Heavy by Cate C. Wells

4

HEAVY

By the time my murder pixie comes out of the bathroom in a billow of steam, scrubbed bright red without a stitch on, I’ve cleaned up down the hall, changed my shirt, bought two first-class tickets to Vegas, and got Wash, one of our skinnier prospects, to fetch one of Crista’s hoodies that she leaves behind the bar. I took his drawstring sweatpants, too.

I threw some shit in an overnight bag, leaving most of it empty. This trip ain’t gonna take long, but I’m gonna need to buy her some clothes when we get there. I don’t like her in the prospect’s pants, and she is very particular about what she wears.

She’s obviously on the spectrum, but I don’t think that’s the whole story. I went to school with a lot of autistic folks at M.I.T. Given, it was mostly men. All men, now that I think back. The eye contact avoidance, the monotone voice just a little louder than you’d expect, the flat affect. She’s got all that. But she is more than the stereotype.

She’s got balls. A twisty, curvy brain. Some kind of white knight complex. And the abandoned, greedy libido of my fuckin’ dreams.

I had no idea I’d get off on being used for sex, but holy shit—she was a kid in a candy store, riding my hand like a cowgirl. Is she discovering her wild side or is this inexperience? And how did she get to twenty-four and not pop that cherry?

There were streaks of blood on my fingers when I washed my hands. It’s popped now.

It makes me feel oddly—possessive.

I don’t do possessive. That kind of shit is contrary to the whole lifestyle. We live this way for the freedom. Freedom doesn’t include getting my mind twisted over a homicidal virgin with no sense of self-preservation.

I’m no misogynist, but my world ain’t gentle. The women in this club have thick skins. They hold their own because if they didn’t, they’d be dead or under a man’s boot. Princess and the Pea would be eaten alive if I left her with them.

As soon as I walk back into my room, she proves my point, and I gotta listen to her bitch about how the hoodie’s too big and the sweatpants smell like Takis—both fair criticisms—before she’ll follow me out the back.

The clubhouse is still quiet. It’s a weekday and everyone has business they need to be doing. I get a prospect to drive us to the airport in the Range Rover. I ain’t leaving my ride in satellite parking overnight.

Dina settles in the back seat and takes out her phone. I sit up front and make calls. Charge is up at the Patonquin site, and he’s got things under control. The electrical is almost done in the main building, and we’ve dug the foundation of the annex. We were set back a few months when the Raiders went Vandal on the site. In retrospect, we were lucky we’d only gotten as far as erecting the frame.

Forty is coordinating the manhunt for Rab Daugherty, the Rebel Raiders’ VP. We’re gonna use Rab as leverage to get Knocker to the table. With Dina’s evidence, the plan has a much better chance of working. It had relied on my honeyed tongue, and while I do have a certain eloquence, I don’t think Knocker gives a shit about anything Steel Bones has to say. Two decades upstate, a good deal of it in solitary—cold, hard proof might not sway the man, either.

Forty keeps it short. There’s nothing new to report on the Raiders’ front. I call Harper, but it goes to voicemail. She’s probably still in court. At least she ain’t drinkin’ there.

This has all gone on too long. When Knocker got out, I’d hoped he’d have no interest in a feud, that he’d satisfy himself with hot fucks, cold drinks, and long rides. At minimum, I thought there’d be time for rapprochement, but he came at us hard and quick. He wants revenge. I suppose I get it.

“Boss?”

I shake myself. While I was lost in thought, the prospect had pulled up in front of departures.

“Thanks, kid.” I grab the carry-on out of the trunk and open Dina’s door. Her nose is in her phone. She hasn’t noticed we’ve arrived, either.

“Dina?”

Her fingers are flying over the screen.

I clear my throat. “Dina?”

No response.

Honk.

She startles, arms flinging wide. I barely hop back in time. Wash grins and taps the horn again.

I tip my head to him. “Obliged.”

He gives me a smartass salute. Dina tumbles out of the car, tucking her phone into the hoodie pocket and tripping over her own feet. I grab her upper arms and hold her steady. Her eyes are all whites, and her gaze darts wildly from the curbside check-in to the automated doors to the vehicles haphazardly pulling over to unload people.

It’s hectic. I bet she doesn’t deal well with hectic.

