Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 116708 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 584(@200wpm)___ 467(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116708 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 584(@200wpm)___ 467(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
The officer guided me past a small group of employees gathered in the lobby and through the front doors.
I didn’t feel guilty. Not one fucking ounce. Maybe that made me a monster too, but I’d put on a green mask and talons every day of my life if that was what was required, because no one had ever deserved a headbutt more.
As I walked to the squad car, I saw a pair of brown leather shoes trot up beside me. “Truett, would you like to comment on what happened in there?”
My head snapped up and I saw Taggart Folly beside me, a mic in his outstretched hand. A cameraman trailed behind him, trying to keep up.
Fuck.
What the hell was Folly doing there?
And how long had he been recording?
The windows in Jeff’s office had been wide open. If Gwen was right and Folly was looking for something juicy to use in his documentary, my going off half-cocked would give him everything he needed.
It was only that realization that caused any form of regret to sink in.
Good Lord, I’d spent eighteen years locked away, keeping to myself, and staying out of the public eye. And now I was suddenly flanked by officers, more than likely being arrested for assault.
Though I’d also spent eighteen years without Gwen, and for ten of them, she’d been in the arms of that maniac.
As I slid into the cold plastic back seat, handcuffs biting into my wrists, an unlikely smile split my mouth.
Worth it. So fucking worth it.
Gwen
I cussed under my breath as I watched Truett walk through the heavy iron door of the county jail. He scanned the parking lot, looking for my car as I sat there trying to figure out if I was more pissed or concerned to be picking up one ex-husband after he’d stolen my car and gone to pick a fight with my other ex-husband.
I mean, seriously. How was this my life?
I didn’t know all the details of what had gone down, just that there had been some kind of altercation at Jeff’s office. He’d called me and told me a wild story in which he was as innocent as a choir boy and Truett was a maniac who had broken his nose. But Jeff was about as reliable as a snake in the grass, so when I tried to question him, he resorted to yelling and blaming me for the entire thing. I only let him call me a lying whore once before I hung up on him. So yeah, that was fun.
I’d immediately called the police station, where they had confirmed that Truett was in custody, but they wouldn’t tell me anything else. So then I called Dylan, who gave me the number of her uncle’s best friend’s brother who just happened to be a bail bondsman. She assured me he could figure it out.
And then finally, thirty minutes earlier, I’d gotten a call from Truett asking me if I could come pick him up from the jail.
It was safe to say my nerves were shot.
Truett finally spotted me and gave me a chin jerk before heading my way. He walked over with his head high and his back straight, no sign of injury to his face. Though, based on nothing more than my knowledge of the two men, I didn’t assume it would be Truett who’d left bruised and battered.
“Hey,” he said as he pulled the passenger-side door open and folded his large body into my SUV.
I pressed my lips together and bit the inside of my cheek, hoping to find some composure. But seriously, I was picking up one ex-husband after he’d stolen my car and gone to pick a fight with my other ex-husband. I was way, way, way too old for this shit.
My voice dripped with sarcasm as I smarted, “Well, hello, inmate seven-oh-seven. How were your adventures in lockup?”
He shrugged. “Pretty boring, actually. They made me sit in an office and refused to change the TV channel to anything other than old game shows. They did order burgers for lunch though, so I guess it wasn’t all bad.”
I blinked at him. “What? They didn’t throw you in the slammer and force you to use a communal toilet with all the drunks and criminals?”
He chuckled. “You look disappointed.”
“Uh, yeah. That’s because I am. I had to Uber to the impound lot, where they informed me they only took cash and the nearest ATM was a twenty-minute walk. So I had to call another Uber to take me there, get the cash, go back, and get my car, then drive across town to a bail bondsman’s office. And let me just tell you, that was an experience I never want to repeat.
“There, they too informed me they only took cash, so I had to drive to another ATM, where it denied my transaction because I’d already reached my daily withdrawal limit, so I had to call the bank, get that sorted out, and then finally drive back to the bail bondsman’s office, where I frantically begged them to get you out as soon as possible, all because I was worried out of my mind that they had locked you up in the slammer and forced you to use a communal toilet with the drunks and criminals.”