Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 115086 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 575(@200wpm)___ 460(@250wpm)___ 384(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115086 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 575(@200wpm)___ 460(@250wpm)___ 384(@300wpm)
Prick couldn’t seem to speak anymore, so he just nodded. Snot ran down his face, mixing with his tear. It was a beautiful sight.
“Good. I want you to feel what Brooke felt. Unfortunately for you, you failed. All her dogs survived, and so did she. And she’ll rebuild bigger and better while you’ll be slumming it in a room at your sister’s house looking over your shoulder for the rest of your life because I will be watching and waiting for you to fuck up so I can take you out.”
With that, he stood. “We’re done here.” Prick could do whatever the fuck he wanted once they left. Call a doctor, an ambulance, try to stem the blood flow himself. Even though he had friends on the force, Curly had no doubt he wouldn’t be contacting the police. He might be dumb as a hunk of concrete, but even the stupidest of people had some sense of self-preservation.
Tyler went out the door first. Curly trailed his cousin. As soon as he stepped down the three porch steps onto the dirt, another gunshot rent the quiet night air followed by a familiar scream. His gaze met Ty’s before they both started back for the house.
Scott appeared in the door, bringing Curly up short. His face must have shown his utter shock because Scott’s eyebrows winged. “What? I didn’t kill the mother fucker. Just shot his other foot.” He shrugged then jogged down the three steps. “Couldn’t leave it asymmetrical. Blame my OCD.” Then he began to stroll toward the truck whistling a jaunty tune as though he hadn’t just stabbed a man then shot him twice. Curly watched him for a few seconds before following.
Scott was out of his fucking mind, but he’d be lying if he didn’t admit the thought of Prick flopping around the house with two bullet holes in his feet gave him great pleasure.
It was only a fraction of what the asshole deserved, but already Curly felt the pressure release in his chest.
One problem fixed, one very big, very beautiful, very furious problem to go.
If only that one would be as easy to solve.
CHAPTER THIRTY
SOMEONE REPAIRED HER broken gate.
The broken gate Curly had rammed his truck through in his frantic rush to save her sorry ass.
Brooke sat in the driveway with an ache in her chest as she stared at the newly fixed fence. She’d been out for the past five hours and in that time someone had repaired the gate and two fence panels that had been destroyed.
She sighed and wiped at her sweaty forehead. Despite the blasting air conditioning, her idling car heated from the sun’s intense rays beating down on her windshield.
Curly did this. It had to have been Curly. Maybe he hadn’t been the one out there with the hammer and nails sweating in the midday heat, but he’d set the ball in motion.
Damn him.
She wanted to be mad at him. A few days ago, she would have been furious at him for going above her head to get the task completed, especially when they were on the outs, but everything had changed.
And after chatting with Nancy in the hospital two days ago, she viewed herself through a new lens, which wasn’t necessarily positive. When she looked in the mirror, she no longer saw an admirable liberated woman who didn’t need anyone in her life. Instead, she saw a stubborn ass hellbent on self-sabotage. A woman so consumed by her past she might have destroyed her future with an incredible man who not only appreciated her for who she was, he celebrated it.
Curly didn’t have someone repair her fence because he thought she was weak, incapable, or stupid, he did it because he cared about her and wanted to make her life easier. Even when she’d been a complete bitch to him.
“Ugh,” she groaned as she bonked her head against the headrest a few times. Introspection sucked sometimes.
Fatigue hung around her shoulders like a weighted blanket. Since the night of the fire, she hadn’t slept much. Her to-do list had approximately six hundred tasks, and she spent the long, lonely nights obsessing over everything she had to get done. And scowling at her stupid, burned hands, which were making life ten times more difficult.
And berating herself for the way she’d treated Curly.
And missing him with a gut-wrenching force. No one who knew her would ever believe how many hours she’d spent staring at her cellphone and willing damn thing to ring.
Scheduling fence estimates had been one of the first things she’d accomplished the morning after the fire. The soonest any of the companies had been able to fit her in her was three weeks out. Curly had gotten it done in two days. She was beyond grateful to have a closed-in yard again. Now she needed to find a way to kennel the dogs until the insurance check arrived and she could rebuild a permanent structure. Nancy and David were generous enough to keep the dogs for her, but every kennel filled by one of her dogs was lost money for them and added guilt for her.