Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 107488 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 537(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107488 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 537(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
Reilly was a strong woman, but having that reminder thrown in her face, especially when she wasn’t expecting it, had to fuck with her head.
“Let’s go,” he whispered, backing out of the unit, careful not to trip.
“We’re not done.” Again, her voice sounded flat. Lost.
He turned her around in his arms and saw her eyes were just as dead as her tone.
“You’re done here,” he insisted.
“No—”
“Yes, Reilly, you’re fuckin’ done.” He had no idea how many more boxes had bloody items in them, or even if one contained the object Warren used to create that scar, whatever fucking knickknack he used in an attempt to bash in her brains.
For all he knew, it could’ve been more than one object.
No matter how many boxes contained tainted items—even if only that one—she would not be forced to go through them. He’d do it on his own. Fuck that shit.
“Let’s go.” He shuffled her out of the unit and into the passenger seat of the Bronco. He leaned in and latched her seatbelt for her, slammed her door shut and ran to the rear of the Bronco to secure both it and the unit before getting her the fuck out of there.
Then they drove the forty minutes back to the motel with only road noise, the rumble of the engine and the satellite radio playing rock filling the Ford’s interior.
The whole way, he kept sneaking glances at her, but she had her face turned toward the passenger side window, watching the landscape pass by as he took the roads leading back to their motel.
It was early enough that he could drop her back off at the room and head back down to the unit to finish. If he threw out shit she needed, oh fucking well, she could buy new shit. Putting her through the trauma of her seeing her own damn blood on her own damn possessions was completely un-fucking-necessary. He’d deal with it and spare her that.
It was too bad that motherfucker was already dead, because he really wanted to fucking kill him. He’d squeezed the steering wheel tightly, wishing it was Warren’s throat. He couldn’t stop imagining him being the one to punch the man unconscious that day at the garage instead of Deacon.
Deacon had struck Warren using his right hand for what he’d done to Reese and his left for what he’d done to Reilly. It wasn’t until Warren was unconscious and Deke’s hands were a raw, bloody mess that he stopped.
Rev had missed most of that since he had been inside the garage with Reese and Reilly, keeping them from going out back, getting in the middle of it and killing Warren themselves.
But, in the end, Reilly had been Warren’s judge, jury and executioner instead of Deacon. Rightfully so, since the bastard had broken her arm and nose, cracked open her face and head, plus left behind a permanent reminder she had to see in the mirror every damn day.
That was enough to make her just a bit pissed about it.
Only right now, she wasn’t pissed. She was being swallowed up by the past. He knew it bothered her that she had allowed a piece of shit like Warren into her life and let him take advantage of her when she was not that type of woman.
Maybe that affected her more than the violence itself. That might be one of the reasons she avoided talking about Warren at all. It embarrassed her when it really fucking shouldn’t.
Either way, she shouldn’t dwell on hindsight. They all could get caught up with wishing they’d done or seen things differently before it was too late.
Unfortunately, life wasn’t that fucking easy or clear. It was a deep mud puddle that sometimes sucked your boots in so deeply, it was a struggle to get free.
Warren had the skills to suck Reilly in. He had honed those skills with many women prior to her.
He shuttled her into the motel room—relieved the housekeeper had already been in their room for the day—stripped her down to her panties, tossed one of his T-shirts over her head and tucked her into bed.
All without a fight from her.
That was not like her. No words? No spark? Definitely not her normal Reilly-self.
It worried him. And not just a little bit.
Worse, he couldn’t call the one person who might be able to snap her out of it. Calling her older sister would cause a lot of grief and then turn a mess into a complete disaster.
Hopefully, she’d soon snap out of whatever shock she’d fallen into.
He’d never seen her this down. That made him wonder how deeply she’d been burying what happened that day in her apartment.
“Why don’t you just sleep for a bit?” he suggested. “We were up most of the night, you’re probably exhausted.” He tucked the bedding around her and leaned over to brush a kiss across her forehead.