It’d be a hell of a thing if she’s cool when I hold a gun on her or lock her in a closet, but then freaks out in the middle of a crowded airport terminal surrounded by security.

“Where are your sunglasses?” I ask.

She’s already sliding them on.

“We’re at the a-airport,” she says. Her voice wavers. Not good.

What do you do in this situation? I don’t generally deal with women when they lose their shit. I ain’t a gentle man, and I don’t have any edibles on me.

“Go on.” I nod at the door.

She stays put.

I clear my throat.

She pays me no mind.

I glance behind me, thinking maybe Wash can honk again, but the Rover’s gone.

“Walk,” I finally say and give Dina a helpful push toward the entrance. She stumbles forward a few steps, and then she digs in her heels. In my mind, I hear the screech and smell the burnt rubber.

Ah, shit.

“We got to catch the flight. So we can get to Vegas. And get married. To do the exchange. That’s the plan.”

It’s feelin’ a little more Snakes on a Plane than Strangers on a Train at the moment, but change is a constant.

“Right.” She’s tracking the people coming and going through the automatic doors. I fold my arms and try to look like a law-abiding citizen having a casual conversation. With my size, I can’t help drawing notice, and I don’t need TSA to get curious. Shit is already complicated.

If I’d been thinking ahead, I’d have snagged a jay from Deb’s desk drawer and had Dina blaze up during the ride. Probably best I didn’t, though. Crista’s doing better, but Deb still needs her medicine.

I’m about to try prodding her again when Dina seems to come to some kind of conclusion. She squares her shoulders and draws up her hood until her face is almost hidden.

“Okay.” Her jaw clenches, accentuating her little pointy chin. She exhales in a huff. “What do we do?”

All right. Atta girl. She’s pulling it together.

“We get on the plane.”

“No, what do we do first?”

She needs an itinerary? We don’t have all damn day. I hate waiting at airports. I didn’t leave a lot of time.

I glare down. Her hands have disappeared in the long sleeves, and she’s swaying like a drunk sailor at sea. Okay. She needs an itinerary.

“We get in line. Get our ticket from the counter. We get in another line. Go through security. Then we sit until they call boarding. Get in a line. Get on the plane.”

“I don’t have a ticket.”

“I got that covered.”

“I don’t have ID.”

I bend over and fish her purse out from my carry-on bag.

She snatches it from my hand. “You had this all along?”

“I found it under my bed.”

She nods. “I stashed it under there while I was waiting for you to wake up.”

“It, uh, doesn’t have what it used to have in it.”

She was packing a butterfly knife with her chewing gum, lip gloss, and hand sanitizer. I had Wash put it in my office when he brought the hoodie.

“I’m gonna need that back,” she says.

“No problem.”

I guess I’m expecting her to need a little more coaxing, so when she takes off, I actually have to catch up. Doesn’t take more than two steps. My stride is at least double the length of most people’s, and she has short legs. Shapely. Hot. But, short.

She makes a beeline for the gates. I steer her toward the self-serve counter. When it’s our turn, she stomps right up to the machine, hits a few buttons seemingly at random, and then squints up at me. “How does this work?”

“You could let me do it.” I hit cancel and take it from the top.

She huffs and stares into the middle distance, biting that sweet, pouty lower lip. A picture flashes in my mind—her back arched, eyes scrunched tight, hips bucking in tight jerks as she comes.

Now I’ve got a stiffy and a girl actin’ weird as we queue up for security. I always get “randomly” selected for special screening. The line’s pretty long. We might very well miss the flight.

The closer we get, the more Dina’s craning her neck and bouncing on her toes.

“You put your bag on the conveyor belt?” she asks.

“Yeah.”

“I don’t have a bag.”

“No, you don’t.”

This is a weird fuckin’ conversation.

“Then I walk through the metal detector.”

“Yup.”

“I empty my pockets in that basket.”

“There’s pockets in those sweatpants?”

“No.” She pats herself down. “I put my purse on the belt, though. Or do I put it in the basket?”

“I don’t think it matters.”

“It won’t fit in the basket.”

“Then put it on the belt.”

“You’re going to put your bag on the conveyor belt.”

I can’t tell whether she’s troubleshooting a possible problem or if we’re starting at the beginning of the conversation again, so I say, “Yeah.”

She tilts her head up at me. With the hood up and sunglasses on, she looks suspicious as fuck.

