Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 72561 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 290(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72561 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 290(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
He nodded and left to do my bidding while I walked to the body on the couch and read the note that was stabbed through the poor girl’s chest.
‘Two a day will die until you withdraw your statement and get the fuck out.’
Mother. Fucker.
***
By the time I pulled into my driveway that night, I was feeling anything but happy to be there.
I was about to make the hardest decision of my life, but I could see no other way around it.
After letting out Lucy, I shrugged into a black hoodie, black sweat pants, and a black skull cap that covered my blonde hair.
Taking a deep breath, I snuck out my back door and scaled the fence in between Channing’s place and mine.
I knocked on the back door, thankful to hear the reassuring beeps of the alarm being deactivated before she swung the door open.
“Didn’t you think to ask who the fuck it was?” I barked.
She slammed the door in my face.
“I deserved that,” I muttered to myself before opening the door and closing it behind me.
“What’s the arm code?” I asked.
“Fuck you,” she snapped.
I sighed. “No, really, what is it? I don’t want you to ever have this inactivated.”
“Fuck you. Like I already said,” she said again, much calmer this time.
I ground my teeth together. “Channing.”
She turned back around and came back to the panel before she started punching numbers. 3-8-2-5-6-5-8. Which corresponded to the letters, F-U-C-K-Y-O-U. Literally, those were the numbers she’d used on the keypad.
“Nice,” I said dryly.
She shrugged. “The big man with the scar thought so too.”
“Max came? I expected Gabe,” I said as I followed her into the room.
“They did come. They also fixed my door for free.”
Max and Gabe were members of Free. They were both ex-Army, and helped run a secret side business that helped women get out of abusive situations that they found themselves in. They never asked for anything in return, and they’d been there a lot for the club’s needs in the past months.
Gabe had said he’d get to the system as soon as he could, but I hadn’t expected him to fix the door, too.
“How’d he fix the door?” I asked.
I hadn’t seen any other way to fix it besides hack the top half of the door off, but I also wasn’t a carpenter.
“He got a saw thing and hacked the top half of it off,” She explained.
I closed my eyes, and then laughed for the first time since this morning.
“Shit,” I said. “I could’ve done that!”
“He said you could, but he also said you caught a bad call this afternoon, so he’d do it for you,” she said quietly.
I looked absently at my wrist. 2130 hours. I’d spend over nine hours at that crime scene. I’d spoken with neighbors. Searched through their house. Talked with the first responders. The medical examiner. The paramedics on scene. Then the chief.
Needless to say, this day had been utter shit, and it was about to get worse.
“I need to talk to you, honey.” I said gruffly.
“Have you had dinner?” She interrupted.
I shook my head. “No, but I really do need to talk to you.”
She started going through her fridge and pulling out the mixings for a salad, a Tupperware full of what looked to be spaghetti, and a beer.
She handed me the beer, and shoved the Tupperware in the microwave before putting some salad in a bowl, all the while studiously ignoring the large elephant in the room.
“My mom died during Hurricane Katrina,” she blurted.
I blinked at her for a few seconds before I apologized. “I’m sorry, Channing. That had to be awful.”
She shrugged. “It is what it is. My dad checked out after that, left me and my brother alone to drive 18-wheelers. He had to work his ass off to support us. I’ve been alone a very long time.”
My stomach started to sink as the point of her conversation started to hit home.
“Channing...” I started.
“I know you think that’s for the best. And I’ll give you the days. I won’t look at you. I won’t talk to you. I won’t text you. But I need the nights. I need the nights, or this is over before we take it any further. Don’t leave me, too,” she whispered, and a fresh trail of tears started running down her cheeks.
I walked hastily towards her and cupped her face in my hands. “I only want you safe.”
She shook her head quickly. “I know. I will be. I’ll do everything you tell me to do. But please, don’t leave me. Not again.”
Fuck. How could I say no to that?
That’s right, I had no backbone when it came to a crying woman.
Instead of going through all the reasons this was a horrible idea, I wrapped her into my arms and hugged her to me tightly.
“I won’t.”
And I wouldn’t. Not now. Not ever.
Chapter 9
Never judge a book by its movie.
-T-shirt
Loki
Monday morning
0900 hours.
Strong v. The State of Louisiana
“All I’m asking, your honor, is for a hold to be put on the trial until after the holidays.” Varian’s lawyer, Joshua Fine, said pleadingly.
The judge, Abraham Keen, glared at him from under bushy eyebrows. “And like I said, Mr. Fine, you need to get your client to work with the DA, and this could all be over before the holidays. If not, they we’ll be starting the trial tomorrow. Is that clear?”
Even me, a lowly paid detective for the BPD, knew better than to contradict Judge Keen; obviously, Varian’s bozo lawyer did not.
His gavel clanged hard against the wood of his desk. “Mr. Fine, the next words out of your mouth better be something related to the case and not your Christmas break, or you’ll be held in contempt of court.”
Fine’s mouth thinned into a pissed off line as he held his tongue and took his seat. Then he motioned with his hand in Dortea’s direction.
“We offer you a reduced sentence of twenty five years if you will give us the names of the men who’ve been helping you while you were incarcerated over the past five months,” Dortea said stiffly.