Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 85183 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85183 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
I turn around, leaning back against the fridge. I press my hand against my stomach that is threatening to rebel. "Well, you know, I just go to get some ice and there's a fucking head in the freezer!"
"Oh, yeah." He smirks. "It's a present for Joe."
I bend over, bracing my hands on my knees as I take deep breaths. It's a head. "And it has to be stored next to the ice cream why?"
"Because, just like fucking ice cream it needs to stay cold to keep." Jude pushes me away from the freezer and opens the door. "What did you want, doll, some ice?" he asks like its normal, everyday life to have a man's head in there. He grabs a handful of ice cubes and drops them into my glass. "There. There's your ice." He places a tender kiss on my forehead and walks off.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Maybe it's just me. Maybe I'm being irrational and hormonal. Maybe it's entirely unreasonable of me not to want a fucking head in the freezer. "Jude!" I shout after him. "Get rid of the head, before you find yourself sleeping on the fucking couch next to it!" I say through gritted teeth.
"Yeah, yeah. Marney have that courier pick it up this afternoon before the queen loses her fucking shit, would you?"
I chuck the orange juice down the sink and leave the room. When the hell did this become bloody normal?
I flick the cigarette into the woods and hold the nicotine inside my lungs. "I've done my research, but I need you to make sure I've got the right girl. Sofia Solomon," I speak into the phone, smoke seeping from my lips, "make sure she's Stan's daughter, alright?"
He doesn't say anything. David's being too fucking quiet, and it's making me paranoid.
"You gonna help me with that, David?"
He draws in a hesitant breath. "Yeah. I'll see what I can do, but..."
"But what? What the fuck, David?"
"JP, this has all just gotten outta hand. There's only so much I can do, I mean, fuck, I'm a cop, not the FBI."
I clench my jaw and lean over the wooden railing of the porch. David's always helped me out of shit, I shouldn't be so agitated with him, but damn it, I can’t help it. "I'm kinda fucking stuck here, David. Hell, I don't know if you remember, but I blew my damn house up. I'm limited on supplies here. After I get Joe, I'm gone. And you can live your life in fucking peace, but until I get him, I need your help."
He groans. "God, what are you gonna do with her, huh? Cause I tell you what, I draw my line if you're gonna hurt her. How old is she JP, do you even know that?"
"I found her Facebook profile. She's twenty-one. And, no, I'm not gonna hurt her. I just need him to think I will."
"Fine. I'll call you back." He hangs up. I know he's angry with me. I don't give a shit as long as he gets me the information.
I shove the phone into my back pocket and stare out over the ridge, and as I do, Caleb creeps into my thoughts. I try my damnedest not to think about him because it bothers me so fucking much. It hurts, and I'm not used to that unsettling feeling. My mind sorts through the hazy memories of coming up to Marney's cabin with my dad as a kid. He taught me and Caleb how to shoot in these woods, just like I taught Tor...
"Now, when you shoot someone, you can shoot to kill them, or you can shoot to make them vulnerable," Dad says, as he steadies my hands. "And what have I taught you boys about why you shoot someone?"
"To kill them," I respond.
"That's right because a dead man can't kill you."
"What happens if someone kills you, Daddy?" Caleb asks, and I spin around to glare at him. His brown eyes are full of tears. He's only seven, and he's scared of guns, but that's how old I was when Dad taught me to shoot. He has to learn. Dad has to know we can protect ourselves in case something ever happens to him. He's told me that countless times.
Dad glances down at him and scoops him up into his arms, placing him on his hip. "Oh, don't worry son, no one's gonna kill your pops. I'll be here for a long time, and if I'm ever not here to keep you safe, your brother will take care of you, won't you, Jude?"
I pull the trigger, watching as the bullet tears through the center ring of the bullseye. "Yep, I'll always take care of you, Caleb. Promise."
I shut the memory down because I didn't. I didn't take care of him. My muscles tense and flex as I grip the edge of the rail, trying to release some of the anger quickly flooding my body. I should have forced Caleb out of this lifestyle the day my father died because Caleb was too good of a person to be mixed up in this shit. He had a fucking heart. I don't. He always did.