CHAPTER 7
“And here I thought we’d get to avoid daddy issues,” Mack says. “Fathers hate me.”
Of course they do. He looks like he’d snap anyone in two, and certainly a woman. Not because we’re weak, mind you—I’ll take a v****a over a pair of easily flattened testicles any day—he just happens to have the physique of a grizzly. I’m sure fathers are intimidated. Probably mothers too.
“Yer father… So this is about yer thievin’ days, eh?” Rooster shakes his head. “Ye little vixen.”
“Is there any way it was your dad who left this?” Ryder asks. He’s backlit in orange haze, I still have smoke in my lungs, but the patch in my hand feels more significant than our burning home, more pressing than putting out the fire. We don’t have a chance at recovering our cottage, anyway. At least the bikes in
