Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 95906 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 480(@200wpm)___ 384(@250wpm)___ 320(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95906 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 480(@200wpm)___ 384(@250wpm)___ 320(@300wpm)
It was Christopher holding a wicked-looking butcher knife.
“Christopher,” I began, but the kid interrupted and something white-hot streaked through me.
“Let him go!” he yelled, his voice high and filled with pure terror.
I automatically put my hands up and stepped away from Micah even though my brain was yelling at me to disarm the boy. I couldn’t take my eyes off the knife even though I knew I needed to focus on calming Christopher.
You tell anyone about this and I’ll gut you, you little faggot.
The familiar words sent a chill down my spine, and I could practically feel the cold metal of the blade sliding along my throat.
“Christopher, stop!” Micah called and then he was stepping around me. I couldn’t take a breath until Micah took the knife from his nephew and dropped it into the sink.
Christopher was shaking violently as his eyes shifted back and forth between me and Micah. “He was hurting you!” he cried. His accusatory eyes held mine and if I hadn’t been dealing with the fucked-up shit in my brain, I would have been proud of the kid for his show of strength.
“No, he wasn’t,” Micah said as he held on to Christopher’s lower arms. I tuned out the rest of what Micah said to the kid, left the pantry and hurried out the back door. The screen door slammed behind me, but I didn’t pay it any heed. All I could think of was escape as raw energy surged through me.
As I strode through the backyard and followed the short trail to my ultimate destination, I tried to calm my raging thoughts, but by the time I reached the clearing several hundred yards from the house, all I could see, all I could feel was that damn knife and everything it represented.
I felt a tiny sliver of relief when the heavyweight bag I’d hung from a tree limb came into view. I didn’t even pause when I reached the thing. I just began striking it with everything I was. There was no finesse behind my moves, no planning, no thought. Just violence.
It was everything I hated about myself but in that moment, I didn’t give a shit. I wasn’t interested in playing peacemaker or coming up with solutions for all the crap that was happening in the house behind me. I didn’t want to negotiate or play fair. I wanted to inflict pain. I wanted the rage that was flowing through my blood to transfer to someone else.
Or in this case, something else.
Over and over I slammed my fists into the bag. My muscles began to burn and some tiny rational place in my brain tried to tell me that it was too much, but I didn’t care. I wouldn’t stop.
I couldn’t.
Not while even a speck of that hate remained.
Sweat poured off my body and I felt like I couldn’t breathe, but still I couldn’t stop. I had no idea how long I’d been laying into the bag for, but I didn’t care about that either.
I was mid-swing when my brain registered a flash of color out of the corner of my eye. I knew what that color was… what it represented. Or who, rather.
“Not now, Micah!” I snarled as a renewed sense of energy consumed me and I once again began putting all of my force behind every punch. Only now the hits were less about that fucking knife and more about frustration.
Relentless, all-consuming frustration.
Three days. Three fucking days of having Micah so damn close and yet so far away. My body was going crazy with my need to touch him, taste him, while my brain couldn’t focus on anything other than wondering if he was okay, if he was safe. Keeping my distance had been driving me insane and keeping my hands to myself had me wound tighter than I’d ever been. And no amount of working out or staying away from him had changed any of it. I was jerking off night and day in the shower to images of Micah as he lay spread out beneath me, his luminous eyes filled with wonder as I drove into him over and over again. Every night I fell into bed completely exhausted but sleep never really welcomed me because I was consumed by one nightmare after another of Micah calling for me yet not being able to get to him.
“Con!”
I shook my head at Micah’s call and growled, “Not now!”
I was mid-punch when Micah suddenly appeared between me and the bag. I managed to change the trajectory of my hit so that I nailed the bag right above his shoulder. The near miss sent my rage to a whole new level. If I hadn’t managed to change the angle of my punch, I likely would have shattered Micah’s collarbone.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I shouted as I grabbed Micah by the shoulders. I didn’t give him a chance to respond. Instead, I pulled him away from the bag and then turned him and walked him backward until he was pressed up against the tree behind him. “Have you lost your fucking mind?” I snarled as I planted my hands above his shoulders and used my body to keep him in place. I fully expected him to be terrified but to my surprise, he lifted his chin just a little.