Rough Justice Read Online Frankie Love

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Angst, Erotic, Romance, Virgin Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 22898 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 114(@200wpm)___ 92(@250wpm)___ 76(@300wpm)
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I stand up and head into the kitchen, looking into the fridge and cabinets. I’m going to make him dinner for change. I think we have everything I need to make fried chicken like my grandma used to make. I set to work, cracking the eggs and making the batter, and peeling some potatoes to get some good sides going. I want to learn how to cook properly, too. Maybe Mama Rough can give me some lessons.

Mac is going to come home to a hot dinner tonight. And I’m going to apologize for being so standoffish. Then? I’m going to tell him that I love him. No ifs, ands, or buts. Just the truth.

And he’ll tell me the same. I know he loves me just like I know I love him. He’s damn near told me so many times.

When I finally get a lull in my cooking, I step out on the back porch and enjoy the cool breeze of the day. It’s so peaceful and serene, and I stretch out.

And hear footsteps. I cock an eyebrow. Twigs break, someone walking through brush. I panic, then silence myself.

Okay, maybe Mac is back a bit early. Dinner’s not done yet, but that just means it’ll for sure be hot for him when I finish up.

“Welcome back!” I shout.

Only for two men to step out of the brush, and neither of them are the bright, smiling man I love.

It’s my father and one of the other men from the compound. My dad stares at me with the burning anger of a thousand suns.

“You ungrateful little cunt.”

I swallow, trembling in place.

Maybe I’m waking up from this dream after all.

11

MAC

The thing about hunting when your heart’s not in it?

You’re kinda bad at it.

I tracked some deer, got a good mark on one of them, but hesitated. I didn’t feel like dealing with carrying the meat back home, the skinning, and all the other effort that came afterward. As I reminded myself that’s what I’m here for, it was already too late and the deer was prancing away.

If I were hunting for sustenance instead of sport, I guess I’d try harder, but for now? I’m heartbroken enough to return to the cabin empty-handed.

I just want to see Merit again. I’ve given her plenty of time, and maybe she can tell me what’s wrong now.

Pushing through the front door, I stash my rifle in the safe. “Merit, I’m back.”

There’s no response, but something smells good.

I walk through the cabin toward the smell. There’s boiling water in a pot on the stove with soggy potatoes in it, and next to that, some very burnt chicken in a cast iron pan. I turn the heat off, now very concerned.

“Merit? Are you here somewhere?”

Did she fall or something? She’s young, yes, but if you crack your neck or spine on something, that’s not going to matter one bit. I go through the house, calling out her name over and over, getting more worried at the lack of response. She isn’t in the bathroom, or my room or any of the other bedrooms.

Could I have possibly misread her so badly? Would she just abruptly take off in the middle of the day, with the stove on no less?

Panic takes me, but I soon notice something askew. Her clothes. Her shoes.

The former are drying on the line outside – she’s been wearing my shirts, oversized on her, and I love it. And her shoes are beside the front door. Why on earth would she take off without them? You don’t exactly want to be running through the woods of the Pacific Northwest barefoot and pantless.

A chill runs down my spine when I come to a realization.

Her family.

I have no idea how far away their compound is. For as much wilderness training Merit had to get her here, no one taught her any reliable way to measure distance so she never told me how far she’d come. The compound could be one mile away or fifty, and I doubt Merit covered her tracks well enough when she was running away in the middle of the night that they couldn’t follow her.

Fortunately? We’ve been unfortunate before.

After the whole incident surrounding Rye and Prairie, Rye got a little paranoid for her sake, and got some cameras installed on the hunting cabin. Purely outdoor-facing, one for the front door and a few for the back. I thought it was a bit of overkill, even joked that it was more likely we’d catch a glimpse of Bigfoot than see anything of actual use to us. But I guess I have to give Rye credit on this one.

I head to the laptop I brought with me and login to the camera system to check what they’ve seen. It only keeps a week of video, but that’s way more than I need. I zoom through the logs, and find today’s history, starting after I left. Checking the front yard, nothing. First camera on the back porch is nothing, second one points at the hot tub.


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