Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 74577 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74577 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
“And here,” Charlie said, handing me a single key on a ring. “You need a car without GPS,” he explained.
“I’ll bring your car to my place,” King said. “And that’s… everything,” he said, face tight, not liking this.
“It’s gonna be alright,” I assured him. “Where am I driving this car after?” I asked.
“My house,” Charlie said. “I will handle it from there.”
There were a few more things said, but my mind was already on the task ahead, my adrenaline rushing through my veins, my memory flashing to AJ’s sobs as she cried into my chest. The blood on her face. The bruise that was still on her cheek, just covered up with some heavy makeup, the pain that sliced across her face when she forgot about her bum wrist, and tried to do something with that hand.
As I climbed in the old clunker of a car, the whole radio ripped out, nothing but my own thoughts to keep me company, I went ahead and let my mind wander, to imagine all those times this bastard made AJ feel less than she was.
Calling her fat.
Telling her she was ugly.
Saying the way she was built made her look like a ‘slut.’
Making her kowtow and shrink into herself.
Then still, still, feeling the need to beat the ever-loving shit out of her.
To the point of unconsciousness.
I followed the directions, then parked my car a block away along with a bunch of others that must have belonged to some sort of holiday party.
No one saw me climbing out of the car, thin leather gloves on my hands. Even if they did, they’d have no idea there was a gun tucked in the waistband of my pants.
Or that I had revenge on my mind as I huddled into myself against the cold as I walked down the street, then up the driveway of the rental house.
It was a small cape-style house with chipped paint and cracked storm windows.
I inched around the back of the building, wondering if the owners had any cameras around.
I didn’t see any outside, so I didn’t imagine there’d be any inside either.
Reaching out, I tested the back door, finding it unlocked, and couldn’t help but feel my adrenaline surge, wondering if it was a trap of some sort.
But it didn’t seem like Joss was the kind of man who had weapons. Lord knows, he liked to use his bare hands on AJ.
Taking a steadying breath, my free hand going to my gun, I yanked it open, and rushed inside.
There was a strange scent in the house, something I couldn’t quite place, but had me wrinkling my nose as I moved into a small kitchen.
It was a cramped space with canary-yellow cabinets and faded linoleum. The table was pressed up against the walls, and the table was scattered with bags, some of the contents scattered about.
Gauze.
Peroxide.
Ointment.
Painkillers.
For the stab wounds?
I took another breath, that strange scent stinging my nostrils again.
Almost hay-like
But we were inside. In the winter. Away from any sort of farm animals.
I’d never smelt anything like it before.
I turned away from the first aid supplies, creeping through the doorway from the kitchen, trying to be aware of any rooms or doorways where a man might be lying in wait, ready to fight.
All of that concern was for nothing, though.
Because as the low sound of a TV news program running met my ears, I laid eyes on the man who’d dared to try to break a woman as amazing as AJ.
He was a lot more… average than I’d imagined.
I guess I’d sort of figured that a guy who could take a girl as gorgeous as AJ was, then somehow slowly convince her she was anything short of perfect, would have had to be really attractive himself.
He just… wasn’t.
He was shorter than I’d pictured, with a weak chin and a receding hairline that made the age difference between him and AJ all the more obvious.
But I didn’t spend a lot of time analyzing his overall looks.
Because… the man was not in good shape.
I couldn’t put my finger on what was wrong with him right away. He seemed sweaty and pale, with mottled skin and a chest that was rising and falling too quickly, considering he was just sprawled on a couch, and he was racked with chills, despite the sweat.
His eyes were open, but he didn’t seem like he was seeing much, not even as I inched closer.
Between his lips came low moaning sounds.
Pain?
Disorientation?
Both?
The fuck was going on?
Was he high? Overdosing?
My gaze moved over him, seeing the white gauze wrapped around his upper arm where AJ’d stabbed him.
Nothing there seemed off.
But as my eyes found the gauze lower on his arm, I started to understand what was happening.
Because that gauze wasn’t clean and white.
It was saturated in fluids in various shades. The red of dried blood. And the offensive yellow of infection.