“Can you put the hood down? Maybe take the glasses off until we’re through security?”

“I look like an FBI wanted poster, don’t I?” She flashes a wry smile.

“Yeah, but cute.”

She frowns. “Cute is for kittens and babies.”

“I like kittens and babies.”

“You look like you eat kittens and babies,” she says as she reluctantly lowers her hood and tucks her sunglasses into her purse. Her face is white as a sheet. This is really getting to her.

“You’re right about the eating pussy part.”

That gets me a soft snort. Her eyes aren’t really focused, though, and she’s flicking her fingers so much it’s drawing notice.

“I know I’m being weird,” she says, shuffling forward as the line moves.

“Hadn’t noticed.”

“I’ve never been in an airport before.”

“So you said.”

“I have to rehearse new things.”

“Like earlier? When you recited that script at me?”

“Yeah.” She slides me the quickest glance. Her eyes are so damn blue, you should be able to see clear to the bottom. “I had a lot of time to work on that.”

“How long?”

“Almost a year.”

“You been planning this for a year?”

She stares at her feet. “It’s not a joke to me. It’s not a whim. If you think I’m going to change my mind—if you’re humoring me so I give you what you want—I’m not.”

She sounds dead serious, but she’s also struggling to navigate an airport. There’s no way she’s gonna be able to take a man’s life in cold blood. It ain’t like in the movies. The action isn’t on screen; it’s in your head. In the chasm between being a person, a sinner who can be forgiven his sins, and a killer, a man who’s decided to play God.

I remember that step into nothingness. I thought it’d be a crossing over, but it was a weight. A crushing weight. And afterwards, you’re left like Atlas, out in the dark, holding onto the world you don’t belong to anymore.

Luckily, I don’t have to answer her. It’s our turn to walk through security.

I go first, figuring she’ll take it easier that way. Miraculously, we don’t get tagged for enhanced screening, but she gets looks. If she weren’t so pretty, her quirks probably wouldn’t draw notice, but you just expect an attractive woman to carry herself a certain way and that ain’t Dina. Best I can describe it is that she moves like a marionette getting jerked on strings.

Maybe that unsteadiness is why I’m hovering. I walk close by her side, sit next to her on the seats while we wait for our flight to be called. I’m crowding her, and she shifts and leans and huffs, and I’m finding that very amusing.

Women in my world don’t inch away. They don’t hump my leg like they do Charge, either. I’m a scary man. Even eager pussy treads warily. Eventually, though, if enough liquor’s flowing and it’s late, I’ll find a female crawling on my lap, high on the danger of playing with a man of my reputation.

I take what’s on offer if I’m in the mood and the woman knows the score. I’m not in the market for an old lady or a hassle. I’m too busy, and I’ve never been interested in the domestic life.

And yet, here I am, signing on for a wife and one hell of a hassle. At least Dina has no interest in anything other than her phone. She’s glued to the screen again, an intent frown scrunching her face. She’s got wireless earbuds in her little ears.

I stretch out my legs in preparation for being folded up like an accordion. I always buy myself two seats, but leg room can’t be bought for love or money. I should get myself a private jet. There’s enough cash in the coffers. A jet reeks of laying up treasures on earth, though. I’m a fallen man, but I try to be a righteous one all the same. On the day of judgment, I want to look my Maker in the eye and claim only those sins I’ve chosen.

Next to me, Dina tucks herself into the far corner of her seat. God forbid her body brush mine. I extend my arm across the back of her chair, let my hand dangle against her upper arm. She casts me a cantankerous look. I grin.

She shrugs and knocks my hand away. “You’re manspreading.”

“That’s a bad thing?”

“Yes.”

She hasn’t taken her eyes off that phone. I go ahead and squeeze her shoulder, scooting her into my side. She stiffens immediately.

“What are you doing?” she hisses.

“Getting cozy with my fiancée.”

“I’m not your real fiancée.”

“We’re about to get really married. What are you, then?”

“Hot and uncomfortable.”

A laugh busts from my belly, drawing the attention of all the folks in front of gate thirteen. Her delicate fingers fly to my lips, pressing on them. My dick leaps to attention. I nip a tip, and she hisses, dropping her hand.

“Be quiet. People are staring.”

“People always stare. I’m a walkin’ Guinness Book of World Records entry.”

“Well, people don’t stare at me.” She’s back to texting a mile a minute.

