Kylie walks out, and I turn around in time to see George’s fake smile vanish like it was an illusion all along. His eyes narrow and he mimes a throat-slicing gesture on his neck before pointing at me. Right. Got it. I just nod like a bobble-head doll—because how the fuck else do you respond to that?—and walk out, following Kylie, who hops in on the passenger side of my Jeep.
