His wife's breakfast.

Chapter Six.

Amos Moses Ty "Amie, what you wanna do..."

The Charger was growling down the highway, the sun shining bright, Lexie sitting beside him, hair flying all around her face, feet to the dash, knees bent near to her chest, heels popping up, legs swaying, hands on her thighs slapping, mouth open singing some hick-ass, country rock song at the top of her lungs which was the only way he could hear her considering that shit coming from her iPod connected to the car stereo was blasting out the speakers.

It was day two of their road trip and they were two hours out of Carnal. The drive from Vegas was a one day haul but she'd wanted to take a detour and spend the night in Moab.

And, seeing as he was currently thinking with his dick, he'd given her what she wanted.

Thinking on it, after she told him she wanted to have breakfast with her husband, he would have given it to her. But after spending her vacation day in Vegas with her, he would have walked to Moab at her side if she'd asked.

It was official. He was fucked.

As they talked about what to do while she stuffed her face with blueberry pancakes after her shower, all the shit she wanted to do in Vegas he did not want to do but then she dropped the bomb that she'd never been to Vegas. Then she'd dropped the bomb that, the day before she picked him up from prison, she'd taken her first trip to a beach. Then she'd dropped the bomb that, although her job took her to LA and NYC for buying trips, she'd had her promotion to head buyer for only a year which was when she started travelling for work, these trips were manic and she had zero time to sightsee. Further, considering she was hooked up with Ronnie, they didn't enjoy romantic couple's retreats at exotic locales. Pimps, apparently, didn't get vacation time. The only other places she'd been were Austin, Texas when she went on a very long joyride in her twenties with Bessie and Atlanta, Georgia where Ronnie's people were from and where they'd sometimes spend Thanksgiving or Christmas.

So he'd followed her ass to fucking M&M World and dealt with her crushing disappointment that the Star Trek Experience had closed down. They'd stood in the heat three times to watch the Bellagio fountains spraying to music. They'd toured casino after casino, she'd played kids video games (not adult gambling video games) while he watched, she'd scoured gift shops giggling herself stupid half the time and pretend begging him to buy her tacky crap (and, when she wasn't looking, he did, buying her a T-shirt at Paris Las Vegas and a snow globe at Treasure Island both of which, he made certain to note for future reference, when he gave them to her, she was more excited about than the diamonds) and they'd walked up one side and down the other of practically the whole fucking Strip after the sun set so she could take in the lights and the sights.

And as they did this, she opened up and let it all hang out.

Lexie forgot all about give and take and just gave.

She did this by telling him about Ella, Bessie and Honey. About her friend Margot. About her other friend Nyssa. Yammering through lunch, through dinner, as they walked only to interrupt herself, point at something and shout, "Ohmigod, look at that!"

She also did this by holding his hand and when she wasn't doing that, her fingers would curve around his elbow and hold on. As she walked, she got so close to him, he could feel her skin brushing his. If they were standing, she stood leaned into his side. If they were seated, she sat close. When she talked, she'd touch him, shove his shoulder, grasp his hand, shake his arm, bump her body into his depending on what she wanted, to get his attention, because she was laughing and wanted to share her humor, because she was fake annoyed at him for teasing her or to point something out.

Walker had never met another woman like her, her casual affection, ready sense of humor, openness, her clashing ability to seem confident in her surroundings at the same excited by them. Day three of knowing her and there she was, no bullshit. And he realized that was what he had since the beginning from Lexie. No bullshit.

And all day, Bag of Bones was nowhere to be seen. This was her. This was what she gave free and without expecting anything in return. All give, no take.

That night, she'd been out within seconds of her head hitting the pillow.

Walker didn't get to sleep for hours.

The next morning he learned more about Lexie and this was she could be a pain in the ass. She took forever to get ready, freaked out about leaving something in the room so she checked under the bed twelve times and opened all the drawers even though neither of them had put shit in them and making him check the safe twice even though nothing he put in there he'd fucking forget.

And, fuck him, after they checked out and were waiting for the Charger to be brought around, he thought of it and he couldn't stop himself from thinking it was cute.

They got in the car and the battle instantly began. She didn't like "fake cold", what she called air conditioning. He didn't like the windows down. Compromise, she got the windows down first, he got AC after the clock struck one thirty. Then she hooked up her iPod and tortured him with her music. He told her he thought it was shit. Compromise, when the windows were opened, they played her music, they listened to what he wanted to listen to when he jacked the AC up.

They hit Moab and the bitch flipped for it, making him find a store so she could buy a camera, something he didn't allow her to do, the buying it part. He bought one for her, an expensive digital camera and when he did, she gave him something else, something new. Her face got soft, her eyes went warm and she leaned her tits into his arm, tipping her head back and smiling at him huge, shining the full force of her light on him and, swear to Christ, he'd been blinded.

At that, he wished he'd watched her open her diamonds.

Then she made him drive her all over the fucking place. At her shout, he'd stopped a dozen times so she could take pictures and anytime another breathing being was close, she asked them to take a picture of him and Lexie together. She'd drag him in front of something, curl into him and smile bright into the camera like she'd hit Heaven not Utah.

They'd checked into a hotel, went out and had dinner, came back and ordered up a movie. It was an action film and she sat sprawled at the end of the bed shouting at the screen the whole time and when the hero finally kicked the bad guy's ass, she'd actually shouted, "Take that, sucka!"

Sucka.

