LISA

—The Goatfather—

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My heart stops beating in my chest as pure terror floods through me. I don't know this guy or his intentions. All I know is he has my family and he can't promise they're okay.

Fuck.

"Death," I growl, hoping to put some fire behind my words. "Tell me she's okay or so help me I'll—"

He chuckles, dark and wicked. "Or you'll what? In case you've forgotten, young girl, you are working for me."

I dart my gaze to Jennie, who wears a worried, guilty expression. I'm such an asshole. She doesn't deserve the shit I've put her through. The fact she kissed me and seems to like me is fucked up. This girl deserves so much better. Bottom line.

When she bites on her bottom lip, she seems so fucking innocent and pure. What will this Death bitch do to her? Hurt her like he's claimed to hurt my family.

Fuck no.

He wants her so bad?

Two can play this game.

Play along. My words are mouthed to Jennie, but she gets me. This girl is clueless as fuck most days, but when push comes to shove, she always comes through.

"If my family is hurt, then I suppose I'll have to damage your goods. Only fair, hmm?"

The line is deadly quiet. "You wouldn't dare."

"You don't know me, Dr. Death—"

"Mr. Death," he interrupts, sounding snooty as hell.

"Yeah, what the fuck ever. You'll wish you were a doctor when I finish with her." I stalk over to Jennie and grip her throat. "Let your Death sugar daddy know how loud you can scream." I gently throttle her so she gets me.

"Oh God," she rasps out in exaggeration. "Don't c-choke me. W-Who will take c-care of Kuma?" She coughs and chokes.

"YOU RELEASE HER OR I WILL SKIN YOU ALIVE AND FEED YOU TO MY FUCKING GOATS!" Mr. Death screams.

Jennie's eyes grow wide and then she grins wickedly. Her hand reaches up to grab the phone from me. I clutch onto it for a moment, worried, but then figure what do I have to lose. She turns it on speaker before she launches into her interrogation.

"You have goats?" Jennie asks. "What kind? Like fainting goats?"

The line is quiet. "Pygmy," he says. "Three Doelings and three Nannys."

"Any Billys?" she ponders.

"Pardon?"

"What are their names, Death? Come on, give it up."

He lets out a heavy sigh. "Gladys, Juniper, Crayola, Hendrix, Steve, and…"

"Billy?"

"How do you know this?"

"I have Intel, Death. And we're on to you."

I widen my eyes. She's squirrelly as fuck, but it seems to confuse the madman on the other line. Confusion is better than rage. We need answers.

"Impossible," Mr. Death grumbles. "I'm a ghost."

"A ghost with goats."

"Your point?" he urges.

"My point, Death," she bites out, looking sassy as hell, "is I know you have goats. Six of them. That means you live on land. We're headed out west according to our MapQuest trajectory, so you totally have a farm. Am I right?"

"What? A farm?"

"Admit it, Death!"

The line goes silent again. "Well, it's not a farm by Nebraska's standards by any means. It's more of a tract of land," he rambles. "I'd love to grow some crops, but that motherfucker just west of me sprays pesticides like it's his job. I nearly lost Juniper last spring!"

Crazy.

Death is fucking crazy too.

Thank fuck this girl knows crazy. Speaks the language—hell, she even teaches it. The girl has a PHD in LOCO. She has this shit in the bag. I nod at her to encourage her and earn a wild smile in return.

Crazy mode: activated.

"Juniper!" she shrieks. "He's my second favorite to Billy! What the corn dodgers, Death? I thought you were a hit man! Go take him out for trying to take little J out!"

"It's not that easy," Death growls.

"Sorry, Mr. Whiner, I couldn't hear you from all that crying you were doing," she sasses. "Are you or aren't you a hit man who destroys the lives of the innocent around you?!"

"Listen, sugar," Death says impatiently. "I'm not a hit man, I'm a mobster. Capiche?"

"I thought mobsters killed people," she argues.

"They do, but Gordon is—"

"Gordon is a monster!"

