She wasn’t surprised, considering how he’d managed to crash hogtied in the back with their d**k up his ass. Grateful – so incredibly grateful – that they were both still alive, she listened to the Dead singing about railroads, prison, frontier justice and other traditional Americana and let her mind wander. But of course it kept coming back to the same place.
What an unbelievable week. She hadn’t even wanted this guy along. She’d only wanted to get to the rally, party hard with her sisters and celebrate their mutual misandry. Now she’d didn’t give a s**t if they ever made it to Maine. Her sisters’ global hatred seemed childish now, their crimes completely unjustified. She was ashamed to have partaken in both attitudes and actions she’d outgrown. Being a Devil Dyke had meant everything to
