13
Flynn
I’d wanted to kill Pa for what he’d done to Saige a few days earlier. Small, frail Saige. Beautiful, curvy, woman. She smelled delicious standing there in that kitchen, sweeter than any canned peach, and the dried tear tracks on her cheeks had tempted me to flick out my tongue for a taste, Pa be damned.
But she’d told me not to when I’d stared at her lips, considering what I wanted to do with them.
She didn’t want me like I did her, otherwise she wouldn’t have told me not to. But what did I know about women and relationships? Nothing—exactly as I’d told her.
I pulled Ma’s old easel from beneath my bed frame. I’d only dropped to the floor at the sound of Pa’s footsteps in order to throw off his scenting a trail he was right to suspect, but at the dusty sight of the lap desk tu
