Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 60360 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 302(@200wpm)___ 241(@250wpm)___ 201(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60360 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 302(@200wpm)___ 241(@250wpm)___ 201(@300wpm)
“That’s close enough, Mike,” Caleb warned, silently unsnapping his holster. Mike ignored him and took another step.
“That’s all I want!” Mike shouted at her. Not so much to ask for!” Mike turned and looked at Caleb with red-rimmed eyes. “You married?”
Caleb’s hand hovered over the grip of his gun. Mike was now within striking distance of his battered wife, who was in no shape to move to safety even if Caleb ordered her to. “No,” Caleb replied quietly. “I’m not married.”
Mike grunted. “Then you don’t know. You don’t know… how it all gets like this. How you come home and you just want some peace. But it all goes to shit. It all turns out just like this.”
The fingers curled around the knife’s handle twitched as Mike glared at his wife.
“I know,” Caleb said, trying to get his attention back
“Bullshit you do,” Mike snapped, never taking his eyes off Moira.
“I do know,” Caleb insisted. “Trust me, I do. Why do you think I’m not married?”
Mike laughed, startling Moira out of her daze. The sound must have confounded the boy, too, because the bedroom door at the edge of the hallway began to creak open.
“Mama?”
Mike spun around, zeroing in on the cracked door. “I told you to stay in that room!”
If Caleb had tried, every day starting today until the day he lay dying, he could never have adequately explained how he knew—how he’d seen the change in the man’s eyes—how he’d recognized the moment when the enraged man’s threats were no longer hot air but promises, promises that would be kept, now, in that moment. Some things you just understood; some things you just remembered.
It took just under one full second (Caleb knew because he’d timed it at the range) for his Glock to clear his holster. It took even less time than that to squeeze the trigger.
Chapter 11
Izzy gripped the edge of the sink as she fanned her hair out over her shoulders. She swiped at her eyes, smudging her makeup as best she could and tucked the hair tie into her jeans pocket. Prepared for the inevitable, she was still surprised when she was grabbed from behind, spun around, and shoved up against the bathroom door. A pair of menacing, black eyes pinned her just as firmly as the hands around her upper arms.
Izzy’s instinct was to fight, but it was the wrong approach. She pushed down the urge to bring her knee up and slam it into his groin. Instead she whimpered and pretended to be afraid. She didn’t have to fake it much, since the man was huge and towering over her.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded. His eyes were red-rimmed and he smelled like a combination of weed and cheap tequila. His jaw flexed and dark hair fell across his eyes. He looked half animal to her.
“I had to go,” Izzy whined, indicating the toilet with a jerk of her chin. She hoped she sounded as drunk as he obviously was. She definitely looked the part with her wild hair and raccoon eyes. Just another party girl who’d wandered away from the festivities.
His eyes narrowed. “How’d you get in here?”
She did her best to look confused. “What do you mean?” she half-slurred. “The door was open. And I had to pee.”
He held her tightly as he considered her at length. Izzy held her breath. He was clearly trying to remember whether or not the door had actually been locked when he’d put the key in. The way he swayed on his feet seemed to indicate he might not actually recall. At this rate, Izzy might not have to knock him down. He might crash to the floor all on his own. She could hope, but she wasn’t usually so lucky.
Finally, he let go of her and took a few shuffling steps out of the bathroom. He looked around the bedroom, surveying it carefully. Izzy thought that was more than a little ridiculous. There was nothing to steal in this room. There was only a bong on the dresser and an extra pair of jeans draped over a ratty chair. There were no stacks of cash or even a weapon.
Apparently he agreed with her unspoken assessment because instead of accusing her of anything, he flopped down onto the edge of the bed.
“Take my boots off,” he ordered. He closed his eyes and swayed just a bit. Izzy held her breath as she watched him. She hoped he’d pass out and she could slip away easily. Instead of lying back, he cleared his throat and finally opened his eyes again. He stared down at her and raised an eyebrow. This wasn’t a man who was used to having to repeat himself.
Izzy cautiously moved in front of him and knelt down. She unlaced one boot and then the other as he looked down at her. She took her time so she could assess the situation. She wasn’t too worried. She was armed to the teeth and he was high and hammered. Her only real problem would be whether or not he could sound the alarm before she managed to pistol whip him into unconsciousness. He was twice her size, but she was fast, and she had the element of surprise on her side. He wouldn’t know what hit him, literally. She couldn’t think of an excuse to leave the room without doing what she was told and if she tried to beg off, he might get suspicious—or violent. So she lulled him into a deeper sense of security by sliding his boots off and setting them aside. She was just about to spring to her feet when he reached for his belt and fumbled with it.