Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 72863 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72863 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
“Dynamite,” I say, and reach for her, but she still doesn’t look at me. “Get the fuck up here with me.”
That gets her to meet my eyes. “No. You’re hurt.”
“I’ve been shot before, and I survived. Now, get up here.” She stands, kicks off her heels, and climbs in to lie next to me. Her head rests on my shoulder, and I wrap my arm around her.
“I care for you too, just so we’re on the same page,” I tell her.
I wait for her to say something, but instead, a soft snore leaves her beautiful mouth.
FORTY-ONE
MAVEN
I spend most of the week at the hospital. The nurses tell me not to share a bed with him, but as soon as I get down, he demands I come back. So that whole situation isn’t really working.
Police officers come and go, asking questions and taking statements.
I’m still at the hospital the day Carrie gets out of rehab, which makes me feel even more guilty for not being there for her. The minute I see her she throws her arms around my shoulders and squeezes me tight.
“I’ve missed you.” I whisper.
“I missed you more. Now do you want to introduce me officially to your husband?” I step back and smile at her; she looks good. Healthy, which makes me proud and sad that I didn’t get her the help she needed sooner.
She stays with me at the hospital for the rest of the day, and then visits a few times during the week. She always brings food, which is nice considering the food here is utter shit.
Boston is up and moving after a few days, but he’s taking it slow. When we’re finally discharged, Victor is there to drive us home. Victor is growing on me, even if he calls me a little assassin every chance he gets.
“So, what did you do with the bodies?” I ask him as we arrive at Boston’s house. Victor turns to Boston, as if he is asking if it’s okay to tell me. Boston says nothing and doesn’t react as we enter the house.
“Same thing I do with all the other bodies,” he replies.
“And that is?” I press.
We enter the bedroom, and Boston climbs straight into bed, flinching from the pain of the movement, but he doesn’t say a word.
“I play with them. I like to skin some, but these I put in a freezer.” He shrugs like it’s nothing.
I glance at Boston. “Are you hurting?”
He shakes his head. They gave him painkillers before we left to help with the ride home and sent a prescription for me fill. “I need to go to the pharmacy to get this script filled. Do you think you’ll be okay here with Victor? I’ll bring back food.”
“I can cook,” Victor says, and we both look at him.
“You cook?” I ask, surprised.
“Yes, Little Assassin, I do. I cook damn well. How do you think I got so skilled with knives?” He huffs and leaves the room. I watch him until he’s out of sight, then I turn back to Boston.
“You have weird friends,” I tell him. Leaning down, I kiss him on the lips, and we linger, not wanting it to end, but I eventually pull away. “I’ll be back, okay?”
He tries to get me to stay and climb into bed with him, but I have to get his meds, because once whatever it is he’s on wears off, he’ll feel the pain.
When I get to the pharmacy, I sit down and wait for the order to be filled. It’s busy this late in the afternoon, so I play on my phone, not even paying attention when someone takes the seat next to me.
“If you scream, I’ll be sure not to miss this time.” I look down and feel something press into my side. My hand freezes on the phone as I spot the barrel of a gun. Glancing up, I see Rolland. The red splotches on his shirt are evidence that where I got him is still bleeding, and he is doing a shit job of looking after himself. I pull a smirk.
I glance around to see if anyone is looking our way, but everyone is too busy with whatever it is they’re doing.
“What do you want?” I ask.
“I want to know when the next hunt is.”
“Hunt?” I try to play dumb.
“Yes, I want to know,” he grumbles. He has a hat on that covers his dark hair, and I can tell he’s hardly slept.
“I don’t know about any hunt,” I say, staring at him. “What is the hunt? Like you go hunting for deer?”
His lip twitches, and he nods at my phone. “Call him and put it on speaker. Ask when it is. He always knows.” The last words are pushed through gritted teeth.
“Call who?” I ask.
“Your fucking husband. What are you, slow?” He shakes his head, clearly annoyed with me, which I note has gained some attention from people nearby. “Call, now. Before I put a bullet in your kidney.”