Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 113473 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 567(@200wpm)___ 454(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113473 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 567(@200wpm)___ 454(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
He also didn’t want to lock Red into the apartment alone. That wouldn’t be much different from being locked up on that fucking mountain.
In fact, the other day he caught her trying to open the door while he was grabbing some clothes from the bedroom. But he kept it locked from the inside so she wouldn’t slip away when he was in the shower, or cooking, or whatever the fuck he was doing and not able to keep an eye on her.
What she said that day had cut him deep. “Not as bad. But a jail just the same.” Then she had gone back to the bedroom, closed the door and he didn’t see her for the rest of the day.
He’d heard her, instead. Crying softly. Probably muffling it into his pillow. Soaking it with her goddamn tears.
But he didn’t know what else to fucking do.
Until she told him differently, she had nowhere to go and no way to get there.
And for some fucking reason he felt responsible to keep her safe.
To make sure the Shirleys never put their hands on her again.
To make sure they paid the price for what they did to her.
But he couldn’t stop hearing her crying. Even when she wasn’t. He’d tried covering his ears and grinding his teeth like he had when he was a kid to drown out Buck fucking his mother.
To stop hearing that headboard banging the wall.
To stop hearing his mother’s cries.
To stop hearing the filthy fucking names Buck called her.
To stop hearing his father come home and do the same thing not a few hours later.
So, he locked Red in, went down into The Barn, grabbed a full bottle of Jack, went back up and sat outside the apartment door with his back against it, a hand-rolled in one hand and the whiskey bottle in the other.
Eventually he no longer heard the crying because he no longer heard anything.
He’d blacked out and only came to when Judge kicked him awake and helped him back into his own apartment so he could sleep on his own fucking couch.
When he woke up the next morning, the first thing he saw was Red standing in front of the picture window near the couch, her forehead and palms pressed to the glass. He had no idea what she was staring at, but he could imagine it was her freedom. Just out of reach.
He’d done it himself plenty of times along the razor-wire topped fence line of whatever prison he was in at the time.
His problem was, every time he got free, he’d do something within a few months to lose that freedom he wished for.
He doubted Red would do the same.
The minute she got free—from the Shirleys, from the burden she was carrying, from Sig—unlike him, he doubted she’d do anything to change that.
“Talk to me,” he had urged her, trying to keep the desperation from his voice, which was rough from his all-night bender. His head throbbed as he watched her, hoping she’d finally talk. Just give him something.
Anything.
She didn’t.
Not that morning.
Not this morning, either.
So, here he sat, smoking a fucking fatty and drinking a beer, doing his best not to shatter into pieces he couldn’t control.
The door next to his opened and the big man stepped out. Judge quickly hid his surprise at seeing Sig out there so early.
“Didn’t think you’d fuckin’ live after the other night,” the deep, gravelly voice said.
“Was hopin’ I didn’t, but unfortunately, I did.”
“Faster way to do it than drinkin’ yourself to death.”
“Will keep that in mind next time.”
The dogs pushed past Judge and down the steps to do their thing. Judge grunted as he settled his bulk into the folding chair next to Sig.
“Thanks for pickin’ up food for her from Dino’s last night. Was stuck on that fuckin’ repo over in Parsington.”
Judge held out his hand and Sig passed him the joint. “You snag it?”
“Yeah, got chased with a fuckin’ golf club, though. Fuckin’ bitch was crazy.”
Judge grinned and took a hit.
The two big dogs galloped back up the steps. Justice immediately laid down in front of them and began to lick his balls. The fucker was always licking his balls and dick.
“Life would be a lot easier if I could fuckin’ do that,” Judge grumbled, handing the joint back to Sig.
He took another hit and when he stifled a laugh, the smoke escaped. “Yeah, right?” That chuckle only hurt his ribs just a little this time. That was a good sign. “Why d’you have Justice?”
“Deke’s outta town. Huntin’ a bail jumper. Where he also happened to fall into some freshly divorced slit.”
Sig knew what “freshly divorced,” or even newly separated, meant. Those bitch’s main goal was riding as much dick as possible, trying to catch up for all the time they wasted on the motherfucker they “mistakenly” married and was faithful to. At least the women who weren’t cheating whores like his mother. And like Trip’s first wife.