Total pages in book: 23
Estimated words: 21482 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 107(@200wpm)___ 86(@250wpm)___ 72(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 21482 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 107(@200wpm)___ 86(@250wpm)___ 72(@300wpm)
“Found some clothes in the park before I walked out.”
“Don’t tell me you stole them.”
“Nah, I borrowed them. People are real happy to offer sweatpants to a hairy giant man strolling into their camp.” He grins at me and I shake my head, biting my lip against my own grin. “And no, he didn’t think anything of it. A lot of soldiers we’ve known have come back in a lot rougher shape than I looked when I showed up.”
“I believe it.” Suddenly aware of the chilly morning air and that I’m in nothing but slippers, sleep shorts, and a thin tee, I tilt my head toward the house. “You coming in?”
Even as I’m watching, a huge weight seems to drop off him. He’d been hunched, I realize—hands shoved into his pockets, dark gaze watching me close and tight.
Now he straightens up, gold glowing in his eyes. “I’m coming in,” he says in a low rumble. “And you’re going to tell me about the trouble you’re having with this Pierce fucker.”
Nodding, I climb the steps. Though I’m not exactly thrilled that my mom spilled what she did, I also know that I can’t change who Brandon is. Or who Alicia is. Either I tell them, or they’ll find out through other means. They’ll do their best to protect me, with or without my help.
I prefer their help.
And the truth is…my mom wasn’t wrong about me being out here alone. Almost any other time, I wouldn’t think twice about it. But Pierce has been baiting me. Alone, I’m not sure whether he’d ever do more than that. But he’s got his motorcycle club behind him—and men in packs are much more bold and stupid and dangerous, even if they’re all cowards individually.
Brandon stops a few steps past the front door, breathing in deep. His eyes close and his fists clench—and I pause, waiting. After a second he looks at me, eyes dark and tormented.
“I missed being here, Sam.”
“While you were a bear?” That doesn’t make sense. “Isn’t it all peaceful and with time passing different?”
“But I know now. A whole year I missed here with you.”
“If it helps, not much happened. Except I got a new rug in the kitchen.” And I can’t dwell on all this. I’ve cried enough. “I’ll show you.”
I grab his fist and haul him along. He’s grinning again, then he says, “I’ve been waiting a long time for you to show me your—”
“Nope.”
“But does it match the—”
“Nope.” I stop in the kitchen, dropping his hand so that I can flare out my arms. “Voilà. Multicolored rug. Unmatching lace curtains. Did you have breakfast?”
“Not yet.”
“Well, I had toast and I’m not hungry, so if you are you’ll have to make it yourself.”
“Maybe in a bit.” He drags out a chair from under the table. “Sit. Tell me about Pierce.”
I pour myself half a cup of coffee first, because I really am still dragging. “It’s just the same old story of a corporal who liked to get grabby with women at traffic stops. I hadn’t seen it happen, but I got word of it around town, passed it up to the sheriff, who looked into it. He’s a good guy, actually. Sheriff Holland. Suppose it doesn’t hurt that he and my dad were close, because when the shit hit the fan…”
Shaking my head, I trail off.
“What happened?”
“Pierce was forced to resign. As far as I’m concerned, he got off easy. But Pierce doesn’t think so.”
“And he heard that you were the—”
“Snitch? Yeah.”
“I wouldn’t call it snitching.”
“Maybe you wouldn’t. But that was the word used.” I lean back against the counter, my palms wrapped around the warmth of the mug. “I also found how out many others in the sheriff’s office thought I should have just looked the other way. Let it go. Lost a lot of respect for them. And lost quite a few friends last year.”
His eyes are glowing fiercely. “I hope I’m not in that number.”
“No. Not anymore.” But when he was a part of that number, he was by far the one that hurt the most. “Anyway. Pierce has been a part of this dinky motorcycle club for a long time—a riding club, more than anything. But about two years ago, a chapter of the Eighty-Eight Henchmen got”—I imitate an explosion—“down by La Pine. Since then, they’ve had stragglers coming up here and joining with Pierce’s dinky outfit.”
“Eighty-Eight Henchmen?”
“You hear of them before?”
“Not real up to date on my local criminal organizations.”
He will be soon enough, living here with me. “Just some bad shit,” I tell him. “White supremacist club running drugs, guns, girls. Not Pierce’s crew. Not yet, as far as I know. But with these new guys coming in from the Eighty-Eight with their old contacts in hand, it won’t be long until they try.”