They do though. She might not notice, but she catches the eye. I don’t know if it’s her off manner or her uncanny pixie face, but she gets her fair share of second glances, even next to me.

“Doesn’t hurt to look.” I fiddle with a lock of her black hair. She ducks her head. “You’re really jumpy for a woman who was ridin’ my fingers a couple hours ago.”

Her fingers still on her phone. Finally.

“I don’t see why you need to make this harder.” She glares at a patch of carpet by my boots.

“How am I making this harder?”

For a long moment, I don’t think she’s gonna answer me. Then she exhales a deep, exasperated breath and says, “You know the Mariana Trench?”

“Sure. Deepest part of the ocean.” I’m above average at Jeopardy.

“Ever heard of the barreleye fish?”

“Can’t say I have.”

“It has a transparent head, and it’s eyes point upward.”

“Bitchin’.”

She huffs, but she’s not as tense as she was a minute ago. Her shoulder feels less like a wooden hanger.

“Yeah. It is. Anyway, it’s perfectly designed for life in the ocean right below the limit of light penetration. It’s got all these extra rods in its retinae that let it pick out the silhouette of its prey swimming above. It’s a wonder of nature.”

“And you’re a barreleye fish?” I’m above average at metaphors, too.

“Yeah. Do you know what happens when you haul it out of its habitat?”

I can guess, but I let her tell it.

“First it gets blinded, and then its body is crushed from the pressure change.”

“Flying to Vegas ain’t gonna kill you, baby.” I know I’m being insensitive, but what do you say to that?

“No, it won’t. I just get to hang out for hours at whatever depth it is when the barreleye fish’s eyes are burning and its bones are slowly splintering. It’s awesome. So, maybe you could give me some personal space to really revel in the sensation.”

Well, now I feel like a dick. I ain’t backing off, though. That’s not a thing I do. Instead, I grab her purse, find her sunglasses, and prop them back on her small, upturned nose.

“What about security?” she says.

“We’re through security.”

“Your arm’s still on my chair.”

“You’re gonna have to get used to that.”

“You’re an extremely difficult person.”

“Yeah,” I acknowledge. It’s only the truth. “In the sea of life, I’m a nuclear submarine.”

“Now you’re manspreading into my analogy.”

I lean over until my beard tickles her cheek. “After we get hitched, I’m gonna manspread your thighs and plunge all the way into your Mariana Trench.”

She snorts, but there’s a real smile playing at her lips.

I dart out my tongue, lick her ear lobe real quick, and she jerks like she’s been zapped by a jolt of electricity, her arm flying out to whack me across the face.

It smarts—she nailed me good—but I’m laughing when they make the announcement for first class to board. She walks ahead of me through the jetway onto the plane like it’s the green mile. The flight attendant guides her into the first row. Hope she likes the window seat. I need the aisle.

I stow my bag overhead, and cram myself into the seat so other folks can pass, knees nearly to my chin. I hate air travel.

Dina perches on the edge of the leather seat, visibly quivering, gaze flicking wildly from the window to the passengers filing past to the air nozzle and light buttons above. Is she gonna freak out? Would liquor help or hurt?

“How you holdin’ up, barreleye?”

“Air travel is the safest mode of transportation,” she mutters.

“Yup.”

“The odds are extremely good that the plane will not fall out of the sky.”

“That is statistically true.”

“Studies show that takeoff and landing are the most dangerous parts of air travel.”

“I’ve heard something like that.”

She’s flicking her fingers like crazy, rubbing the skin raw. I grab a hand. It’s like holding onto a mannequin. She flicks her free thumb even harder. She’s gonna draw blood.

I rest the hand I’ve got on my thigh, and I don’t know what else to do, so I stroke it like a cat. She leaves it there, and slowly, she tapers off with the flicking.

“Sounds like you’ve done your research,” I add.

She jerks a nod.

“When did you do that?” She didn’t know in time to prepare.

“On the car ride here.”

“That’s what you were doing on your phone?”

“Yeah.” She has her eyes glued ahead where the flight attendant is shutting the door. “And I texted my parents. Told them to check their email. Where I told them I’d gone camping with Rory.” She finishes with a nauseous moan.

“Are you gonna lose your shit?”

“Odds are extremely good.” She’s kind of rocking now. I shift so no one can see her past my bulk. I don’t think she’d want to draw attention.

