Page 30 of Sinners Reunion

Wide-eyed, he nods.

I point at Jim. “No more Cattle in the caravan. No more solo decisions of this magnitude. Understood?”

Jim nods, a pout on his face.

I run my hands through my hair and try not to scream into the sky. I’m surrounded by imbeciles.

“Are you heading to bed soon?” Ezra asks. “Ice . . . I mean, Lice Pick . . . Say, how long are we expected to keep up the silly name?”

I grit my teeth. “Until I damn well tire of it. Will that suffice?”

I had planned to let Josie in on the joke about misunderstanding the man’s name, but after hearing what she had to say to her new friends, after hearing that she’s still stuck on that lad? Well, I just might have to let her call him that a little longer.

With a grunt, I turn and march into the darkness before I say something I can’t take back. The campfire kumbaya is doing fuck all for my sour mood.

“Wait,” Ezra says. “Lice Pick passed out at some point, and I don’t think I can carry him alone.”

“Leave him,” I snap.

Ice Pick isn’t my problem, and neither is his alcohol intolerance.

Jim clears his throat, but I keep walking.

As I near the first few RVs, I spot a flash of blonde hair in the moonlight. Below the hair sits a pair of breasts her surgeon should be proud of. Meanwhile, I’m proud of myself for noticing her hair first.

How did a man like Ice Pick get a woman like her? She’s wearing a white nightie. A robe hangs over that, but it’s see-through, so why even mention it? She peers around the side of the RV as if she’s expecting someone.

“Charity?” I say.

She jumps, and as I look at her more closely, I see she can’t be much older than Josie. She places her hand over her ample—and very exposed—bosom and smiles at me.

“I think I’m a little lost. Chad’s RV is hard to find in the dark.”

She takes a step closer and places her hand on my arm. At first, I think she’s merely steadying herself in those ridiculous white heels, but when she looks up at me, she bats her dark lashes. A smile follows, showcasing her veneers. The gentle, practiced giggle is music to any man’s ears.

“Would you help me find it?” she says, and that’s when her hand moves away from my arm and ventures lower. “Or maybe I could help you find yours.”

“Charity? Is that you over there?” Blayne trots up as the lusty lass takes a healthy step away from me, pulling her proposition with her.

She shakes her head a bit, begging me not to say anything, but she doesn’t have to worry. I won’t say a word to this bellend. I give her a wink to reassure her.

“There you are,” the slow-talking jackass says. Must he drawl everything? He looks between me and Charity disapprovingly, then turns his full attention to her. “Pick’s my best friend, and I promised him I’d keep an eye on you. What are you doing out here with this guy?”

“This guy is none of your damn business.” I begin removing my suit jacket so that I may roll up my sleeves and pummel him as is proper.

“Jeez, Blayne, calm down,” Charity whines. “Stop trying to fight everyone who talks to me. You know I’d never cheat on Chad. He was just helping me because I got lost.”

She motions toward me, and the gravitational pull of her wobbling chest nearly grabs my gaze.

Steady, old man.

Blayne looks back at me one more time before grabbing her arm and trying to haul her back to the RV. She drags her little feet in the grass and wiggles free.

“I’ll go back to my cage in a moment,” Charity says. “Now go, or I’ll tell Chad what you did to his watermelon.”

Blayne looks at me. “It was Bennett’s⁠—”

“Say no more.” I raise my hands. “Please.”