Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 63579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 318(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 318(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
What if she finds out?
Or, even worse, what if it meant absolutely nothing to him and I just gave myself over without even trying to fight it.
Pressing a hand over my eyes, I huff.
I feel weak, like I’m no longer myself when I’m around Western. Like everything I’ve ever stood by, suddenly flies out the window when he’s in my presence. Little by little, he’s consuming my soul, and the worst part of that is I’m not entirely certain that he even feels the same way. Hell, he could just be having a good time and here I am, stupidly falling for it.
Trying to shift my focus, I close my eyes in a pathetic attempt at sleep. It’s late, hell, it’s probably early morning, and I need my rest. Switching my mind off, though, is proving to be somewhat difficult. My thoughts are all consuming and after about half an hour, I get up with a sigh.
Heading downstairs, I clean up any mess left behind from my encounter with Western and then I make myself a cup of tea and get some chocolate from the counter before flopping down onto the couch and putting a movie on. I don’t even know what the movie is, I’m just looking for something to distract my mind. Anything will work right now.
I must drift off because I’m woken suddenly by a loud crashing sound outside my door. Jerking upright, it takes me a minute to remember that I’m on the couch and not in my bed. The noise seems to be coming from the front door, so I push off the couch and walk over, peering out the window beside it. I can’t see anyone. With a curious expression, I carefully open the front door and leap back with a scream when my foot lands on something slimy and squishy.
Scurrying backwards, I stumble into my house.
For a minute, I’m horrified.
But I’m more than a little concerned about what my foot just landed on.
So, I find a flashlight and then, with trembling fingers, I point it in the direction I just was. On the ground is not one, not two, but three frogs. For a second, I sigh with relief, until I realize they’re all in a pile on my doorstep and they’re no longer alive. Their legs are stretched out, their eyes milky from death, and as I move closer, I come to the startling conclusion that each one has a hole in their head.
Like someone has shot them.
Bile rises in my throat as I look down at the creatures, because I know they’ve been placed here. On my doorstep. That much is clear. No gun out there would surely be small enough to kill a frog, so I don’t even want to know how they were cruelly massacred, or how they got a hole in their head, but the message is very clear. They’re dead and they’re from the swamp. That is no coincidence.
This is a warning.
Stepping back inside, heart racing, I lock the door and rush over to my phone where I quickly dial Western’s number. A minute goes by, and his gruff, sleepy voice answers. I could almost scream with joy, because I was worried he wouldn’t answer after leaving not too long ago. The moment my mouth opens, I let out a frightened cry instead of the words I planned to use.
“Bonnie?”
“Someone was here, at my house,” I manage.
I’m scared, there is no denying it.
I know who left those frogs there, and I know what he was trying to say.
Don’t mess with me, or you’ll end up the same as them.
I was an idiot for going and speaking to Bill. What was I thinking, threatening a man with such power?
“Are you hurt?”
Western is more awake now, his voice full and gravelly.
“No, but...I’m coming over there. Is that okay?”
“No. Don’t move. I’ll come and get you.”
Agreeing, I hang up and wait.
I keep the door locked and sit tight, my heart racing, as I wait for Western to arrive. A moment later, the rumbling sounds of not one, but a few motorcycles can be heard slowing out the front. I hold my breath, listening as the muffled sound of voices at my door alerts me that they’ve seen the frogs. A second later, the loud pounding has me leaping up and rushing over.
I swing it open to see Western and Fury both standing, their eyes on the frogs. When they move to me, Western’s face is tight and more than a little pissed. “Want to explain this to me?”
“No,” I squeak, terrified of what his reaction will be.
“Bonnie,” Fury grinds out, “why are there dead frogs on your doorstep, with what can only be described as bullet wounds in their heads?”
They’re going to flip when I tell them what I’ve done, but I’m not certain I have any other choice. Closing my eyes and taking a shaky breath, I open them and blurt, “I threatened Bill Whart.”