Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 80969 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80969 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
But it’s easy enough to recognize a person carrying the same weight as you.
I see it in Red, too. And that scares the fucking shit out of me.
“No,” I tell him, stubbing out my cigar on my cigar box. I put it back in the box to finish later.
“You’re definitely sure it was him?”
“One hundred percent.”
I don’t forget their faces. Every one of these sick fuckers’ faces is burned into my mind. Just like my stepfather is and always will be.
Marcus sighs. “He’s going to be a problem; you know that.”
“I know.”
A shadowy figure approaches the house, hands stuffed in his pockets.
“He’s here. Gotta go.”
“Do what’s necessary. Check back in when it’s done.”
I toss my cell onto the passenger seat. Grab my ball cap, pull it low over my eyes. Then, I pause, looking at my cigar cutter. I pick it up and slip it into my pocket.
I get out of my truck and cross the street, walking quickly, blending into the shadows. My large strides easily eating up the space between me and him.
My heart pounds in my chest. Adrenaline coursing through my veins. Ready. So fucking ready for this.
I move around the house. Slipping down the side, I let myself into the garden through the back gate.
I tread soundlessly over the pathway leading around to the back door.
The kitchen is in darkness.
I try the door. Locked.
It takes me less than thirty seconds to have it open.
I soundlessly slip inside the house, closing the door behind me.
I can hear the television on in the adjacent living room.
I hear the toilet flush. He’s in the downstairs bathroom.
I head in that direction on silent feet. For a big man, I can move quietly when I want to.
Years of trying to be invisible in the house around my stepdad when I was a kid.
Not that it ever made a difference.
I know the basic layout of this prick’s house. Marcus sent me the floor plan via email while I was sitting outside, waiting.
The bathroom door is open.
He’s standing in front of the sink, washing his hands. His head is down.
I can see myself in the mirror above his head.
I try not to look at myself.
I wait for him to lift his eyes and see me.
His head rises, and he blanches.
“Remember me?” I smile evilly at him in the mirror.
He moves quickly, grabbing the door to shut it.
I’m quicker.
I force the door back open.
He stumbles back against the counter. “I haven’t done anything!” he cries.
I cock my head to the side. “You sure about that?”
“I haven’t! I swear!”
I recite the store name where I saw him.
Fear fills his face.
Righteousness covers mine.
“Told you I’d be watching.” I turn and close the bathroom door behind me, locking it. “And you didn’t listen. So, it’s time for you and I to have the second part of our little chat.”
“No! No!” the weak, pathetic, sick little fucker chants, sliding along the counter. “Yes, I was in there! But I didn’t do anything. I promise! I was only looking. I didn’t touch anyone, I swear!”
Only looking.
“It’s your fault, River. You make me do this. You’re so beautiful. I can’t help myself. Be quiet now. It will only hurt for a minute.”
I squeezed my eyes shut tight.
I’m not here. I’m somewhere else. Someplace safe.
Just don’t look, River. Don’t open your eyes. It’ll be over soon.
Bile rises in my throat. I swallow it down.
I grab the sick bastard by his fat, meaty hand, dragging him to me.
He’s crying now.
And I feel nothing.
I bend down to his height, lowering my face to his. He’s crying harder now. His face is white with fear.
Fucking pussy.
He can give it, but he can’t take it.
I smile. It’s a twisted kind of smile. I’d like to say it was an act. But it’s not. Because I know I’m going to enjoy this.
“Don’t worry,” I tell him, getting the cigar cutter from my pocket. I tighten my hold on his hand, singling out his little fat finger. “This will only hurt for a minute.”
Unlike the lifetime of pain that you gave to those two boys, I think as I slide the cutter over the tip of his finger.
Carrie
I can’t sleep. I’m all weirded out by River’s behavior earlier. And, honestly, I’m worried about him. I even tried calling his cell to check on him, but of course, he didn’t answer, and I didn’t bother to leave a message.
Plus, Olive doesn’t seem to be in the mood to sleep either. She’s restless. Constantly on the move tonight.
And, now, even I’m calling Olive a she now. It’s all River’s fault.
I’m just sitting on the sofa with Buddy lying fast asleep beside me, snoring. I’m staring at the TV without really watching it, my mind elsewhere—on River.
Not even the sight of David Boreanaz in the Buffy the Vampire Slayer rerun I’m watching can take my mind off of River.