“What exactly is freaking you out?”

“It smells weird in here. Canned. It sounds weird, too.” Her voice is loud, but the acoustics in the cabin muffle her.

“I cannot disagree.” A commercial airline is the exact opposite of a bike. “You want me to get you a whiskey?”

I’ve already got my hand up, waving over the flight attendant who’s been tracking me since we boarded. From the way she’s got her shoulders back so her top strains across her tits, its ‘cause she’s interested, not scared that I’m trouble—which is always the preferred response from a woman.

“No. I’ll be fine.” Dina buckles herself in.

“You don’t look fine.” I shake my head “never mind” at the flight attendant.

“Crawl out of my ass, Ginormo.”

“I’ll let that one slide since you’re freakin’ out.”

“Don’t hold back, Hoss. I’m tougher than I look.”

She don’t look tough in the slightest. Her hood is down, and her hair’s mussed, jet black tufts sticking out at all angles. Like most men, I dig long hair on a woman. I like a nice handful to jerk her by and to twist in my fist while I fuck ‘em from behind.

I like makeup, too, and big tits, thick thighs, and a juicy ass. I’m a typical man. It’s easier if they’re tall—I don’t get that crick in my neck—but height doesn’t matter when they’re on all fours. I like tattoos. Pierced nipples, a pierced clit. That’s all good.

Dina doesn’t even have pierced ears. She looks like a skinny teenage boy in her getup. Makes sense since she got the pants from a teenage boy. There’s nothing about her that should turn me on, but my dick is at half-mast and has been since a few minutes after I busted my load on her leg.

I don’t like that she’s unsettled, and there’s nothing I can do about it. I scrub at my chest. I left my damn antacids at the clubhouse.

“What do you normally do when you’re losing it?”

“I don’t lose it.” She’s crossed her legs, and her knee’s going a mile a minute. The TV flashes on, and the safety recording starts playing. Her eyes are hooked, her pupils growing larger and larger.

“No?”

“Not since I was a kid.”

“What did you do as a kid?”

“Hid.”

“Where?”

She tosses a shoulder. “Wherever I’d fit. Where no one could see me.”

“Well, you’ll be all right then.” The flight attendants buckle themselves in for takeoff, and I stretch my legs into the aisle, almost groaning with relief. “No one can see past me. You’re in your own little hidey hole over there.”

It’s a toss away line. I don’t expect it to work. But somehow, it does the trick. She leans forward, peeks over, checking to see if what I say is true. It is. I’m pretty much a human wall.

She stops jiggling her knee, and then, as we accelerate down the runway, she stops flicking. She keeps her eyes screwed shut and her body braced for impact as we ascend to cruising altitude, but then she relaxes, cracks her neck, tugs the hand I’ve been holding all this time, and takes out her phone.

She taps and smiles. “Oh, yeah. There’s Wi-Fi.”

“It’s free in first class.”

“Yeah, you paid, what? A couple hundred bucks to get free wi-fi. Deal of the century.”

I ignore her smart remark and take my phone out, as well. I check my messages. John reports that his parents heard from their missing daughter, and apparently, she’s camping with her good friend Rory. Harper reports that Forty is now dragging his ex along with him on the search. That’s gonna be a problem. Nevaeh Ellis is trouble.

Harper’s not gonna tolerate having her around. She’s protective as hell, and Nevaeh did Forty dirty. Maybe it’s good Forty’s taking her along for the ride. If Harper catches her on her own, she’s not above delivering a beatdown.

What’s Harper gonna make of Dina? Dina’s a real threat. Harper’s not gonna be satisfied by mutually assured destruction for very long. Once the dust settles and we’ve dealt with Wade and Anderson, she’ll want Dina dead. It’s the logical move.

A growl sounds in my chest. Dina’s gaze flies over to where the seat belt extender cuts into my abs.

“You hungry?” she asks.

“I could eat.” That’s true one hundred percent of the time.

She blinks and goes back to her phone.

I don’t want to think about this shit anymore. Later, there’ll be time enough for trouble.

“What are you doin’ on that phone?” It looks like some kind of game.

“Elfin Odyssey.”

“What’s that?”

She rolls her eyes. “It’s a game.”

“What kind of game?”

She huffs, real irritated to be interrupted. “The kind where an elf goes on an odyssey.”