"But I can't just kill him—"

"Because Juniper doesn't matter to you? Seriously, Mr. Death! Listen to yourself!" Her neck is turning red. Holy shit. She's totally pissed about this made-up bullshit. I always knew I secretly enjoyed her crazy.

"Juniper matters to me!"

"Then why are you going to let him die?" Jennie's lip trembles and fat tears well in her eyes. "Why?"

"Oh, sugar, don't cry," Mr. Death says, his voice cracking. "I don't like it when you cry."

She sniffles. "I want to talk to Chaeng."

Ahhh, good girl. My sweet little con artist.

"I can't let you do—"

"I want to talk to her right now or I'm not coming to see you! And Juniper needs me! How could you do this, Death?!"

He curses and then sighs. "They're out back."

"They're at Outback? You sent your prisoners to Outback?" She looks at me in confusion. My heart races in my chest.

They're okay?

"Not Outback. The backyard."

"With the goats?" Jennie asks, hopefully. "Are they looking after Juniper?"

I hear a squealing laugh in the background and then my sister chiding my niece for getting too close to a water trough. He's telling the truth. The fucker really has goddamn goats, and my family is safe. Gripping Jennie's jaw, I lean in and give her a chaste kiss before pulling away.

"Juniper is fine," Dr. Death assures her. "I just…I need…"

Despite my elation at having heard my sister and niece, I'm not keen on the way this fucker seems so desperate to have my girl. My girl? Whatever, I'm going with it.

"What do you need?" she asks. "Why do you want me? Will I be your new captive? Will I be the goatkeeper? Get it? Like gatekeeper but for goats?" She's nervous and rambling. I take her hand and squeeze it.

"We'll talk about your responsibilities when you get here," he grunts out. "You have two days to get to Tulsa and then I want a phone call at this time two days from now."

"Whoaaaaa Nelly, hold the phone," Jennie bites out. "No can do, fella. I heard about that place. Bad news."

I shake my head at her. "Stop," I mouth.

There's no stopping this lunatic, though. When she gets the ball rolling, she just tumbles along until she's wrecked everything.

"Are you talking back to me?" he asks in astonishment.

"I certainly am! You may be The Goatfather, but I'm terrified of tornadoes. You're sending your precious jewel goat whisperer into tornado alley! Dr. Death—"

"Mr. Death—"

"You have no idea what you're doing! No wonder Gordon is lording his power over you—you, the mobster! Because you make terrible decisions! I can't go to Oklahoma! I'll die! Do you want me to die? Of course you do because you're Mr. Death." She changes her voice to a deep sound to imitate him. "Hi, I'm Mr. Death and I am super dumb sending my valuable golden goose egg into the state that had one hundred and twenty tornadoes this year! I'm not ready to die." A sob rattles from her. "Please don't let me die, Mr. Terrible Mobster. Please."

I scrub my palm over my face. I'm not stupid enough to get in the middle of this shit storm. Death clearly hates me, but he has a weakness for Jennie. We need to weaken him if I have any hope of pulling off the biggest scam of my life—switching my family for the girl, but then stealing the girl right back.

"Nini, sugar," Mr. Death coos. "Don't cry, love. Listen. Head over to Kansas City, Kansas, instead. It's still on the way. Call me when you get past the city."

"Kansas…" she says. "Like The Wizard of Oz?"

The line goes silent. "Minus the giant fictional tornado."

"I'll think about it."

"You'll think about it?"

"Yes," she bites out, pacing the floor now and chewing her thumbnail. "It's still creepy. You have to realize, Goatfather, that I rarely left my nest back home. My mother wanted to keep me safe. Teterboro is the safest place out east. You hear me, Mr. Death?"

"I hear you."

"And now you have me gallivanting all over the United States, outrunning tornadoes because you need someone to set Gordon Buttface straight." She huffs. "Fine. I'll do it. We'll go through Kansas City, but I'm only doing this for Juniper. Not you, Goatfather."

"Ehhh, thank you?" Mr. Death says.

"You're darn tootin' thank you!" she exclaims. "At least sound excited about it!"

"Thank you," Mr. Death says, this time with more enthusiasm.

