Total pages in book: 164
Estimated words: 154691 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 773(@200wpm)___ 619(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 154691 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 773(@200wpm)___ 619(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
My laughter dies, and my teeth grind. “No, he didn’t. You were drunk. Fucked up. You were confused …”
“It wasn’t a mistake,” she growls. “I know what I saw.”
I step into her, my soaking wet body towering over hers. “You’re wrong. And you’re going to tell the police that. Retract your statement. Tell them you made a mistake.” I’ll force her. It’s the only option I have left.
“I will not.”
Fucking bitch! I grab her shirt, yanking her forward. “Scout!” Spinning us around, I shove her back into the closed door with more force than I mean to. She sucks in a breath as I push into her, pinning her to the wood.
I take a deep breath, trying to calm what little nerves I have left. “If you do this, there will be consequences.” I can’t let this go to trial. If they investigate, things may be found. Steve may panic and turn me in. And even though he can’t prove it, it’s something I don’t want to deal with.
She relaxes against me. “Good. He deserves …”
“I think you misunderstood what I said.” I let go of her shirt and run my hands up her chest to wrap around her neck. She leans up onto her tiptoes, her hands grip my arms, trying to fight me when I take her air away. Fuck, I want to throw her to the floor and fuck her mouth for saying anything about last night. “For you, Henley. Not Monroe.” Letting go of her, I take a step back.
She looks up at me, rubbing her neck. “He’s going to pay for what he did, Scout.”
I fist my hands, telling myself I can’t touch her right now. She’s sober, and she’s upset. I nod. “You made your decision.” I rip open her door, run down her stairs, and out the front door. As I get into my car, I dial up a number on my cell.
“Hello?” the familiar voice answers.
“I’ve got a problem.”
I lean up against the wall, watching her. She’s been in and out for quite some time now. If I was concerned, I’d say she needs medical attention. But I’m not. I have no intentions of giving my doll back to Law.
Fuck him!
She was mine first. I let him play with her, and he took advantage of it. Fell in love with her. That’s stupidity on his part.
I want to pat myself on the back for hiding that camera in her bedroom at her father’s house. I had the idea when we dropped Vanessa off there the first time, knowing I wanted eyes on her. We had plans to move her from her dad’s to Law’s, but we weren’t sure when. Then she went and pissed me off with that guy at the bar, and well, it was time. So, when I got a notification on my cell that there was movement in her room, I was more than happy to see she was back. Hiding out. Just begging for me to grab her.
She lets out a moan, and her head falls forward.
“Finally coming around?” I ask. “It’s taken you long enough.”
I took her last night. Of course, that dumb ass Steve gave her more chloroform than her body weight required. Want something done right, gotta do it yourself … type of thing. It evaporates quickly. So, when he missed her the first time in the bedroom, he took the other bottle he had and added more to the cloth when he found me outside with her.
“Wh …?” She lifts her heavy head and licks her lips.
Her face is red—the skin irritated from the chloroform. Eyes are puffy and swollen. She looks around aimlessly for a few seconds, blinking a few times. I stand back, allowing her to get her bearings straight before I play with her.
“Scout?” Her eyes land on me. She goes to get up but realizes that’s not an option. “What?” Her head bows, and she looks at the rope binding her to the chair.
“Good evening, doll.” I smile.
Her breathing picks up, her senses starting to return. She lifts her head again, and there are tears in her eyes. “I don’t understand.” She sniffs. “Why are you doing this?”
I push off the wall and walk over to the metal table. She gasps when her eyes see where I’m going. “Scout,” she whimpers, and I listen to her fight the restraints. “Please …”
“It’s not going to work, doll,” I say, picking up the roll of duct tape. Turning back to face her, she starts shaking her head, her hair slapping her in the face. She throws her head back screaming, and the chair rattles at her useless fight to free herself.
My doll will break here.
My doll will die here.
My doll will rot here.
I rip a piece of the duct tape off and grip her chin with my free hand. Holding it in place, I shove it over her lips, silencing her. She sucks in breaths through her nose, and I gently push all the wild hair off her face, some stuck in the tape. She glares up at me, her blue eyes watery from unshed tears. “I told you, doll. To drop it. To retract your statement, but you didn’t do it. I was afraid the memories would come back. That you would have remembered it was me who killed Brenda.”