Brows pulled together, Bull nodded. “If you’re all right, I’ll get to work.”

“I’m fine, thanks.” She gave him what felt like the most insincere smile in the history of mankind.

The guilt pinching her muscles was far weaker than the longing to bury her face against his neck and beg him for help.

Instead, she waved at the tourists, told them she’d be right there, and went to retrieve the nachos.

Nabera walked out of the roadhouse in a good mood. Before leaving, he’d had Luka ask about the sweet little barmaid, the one who was ripe for the plucking. Naïve, with inherited money and no relatives.

Luka had learned her name was Frankie, and she lived in one of the old Okie’s cabins on the lake. Nabera sneered at the thought of Dante, the owner of the market and the cabins. The nonbeliever was on the town council and licked the uppity libtard mayor’s ass more like a trained dog than a man.

Nabera glanced around for their driver. After some of their intoxicated Zealots had run-ins with the hard-ass police chief, the Prophet decreed that members coming to the roadhouse must be dropped off and picked up. Earlier, Obadiah had stuck his head in the door to let them know he’d arrived.

At the car, Obadiah opened the door for him, then cleared his throat. “Captain, I wasn’t sure if I should mention this, but…” He scowled at the roadhouse.

“Spit it out,” Nabera ordered.

“It’s about Kirsten. In a way. See, last year, Kirsten’s friend came from New York for our wedding. That was before we moved to the compound in Texas.”

Nabera sighed. Was this going to take much longer? He had a nice buzz on and was impatient to select a woman to fuck tonight. “Get to the point, Lieutenant. Was there a problem when the friend visited?”

“Nah, I only saw her for a second. She’s all about women’s rights and that bullshit. Not a suitable person to be in my wife’s life.” Obadiah shrugged. “After she went back to New York, I exerted my authority, and Kirsten dropped her.”

“As it should be.” Nabera nodded approval. Unbelievers were an unacceptable diversion from the Prophet’s way. “I don’t see what the problem is.”

“I just saw her in the roadhouse.” Obadiah pointed to the roadhouse.

His lieutenants moved closer, and Conrad sneered, “Like you’d recognize someone you met for a second?”

“Kit had a ton of pictures of her. Hanging on the walls in her apartment. In photo albums,” Obadiah said doggedly. “I’d recognize Frankie, even in that roadhouse barmaid outfit.”

Nabera stiffened. “Frankie?”

“Yeah. She even uses a man’s name. Could she be here to try to get Kirsten away from me? From us?”

Luka and Conrad moved closer as Nabera spat out, “Describe her.”