Proof positive she was a total fucking goof.

That night, too, lying at her side in bed, Walker had trouble finding sleep.

Now they were in the car, two hours into day two on the road, two hours away from home. She'd done the whole freak out at not leaving anything behind but she'd also taken twice as much time getting ready. Yesterday, she'd worn her Paris Las Vegas tee, some shorts and some flip-flops. Today, her hair was done wild and sexy, she had on a pair of nice, army green short-shorts and a sexy-as-hell, loose-fitting, apricot tee that caught on her tits just right and left her back exposed, a drape at the bottom, one string tied in the middle to hold the fabric together and you could see her cream-colored bra strap. She'd added the sandals she'd been wearing the day he met her, the first time he'd seen her wear the same pair of shoes twice, as well as big, gold hoops at her ears and a bunch of thin, gold bracelets at both wrists.

What she was tricked out for, he had no idea. He didn't ask. He didn't have a chance. She was busy checking under the bed and opening and closing drawers.

He left her to it and dragged their shit down to the reception desk and out to the Charger after he checked out. She met him there, throwing sass about him being impatient and how, "We can't just swing by if we left something. FYI, Utah is a whole different state than the one you live in, Ty."

He decided to concentrate on putting the car in gear rather than responding.

She opened her window, put on her music and his torture began.

Two minutes later she told him she was going to, "Die in five minutes if I don't have coffee."

He swung into a convenience store, they went in and she bought a two-liter cup filled with joe and a pack of breakfast Ding Dongs. He bought a cup of coffee about a quarter the size of hers and a stale bear claw from the donut display. After bite three, he decided he couldn't deal with the stale and threw it out his open window.

To this she snapped, "Ohmigod, Ty! What the fuck?"

"It was stale," he told the windshield, trying not to smile because he'd learned from her tone which he'd heard before that this was going to be good.

"So! You just littered."

"It's food so it isn't litter."

"You're telling me food is omitted from the official definition of litter?"

"Yeah."

"All Knowing Ty Walker, also known by his superhero alter-ego, Mr. Humongo has memorized the definition of litter?"

Yep, he was right, this was good. Even pissed, the bitch was funny.

"They make you do that kinda shit in prison."

"They do not."

"Babe, five years in one building, they gotta do something to keep us occupied."

"You're full of shit," she mumbled, he looked to her and saw her shove an entire Ding Dong in her mouth.

Ding Dongs.

Christ.

Total goof.

They hit the highway, she jacked up the music and he experienced the unusual desire to beg someone to drive ice picks in his ears so he wouldn't have to listen to it.

Then she started singing while sipping her coffee, just like the day before, at the top of her lungs with occasional car dancing.

And again. Total goof.

The country-rock song finally died and she snatched up the iPod to consider his next agony.

"Baby?" he called and he felt her eyes on him.

"Yeah?" she replied, her sweet voice soft, another tone he was getting used to and this was because the last couple of days it had started to come at him often.

"Do me a favor?"

"Sure."

"In a second, I'm gonna pull over, get out my gun and give it to you. When I do, shoot me with it."

"What?" she whispered.

"I'm facin' another hour and a half of your music. I'd rather be dead."

Silence then, "Shut up."

"No, seriously."

A smile in her voice then a repeated, "Shut up."

He bit back his own smile.

Then he heard her say, "Actually, a pit stop wouldn't be amiss at this juncture."

He glanced at her then back at the road. "What?"

"I need to use the restroom."

He sighed.

Two liter cup of coffee.

Jesus.

"We been on the road two hours," he pointed out.

"You are correct but that doesn't change my need to use the facilities."

"Next time, you get a coffee the size of mine."

"I have a small bladder."

She didn't have a small anything, thank Christ.

"You drank a two liter of coffee."

"It was hardly two liters, Ty."

"A liter and a half."

"Are you trying to be a pain in my ass?"

"No," he straight out lied.

"I'm rethinking my 'I do'," she muttered and he grinned at the windshield not knowing his wife had her head bent to her iPod selecting his next torment and missed it and also not knowing she would have given him fifty K in order to see it.

Then straight on hillbilly music filled the car and some had-to-be white man started singing about a man called Amos Moses.

"Jesus," he groaned and when he did, he heard his wife giggle.

Since he was listening to hillbilly music, he wasted no time finding a restroom for her but as he hit the exit off the highway and Lexie bent to strap on the sandals she'd taken off, he looked in the rearview mirror, saw the SUV follow and his mouth got tight.

Bag of Bones had disappeared at the Utah/Colorado border and the SUV had taken his place. Fuller's California connection was off-duty, the local boys had been sent in.

They either expected him to make trouble, they wanted to make trouble for him or they wanted to make a point. No matter what the fucking reason, he didn't like it.

He hit a gas station and decided to fill up so as not to totally waste this waste of time so he guided the Charter to a pump. He was angling out his side as Lexie folded out of hers when his phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket, looked at his display, flipped it open and put it to his ear.

"Tate, can you hang on a second?" he said into it, eyes on Lexie strutting to the building.

"Yeah," Tate replied.

Then he took the phone from his ear, whistled, Lexie stopped and turned to him.

"Money," he called across the fifteen feet that separated them.

"I got it," she called back.

"Money," he repeated.

"Ty, I got it," she repeated.

"Woman," he growled and knew by the slight upward shift of her chin she'd rolled her eyes to the heavens behind her shades then she strutted to him.