Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 91042 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91042 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
The loud shouting as arms wrapped around me from behind managed to bring me back. My vision cleared, and I heard Linc’s voice as he demanded I calm the fuck down. I blinked, then focused on Perry, who watched me as blood came from the new wounds across his chest. They were in the form of an X. Slashed one way and then the other. I was holding the bloody knife, but I didn’t remember doing it. The cuts weren’t deep enough to be deadly. He would only be scared. Permanently.
“Fucking hell!” Linc said, sounding relieved that I was no longer swinging my blade. “What the hell, Oz? I’ve never seen you lose your shit like that. You need to leave. Cool down. This is done. He’s being handed over in the morning, and now, I need to call Doc to come stitch his ass back together tonight.”
I nodded, and he dropped his hold on me. Not sure I trusted myself to look at the fucker hanging there and not finish what I’d started, I turned and walked out, leaving my weapon on the shelf as I went. I didn’t say another word, and I didn’t stop until I was almost to the Escalade I’d taken to Louisiana. I’d not taken the time to drop it off and get my Hummer.
Stopping when I reached the driver’s side, I placed both my hands on the window, my palms flat, and dropped my head, taking several calming breaths. I stayed that way until my heart stopped racing and the unhinged feeling was completely gone and no longer lurking on the edges.
What the fuck had happened in there? I didn’t know. I was always laid-back and calm when it came time to torture someone. My emotions never came into play. Hell, I hadn’t known I had any emotions so intense and deranged.
I needed sleep. I needed to go home. Get a shower and sleep. That had to be it. I was sleep-deprived from this week. Then, tomorrow night, I would get drunk and fuck. Several times.
I would feel like myself again.
“You want to tell me what that was in there?” Linc’s voice called out.
I dropped my hands and turned around to face him several feet away. The tip of the cigar in his mouth was the only light out here, except the moon.
I shrugged. “I’ve had little sleep this week.” I gave him the only excuse I could think of.
He took the cigar from his mouth. “Not buying it. What is going on with you and the woman? You fuck her?”
My body tensed, and that new, disturbing shit inside me started to stir again. “Nothing is going on. I never touched her,” I snarled. Except the time I’d slammed her against the fridge. And tonight, when I’d carried her inside her apartment and tucked her in bed.
“You sure? Because I thought you wanted revenge on Perry Gerard for funneling his fake money through you to the tune of four million. But you didn’t say anything about that. You wanted to take his lungs from his chest because you said he didn’t deserve them, all because he didn’t seem to care about his sister’s well-being.”
I hadn’t realized I’d said that out loud. Jesus, I needed to go to bed.
“Like I said, I’m past the exhausted point.”
Linc put the cigar back in his mouth, holding it between his teeth. “Uh-huh,” he replied, not looking convinced. “Just make sure you and your dick stay away from her. She’s gonna end up questioned by the Feds. He deposited five grand of his play money in her checking account last week. When they trace it back to her, she’s gonna have a spotlight on her. We don’t need that shit. Not after this.”
He started back into the woods to return to the cellar, and I watched him go.
The idea of Winslet being pressed by the Feds, having to undergo their form of interrogation—I wasn’t going to let that happen. Guessed sleep wasn’t coming for me after all. I had to go handle one more thing.
Sixteen
Winslet
Eight Weeks Later
It was the “er” months. Time for fall. Why did the South not get that?
I pulled my sundress away from my skin as it stuck to it. Just gross. Opening the door to my Beetle, I tossed in my bag full of papers to grade and my laptop into the back seat. When I got home, I was going to take a nice, long soak in cool water and drink a tall glass of sweet iced tea. This week had been one of those I was glad to end.
Not only had a stomach flu hit my room and I had five different kids vomit on their desks, floor, and even my desk—which was, by far, the worst since I had to spend five hundred dollars to replace everything I’d had to throw away after that—but I, too, had suffered from the dang thing on Wednesday. Thankfully, it was a twenty-four-hour thing, and I was back in the classroom on Thursday, only to have two more kids puke before day’s end. My stomach had still been weak that day, and it had made me green there for a bit.