Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 70554 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70554 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
“You killed her?” he asks, voice – thankfully – less hoarse.
“Of course. I’d do anything to protect our family.”
Her response swells my chest and pushes my shoulders back in pride.
As much as I don’t want our woman’s hands sullied by blood, I won’t pretend I don’t find comfort in knowing she’s here to stay.
To fight.
With us.
For us.
Our. Family.
“I should’ve fucking been here,” I grouse while turning off the hose we’re done using. “I should’ve-”
“Been exactly where the fuck you were,” she snaps, towel and pot being discarded on the ground. “Do not start blaming yourself for having a life outside of these walls.” Any chance of rebuttal is destroyed by Rabbit redirecting her scolding to The Kid who is starting to stand. “And you don’t start that shit either. You did nothing wrong. And you should be working on cars. Keep working on cars. And living your life.” Another shift of words is delivered. “And you living yours.” All of a sudden, her hands gesture inward. “And me fucking living mine! That’s what we all agreed to! And that’s what we’re gonna keep fucking doing because otherwise Brad wins! And he can’t win!” There isn’t time for my mouth to even twitch in thought. “He won’t win…”
The announcement is followed by her body darting back towards the garage leaving the two of us reeling in consternation.
“Where the fuck are you going?!” I immediately investigate.
“To fucking tell him that,” she unexpectedly answers.
Shit.
Can inhaling pepper spray get you high?
Cause our woman sounds high.
And I know that shit isn’t good for the baby.
Our clamber after her is filled with questions and comments and expressed confusion; however, when she bends down to rifle through the dead chick’s pockets, I understand exactly what she means yet don’t stop her.
She needs this.
In a way…I think we all do.
The unlocking of the retrieved phone is done via thumbprint of the rotting corpse, and the second she has access to the content, she gets to work.
Locates what she believes to McAdam’s number.
Crosses over to us and dials.
Puts it on speaker.
Waits.
Patiently listens to the ringing and ringing and ringing until it stops indicating someone has answered.
Silence slowly stretches between both ends so savagely that I have to plant my palm on Kid’s shoulder to keep him from speaking.
From letting our woman find the footing this asshole keeps trying to steal.
“Delivery in transit?” McAdams finally inquires, voice almost robotically cold.
“Problem at pickup,” Rabbit villainously responds.
“Bunny…” he sighs like she’s successfully been returned to his possession. “Oh…how…I’ve…missed you.”
Clamping down tighter on my boyfriend is done for my benefit as much as his.
Fuck, I can’t wait to end this bastard.
Break all his goddamn bones.
Turn his eyes into a dangling accessory for my tailgate.
“Tell me, my little sweet pea…” The glee in his tone is spinechilling. “Have you missed me?” He lightly moans into the phone. “Have you been thinking about me?” His breathing gets uncomfortably paced pushing my stare to study our woman’s body. Demeanor. “Coming home where you belong?”
“I am exactly where I belong, Brad,” she states without an ounce of vacillation. “And if you want me? Really want me…You’re gonna have to stop sending errand bitches to do your dirty work.” Her grip on the device harshens. “You’re gonna have to come get me yourself. You’re gonna have to stop tucking your sac back and leave the starting line.” Bright brown eyes I’d die for any day of the week oscillate between me and The Kid. “You’re gonna have to actually step foot into this town…our town…and when that happens? You’ll be leaving it in pieces.”
One click ending the call precedes her dropping the device to the ground and violently stomping on it, cathartic screams attached to the repeated destructive action.
This is the good kind of crazy.
Don’t know that I’d call it healthy, but definitely the type I’m happy to see.
Tiny bits scatter across the shop floor, yet it’s her final blow that sends the dead cell the direction of the gun I imagined was used to intimidate her earlier. Whether it’s the fact she’s finished or has her attention recaptured by the object that brings her back to her senses is unclear.
And unimportant.
Much more irrelevant than the instructions she delivers to me. “Mutt, call Athie, first. Get him down here to get the knot on The Kid’s head checked out-”
“I’m fine,” he immediately croaks.
“I wasn’t asking,” she informs, stare never wavering from mine. “I wanna make sure he doesn’t have a concussion, and that the pepper spray didn’t do any major damage.”
“I said-”
“I’m not listening,” Rabbit brushes off in such a powerful way it’s practically impossible not to get a little harder. “I’m gonna call Garcia and make him aware of the situation.”
Unlike The Kid, I don’t make the mistake of arguing.
“Afterward? Call Post.” Her hands plant themselves firmly onto her hips. “Get him down here. Let him see what the fuck happened. Because if this is where we’re raising our kid? It’s time to know exactly who’s in our column on this spreadsheet we call life and who the hell needs to be deleted.”