“I like games.” I take her phone. She squeaks and snatches it back.

“Don’t touch my stuff.”

“I wanna play.”

“You want to play Elfin Odyssey?”

“Ain’t doin’ anything else at the moment.” And my thoughts are making me uneasy.

She holds out her hand. I unlock my phone and slap it in her palm, keepin’ an eye out as she downloads an app. I open it, and it asks me if I want to join a quest.

“Do I want to join a quest?”

“Yeah. Hold on. Don’t click anything yet.” On her phone, she’s texting someone. “Okay. Enter this code.” She shows me a number.

“This is a multiplayer game?”

“Yeah.”

“So we’re gonna shoot people together?”

“This isn’t a battle royale.” Her distaste for the concept is clear.

“I like a good battle royale.”

“You’re going to be disappointed.”

I’m about to reply, but I get the avatar screen. There’s a bunch of knights, ninjas, centaurs, pirates—all kinds of critters. I select myself an elf. I’m hot. Long blonde hair, flowy pink dress that shows off my tits.

I appear in a green field. The graphics are cool. Realistic but with a warm, hazy filter.

“What now?”

There’s a popping sound and two huge motherfuckers show up beside me. “Shit. How do I kill these guys?”

“You don’t. That’s me and Rory.”

“Who’s Rory?”

“She’s the Frost Giant.”

She’s blue, hooved, furry, and she’s got massive horns. I type what’s up Rory into the chat, and I check out Dina’s avatar. She towers over my elf, smooth clay with black holes for a mouth and eyes.

“You’re a golem?”

“Yup,” she says, texting her friend. I steal a peek. She writes he’s okay. I’m oddly flattered.

There’s something fitting about my little murder pixie picking an animated statue, ruled by forces outside her control, as her avatar. It’s as good an analogy as the barreleye fish, I suppose.

“What do we do now?” I ask. “Rescue the princess?”

“This isn’t the 80s.”

Dina and Rory take off down an incline, and I follow.

“Besides,” she adds. “That’s a tired trope. Princesses can rescue themselves.”

“No doubt.” The frost giant snags a glowing box, and we get coins. Sure feels like the 80s up in this game. “So what’s the objective?”

“Rescue a princess.”

I glance at Dina. She shrugs. “Rory likes it.”

“And who’s Rory to you?”

Before she can answer, the music changes, the light dims, and a three-headed dog charges onto the screen. It leaps for the frost giant. I tap buttons like crazy, but all my guy does is jump and flutter her glittery wings. The golem throws itself in front of the dog. There’s a splash of red on the screen. Then—poof—all three of us are back in the grassy glen with zero coins and sixty percent life force left.

“Shit. Cerberus doesn’t usually attack until you’re on the path to Mount Alysia.”

“I thought you said this was an odyssey.”

“Odysseys are treacherous,” she says as the three of us head out again. This time I snag the glowing box.

“Cyclops,” I grunt, angling for the lead. We’re not gonna get eaten by a dog again.

“Sirens,” Dina answers, falling in behind my elf. I see she’s read her classics.

“Lotus eaters.” I keep it going.

“Scylla,” she replies.

“Charybdis.”

“Circe.” She smirks. “The first woman to posit that all men are pigs.”

I chuckle. “You know your Homer.”

“Both ancient Greek poet and Simpson.” She winks.

Who is this woman?

You can’t shut Wall up about Mona and the kids, but he doesn’t say much about his folks. They own a horse farm in Stonecut County. He’s got brothers—Cash meets up with us to go hunting before the rally in Anvil every year. Cash is a loud mouth, but he knows the mountain, and he’s brilliant with a recurve bow. If Wall’s ever talked about a sister, I never paid any mind.

An uneasiness rises in my guts. Lotus eaters is a good reminder. I can’t afford to lose sight of the big picture. Dina might seem harmless with her video games and her quirks, but it doesn’t change the fact she’s the greatest threat this club has ever faced. She’s a living, breathing RICO charge. And she wants me to help her kill a man.

I can’t afford to be lulled into a false sense of security by her size and her inexperience.

This isn’t a game. This is real life. If you shoot a man, he doesn’t reanimate when you start over.

I know she’s chosen to play a heartless monster, but I don’t believe that’s her. Not for a minute.

So what do I do when she wants her quid pro quo?