Road Queen #04

Lone Star Angel stood in the doorway, arms folded. Deauxma changed the sheets but avoided eye contact, the fresh linen telling its own story. Porsche's scent lingered like a secret neither woman mentioned aloud. Heather Silk walked in mid-conversation and Deauxma grinned. She opened a drawer, shook two dice in her palm, held them up. Every face carried a command, crude and explicit, raw ink on bone-white plastic. "Your turn, angel. You too, Silk. Whatever falls, you both do." Deauxma threw. They tumbled across the polished table and clicked to a stop, every line of the scene suddenly sharp and necessary.