"Now text me a picture of Juniper. Proof of life. One with Juniper and the girls, too. Oh! And one with Billy by the fence looking pensive. And by golly if you send me a picture of Gordon, I'll see what I can do." She winks at me. "I know people, Dr. Death."

"Mr. Death."

"I want those pictures texted in one hour," she sasses. "Or else."

The line goes silent and my heart stops.

"Or else what?" Mr. Death asks.

"You can say goodbye to Crayola."

"You won't kill my goat, sugar."

"No, but Gordon is halfway there already. All it takes is one phone call, Dr. Death—"

"Mr. Death."

"And the little kid will be hosed down with the pesti-juice. Capiche, Goatfather?"

"Ehh…"

I take the phone away from the crazy girl and growl into the line. "I think you meant to say, 'Yes, Jennie, I'll get you your pictures.'"

A long pause.

"I have more demands," Jennie chirps. "Is there a Toto and Dorothy museum in Kansas? Asking for a friend." She winks at Kuma, who yaps at her.

"I'll have your pictures," Mr. Death barks and then hangs up.

Two days.

We have two days to make an eight-hour trip to Kansas City.

Best of all, she knocked that fucker off his axis.

Time to celebrate.

"Come here," I growl, pouncing on her. "We're getting drunk and I'm going to reward you for being fucking amazing, partner."

"Partner?" She beams at me.

I grab her hand and haul her over to the mini fridge that's stocked with a nice selection of miniature liquor bottles.

"Can we play a drinking game?" she asks. "I always wanted to play a drinking game, but Beatrice has diabetes, so she's not supposed to drink, and Mabel has that ulcer that's been bothering her since '94. Henry, though…I bet ol' Henry would love to play."

I thrust a mini bottle of vodka at her. "You fucking talk a lot."

"And you curse a lot," she sasses, unscrewing the bottle and sipping. "Holy Tulsa tornadoes, this stuff is wretched!"

Scratching at my jaw, I lift a brow at her. "Drink."

"I'd rather lick the wallpaper."

We both glance over at the hotel wall and cringe.

"Fine, I'll drink your nasty juice!" She huffs in exaggeration and then downs the whole thing.

Oh boy…

"Grossss," she shrieks, scrunching her face up and shuddering all over. "It burns! Ack!" She shakes her head and scratches at her tongue with her fingernails. "Wait. Oh. Waiiiiit a minute." She smiles at me, beautiful and bright. "It's warm now. In my belly." She pats her stomach. "Can Kuma have some?"

He yips with excitement.

"No," I bark out and give the dog a pointed look. The fucker pouts, running in a circle at our feet, and yaps at me in irritation.

I drain down my own bottle of vodka before grabbing her hips and hauling her to me. Burying my nose in her hair, I inhale her sweet scent.

"Know what else is warm?" I kiss the side of her neck below her ear. She lets out a tiny groan when I nip at her earlobe.

"W-What?"

"My mouth." I suck on her earlobe.

"You w-want to p-put your mouth on my belly?"

"Mmmhmm."

"That's weird, con man."

"Is it weird that I want to put my mouth other places?" I suck on her neck hard enough I'll leave a mark. The thought gets my dick incredibly hard.

"You do?" she whispers. "I mean…you shouldn't." Then a moan that makes my dick ache. "Where?"

I nudge her thighs apart and rub her with my leg.

"You want to put your mouth there?!" she squeals, scandalized.

"I do."

"That's gross," she argues. "And highly inappropriate considering your situation!"

I pull away to look at her. My fingers bite into her jaw and I ravish her plump lips with mine. I suck on her bottom lip and nip at it. I tongue fuck her mouth with my own. I devour every mewl and breathless whine. When I pull away, her eyelids are hooded and her cheeks are pink.

"Feel good?"

"Yes," she breathes.

"I want to do that," I say, nodding to her mouth, "here." My thigh presses against her pussy and her eyes flutter closed. "And it's not gross. In fact, I can guarantee it'll be goddamn delicious."

"I think I'm going to need to get a little warmer for that to happen." Her big eyes pop open. "Hit me again, Sam!"

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