Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 90919 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90919 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
“I’m okay,” Myla said, laying her hand on my lower back. “It’s okay.” She looked at the special agents. “He’s a little anxious about letting me out of his sight.”
I shot her a look. Anxious?
Leaning down, I kissed her softly. “I’ll be right outside.”
“I know.”
“Right outside,” I told the agents.
“Understood,” Gibson said.
Outside, the carport was lit up like a parking lot, and people were swarming the area like ants. Tommy was sitting at the edge of the porch on one of my aunt’s lawn chairs.
“What’s goin’ on?” he asked, looking nervously at the doorway behind me.
“They wanna talk to her alone. Said if they couldn’t do it here, they’d take her in.”
“Motherfuckers.”
“Agreed.”
We sat in silence.
“Boys have scared the shit outta me a fair amount over the years,” Tommy said after a while. “But nothin’ compared to tonight.”
“I sent her a shitty voicemail right before she called you,” I confessed, staring at the deck between my feet. “She was probably fightin’ for her fuckin’ life while I was bitchin’ at her for not showin’ up to Saoirse’s birthday party.”
“Get that shit outta your head,” Tommy ordered. “Doesn’t matter.”
“I had no fuckin’ clue. Spent the day feelin’ like there were bugs crawlin’ on the back of my neck, my head on a swivel, and I didn’t worry for a second that Myla was in trouble.”
“No way you coulda known.”
“Shoulda been more careful.”
“You asked for eyes out here for over a month,” Tommy reminded me.
“He needed time to heal up,” I said, the words tasting like ash in my mouth. If I would have finished the job when I had the chance, he never would’ve gotten anywhere near Myla.
“Yep.”
“Shoulda killed him.”
“Yep.”
“Fuck.”
“Yep.”
I scrubbed my hands over my face.
“No use lookin’ back,” Tommy said seriously. “If you never listen to anythin’ I say from here on out—fine. But don’t let that shit fester inside ya. It’ll ruin what you’ve got with my girl.”
It sounded as if he knew from experience.
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
Tommy watched me for a minute before nodding. “She’ll straighten your ass out.”
Myla and the agents were in the house for over two hours. At one point, a woman with a fancy camera went inside and came back out a few minutes later, carrying a plastic bag.
“Shirt,” Tommy said quietly. “Titus left it in the sink.”
When Myla finally led the agents outside, Tommy and I stood.
“We’ll be in touch,” Robinson was saying to Myla.
“Okay.”
“Go get checked out,” Gibson added.
The men turned toward us, and Tommy lifted something from the seat beside him, setting it on the table.
“It’ll have my son Otto’s prints on the barrel,” he said, nodding to the rag wrapped pistol. “He got here first and took it from Myla.”
“And this is registered to you?” Robinson asked Myla, pulling a glove on his hand.
“Yes.”
“Okay.” He picked up the pistol. “We’ll be in touch.”
“How long are they gonna be here?” I asked, jerking my chin toward the carport.
“Not sure. Through the night at least,” Gibson replied.
“I can take her home?”
“Ms. Hawthorne is free to go.”
Gibson and Robinson left the porch, heading toward the body.
“Good?” Tommy asked.
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
“You ready to get outta here?”
“Please,” Myla said.
She walked steadily down the porch steps and straight to my bike.
“You sure?” I asked, running my thumb over the apple of her cheek. “I can drive your car. Pick up my bike in the morning.”
“I want to feel the wind,” she replied simply.
“All right.”
I let her pull my helmet on, wincing every time she did.
We fired up our bikes and got the hell out of there.
I realized as we rode back to Myla’s that the property had lost all its appeal. I’d never pull up the driveway again without thinking of the panicked ride out there. I’d never see the porch steps without seeing Myla there, staring blankly ahead, covered in blood. I’d never see the kitchen table without remembering how carefully I’d cut Myla’s shirt and bra off because she was so stiff that I knew I’d never be able to get it off over her head.
When we pulled up outside of Myla’s house, her mother was sitting on the front porch. She met us in the driveway.
“Okay?” she asked, running her hands over Myla’s shoulders and arms, their faces close.
“I’m okay,” Myla replied, her voice hitching.
“Get her inside,” Tommy ordered.
It was a testament to how scared Heather was by the way she instantly obeyed. I didn’t think I’d ever seen it happen before.
“Molly’s here?” Tommy asked as we walked toward the house.
“Yeah,” Heather replied. “Will, too.”
I was confused until we walked inside and I saw the open medical bag on the coffee table. I’d forgotten that Will’s wife, Molly, was a nurse.
Lou and Frankie watched from a distance as Molly immediately stepped in, grabbing the first aid bag as she led Heather and Myla down the hallway.