Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 86031 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86031 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
I hurry back to Lorne’s room. His wallet and key ring sit on the boxes in the corner. I overheard Jarret and Jake discussing how they kept Lorne’s old pickup truck in working condition while he was in prison. I loathe the idea of stealing from him, but I must find a way back to John Holsten before he finds me.
Assuming the boxes belong to Lorne, I dig through them until I find what I’m looking for. Amid books, clothes, and old boots, I remove a mid-sized hunting knife in a leather sheath.
Wrapping my fingers around the wooden handle, I imagine driving the steel blade into John’s chest. Adrenaline fires through my system, and my spine forges with determination.
I slip the knife into the backpack.
There’s a hundred dollars in Lorne’s wallet. I take forty bucks, swipe the keys, and give the room a final glance.
I’ll leave his truck in town and hitch a ride to Texas. I can’t, however, repay the things I’ve taken. I have no one and own nothing. Except…
My hand lifts to the choker at my throat, and my eyes burn. The necklace is only worth its sentimental value, but Lorne will know that. He might not understand what it means to me, but he’ll know it’s the only possession I have to give.
With trembling fingers, I release the clasp and position the dream catcher on his wallet. “I’m so sorry I stole from you.”
After I kill the man who took his mother’s life, maybe he’ll forgive me?
My fingers linger on the handmade choker, my breath trapped in my chest.
No more delaying.
I have a monster to hunt.
Releasing my lungs, I square my shoulders and make my way to the truck.
Garish neon lights blink on and off, illuminating a sign in the crude shape of a naked woman. There are no words or anything to advertise the grungy, one-story strip club. Just the pink neon lady, flickering erratically.
I try to time the rhythm of the buzzing light, but it’s too sporadic. Irritatingly so. There must be an electrical short.
Parked in a dark corner of the weedy lot, I’ve been sitting in my truck for an hour, working up the nerve to go inside.
I found my truck abandoned in Sandbank yesterday. Raina’s lucky I haven’t found her.
The bitch disappeared twenty-four hours ago. She stole my knife and my money and dumped my pickup on the side of the road. Where she went after that is anyone’s guess.
The moment I discovered her missing, Jarret and I drove to Texas, expecting to find her chained in John Holsten’s house.
Except no one was there. John must’ve left right after Raina escaped with Maybe, given the platter of rotting chicken and half-finished tumbler of whiskey beside the recliner.
We found the wall safe open and empty, four days of mail in the mailbox, and the clothes in his bedroom closet all gone.
Did he run because he thought I’d come for him? He sent hit men after my sister and stole eight years of my life. Killing him would be a mercy. I’d rather torture him for the next twenty years.
My hands flex on the steering wheel as I glare at the aggravating neon sign. How long has it been shorting out like that?
Why am I even here?
When we left John’s house, Jarret dropped me off at my truck. From there, I drove up and down the streets in every town between Sandbank and the Texas border.
That’s how I ended up at a strip club an hour away from home. The obnoxious sign caught my eye, and some irrational part of me decided I needed sex more than food or sleep.
It’s after midnight. I haven’t slept in two days, and I want nothing more than to walk into that club and shove my cock into the first available hole.
Since I’ve been behind bars my entire adult life, I’ve never been to a place like this. But I heard these girls will do anything for extra cash. I could grab one on her break, bust a nut, and be home by morning.
The idea doesn’t arouse me. The thought of sticking my dick in a drugged-out stripper makes my balls shrivel. But after fucking my fist for eight years, I need to know I can still get it done, that I can engage with a woman like a normal man.
I’m ready to be normal again.
That means spending time with my family. They were the ones fighting for me when I was inside the barracks.
It means taking over the ranch I was always meant to run.
It means giving up my ridiculous search for Raina.
Problem is, I feel responsible for her. Only because I should’ve told her John Holsten called the day I was released from prison. I should’ve told her he intends to get her back, by force or any means necessary.