Page 28 of The B!tch is Bad

Creed chuckled. “The Vinyl Playboy.” That was one of Santiago’s many nicknames. He straightened up. “You call Slayer often?”

“Well, yes. He promised he’d look out for me. And he did. And there’s no way we can send this fuckwad back to Fingerhut with any of this information, Creed!”

Creed was still as a wand of peace. “You said you trust me.”

I nodded.

“So what do you want to do about this guy?”

I couldn’t believe what I was about to say. “Let’s have Santiago take him far, far away.”

I meant I didn’t want to know what happened to the fake actor. But I never, ever wanted him talking to Fingerhut again.

Creed swiped around like a madman, and soon had Slayer’s face on WhatsApp, carved and tan as tree bark. He grinned serenely as though there weren’t a limping elk and a hogtied guy on the ground behind him.

“Creed Trucks, my man! Patience told me she’d be with you.”

Oh God. Why did he just say that?

I changed the subject. “Santiago. Who is that guy behind you, really, if he’s not Timothée Fucking Chalamet?”

Unconcerned, Santiago glanced over his shoulder. The tracker was now gagged, probably with Santiago’s impeccable handkerchief. Santiago wrinkled his nose. “Oh, him. He pretends to be Joe King, but I think he’s only joking. Patience? May I tell you in front of Creed?”

I glanced sideways at Creed. He gave me a look of acknowledgement. “Yeah, sure. What do you have?”

“You know Joe King knows you are here. He was riding that tractor in Creed’s parade.”

I bawled, “He even mouthed along to the Blessing of the Fruit! Has he admitted who sent him?”

Santiago glanced mysteriously from side to side, as though anyone other than an elk was watching him. “He has admitted someone from Edmond, Oklahoma sent him.”

There ensued a very long pause. I stood straight and remembered to breathe. Behind Santiago, someone in a black leather cut with wall-to-wall patches strode over and kicked Joe King. Yeah. He was still alive.

Santiago retained control. “Patience. I have to take this jagweed to the Bare Bones clubhouse. This is their turf. They demand transparency, and that is their right. But Patience. I will wait for you to arrive. I’m certain you have many questions.”

“Yes.” I finally exhaled. “I want to grill this fuckwad. See why Fingerhut is so desperate to find me.”

Santiago nodded gravely.

And I was shocked to all hell when Creed added, “Keep him alive ‘til we get there.”