy.
But much worse guys exist out there.
Bully and Felix are still worlds apart. He still cares, and in Zoe’s presence, smiles—something he never does. If Bully was truly a bad person, he wouldn’t be snaking his arm around Zoe now and sheltering her from the world.
“So, he killed Paul?” I ask.
“Yes,” says Bully.
“And the serial killer shit?” asks Poet.
“He worked as a contractual assassin. That’s how he kick-started his business. Hard work has squat to do with it.”
Zoe stares into Bully’s eyes. “You’re serious?”
“I wish I wasn’t, darling.”
Tears glass her eyes again. “God, guys, you gotta help me save Fiona.”
I take a seat. “Where would she go?”
“He’s gonna pull the same move he did with Paul,” Bullwhip says. “Stage a suicide.”
I practically hear all of the air leaving Zoe’s body. “He’s gonna what ? How can you be so sure?”
“Think about it,” Poet says. “She has a history of depression, right? She tried to kill herself with a kitchen knife? It’s the perfect alibi.”
“Has Felix got her?” I ask.
“I called her last night,” says Zoe, “when Felix was home. That was when the line died and Father took over.”
“You think he did something with her?” asks Poet.
Not exactly the most pleasant thing Zoe wants to be thinking about right now—her father attempting to murder his own daughter. Does Warren have that in him, though?
“Father was at the casino today, so maybe….?” Zoe trails away.
“You told her to run?” Bullwhip asks her.
Zoe nods, running a finger over her pursed lips. Then realization crosses her face. “At the end of Green Valley South, there’s an opening that leads out into the desert. Before I moved in with Felix, she used to go there to clear her head for a while. If she ran away, that’s where she’d go.”
“Brilliant,” says Poet. He slaps her ass to motivate her forward. “Then what are we still doing here? It’s go time.”
We funnel out of the building and hop on the bikes. Zoe swings a leg over the back of Bullwhip’s Harley and crosses her arms over his chest as the bike starts up.
Nerves crunch my stomach as we get ready to depart.
I cross everything and hope that we’ll find Fiona.
But we’re dealing with a serial killer here—hope is dangling by a very thin thread.