Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 59120 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 296(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59120 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 296(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
He grins. “Better run to the shop, baby. I’ll start the batter.”
I grin, grabbing my keys and heading outside.
My car waits in the drive, sitting right where I parked it last night. But as I get closer, something catches my eye on the hood. Spray paint. Red, the letters arched along the curve. BACK OFF, BITCH. I WILL ONLY TELL YOU ONCE.
I stop dead. My chest goes totally still, the world going silent except for one noisy bird up on the power line.
What the fuck is happening?
I back up, and it must be enough to get Travis concerned, because he’s suddenly there, by my side. “Baby, what’s wrong?”
“My car, Travis,” I say, pointing.
He looks over, and then his eyes widen. “What the fuck.”
I try to say something clever, but nothing comes out. My mouth feels full of cotton. I look at the writing, bright and sure, and all I can think is—who the hell hates me this much to leave a mark like that?
Travis squints at the street, then at the neighbors’ houses. “You got any idea who did that?”
“No,” I say, my voice tight. “Maybe it’s the same person sending you all those letters.”
He leans closer to the paint, takes a photo with his phone. “I don’t know who the fuck would do something like this. I honestly don’t.”
I don’t answer.
He circles the car once, scanning for more damage, then stops in front of me. “You want to call the cops?”
I shrug. “And tell them what?”
“That someone fucking vandalized your car.”
“There isn’t anything they can do,” I murmur, rubbing my arms, suddenly cold.
“Well, they might be able to check cameras.”
That’s true. “Yeah, we will. I just...I need to go to the store and get these eggs first. I need a minute.”
He doesn’t argue, just hooks a finger under my chin, forces me to meet his eyes. “You be careful, okay? Until I figure this out. I will come with you now.”
I don’t argue, because I want him to come with me.
We move through the store quickly and quietly, and when we get home, Reagan’s blue Jeep is in the driveway. She is leaning against the hood, sunglasses on, arms crossed. She doesn’t say anything at first. Just points at my car, then at me, then at my car again.
“What did you do?” She sounds impressed.
I try for a joke. “Guess I pissed off someone.”
She walks over, drags her fingers along the fresh paint, and then walks back to me. “You have a stalker,” she says, but in that delighted, fuck-yes-some-drama tone only she can manage.
“That’s not funny,” Travis mutters. “Because it’s probably true.”
Her brows go up. “Am I missing something?”
I tell her about the letters I found at Travis’s office.
“Oh, so you definitely have a stalker. Damn girl, you don’t muck around.”
I start to laugh, the sound barrelling raw out of me.
Reagan pulls me into a hug, strong and warm. I didn’t realize just how much I needed it. “We’ll sand it down and repaint. No one will ever know.” She leans in and whispers, “Unless you want to keep it so people know not to mess with you because they will think you’re crazy.”
I snort.
Travis rolls his eyes, but his shoulders drop a touch. “Let’s go eat.”
We do. Groceries in hand. Reagan looks at me, then at the eggs, and then claps.
“What are we making? Pancakes?” she says, like it’s a perfectly average morning.
This right here is why she’s my best friend.
This is how we do it. We pretend the world hasn’t gone absolutely fucking bananas, until maybe, for a second, it hasn’t.
I glance out the window as Reagan whisks the eggs. The paint is ugly and it’s loud. Reagan bumps her hip into mine and grins. “We’ll get this crazy, you know?”
“We?” I raise my brows.
She smirks. “Oh, hell yeah. She is messing with the wrong bitches.”
I laugh. “You’re not wrong.”
I look at Travis, who’s already got the frying pan going, and he juts his chin at me, a challenge and a promise all at once.
Yeah.
We’ll get her.
Sipping my coffee, I tip my head to the side, wondering what the commotion is outside. Up until now, it has been a quiet morning. I came to see Chief before helping Reagan move into her new apartment. He has just gone to speak to Bill, and they left for a ride. So, I expected full silence, but that isn’t what I hear.
The yard, empty, now fills with bodies. A lot of them.
Demon stands at the front, a grin on his face so big it makes me freeze, coffee mug in hand.
“Chief, get your fucking ass out here!”
The bellow slices through the quiet. I move without thought, dropping my coffee before rushing out the door and stumbling onto the porch. There are too many men, and too many guns, and the feeling that creeps into my stomach is enough to make me want to vomit. My heart slams against my ribs.