Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 81250 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81250 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
“It matters.” I don’t bother looking at her. “If those guys drugged you and brought you upstairs with the intent to rape you, they got exactly what they deserved.”
Even without my eyes on her, I sense some truth in her opinion, but she still can’t be trusted. Cops will say anything, do anything, to get you to confess.
She sighs again when I don’t engage, but before long we’re pulling up to a small hospital.
“Have you been to the hospital here before?”
“Where are we?”
“Haverhill. I can walk you in, or you can go alone, but either way, the emergency room has to be used since it’s the middle of the night.”
“I’ll be fine.”
Climbing out of the car, I expect her to follow me inside, not to help in any way, but to get whatever evidence she could to take back to McGee to use against me. I’m still stunned that I’m entering the hospital rather than being tossed in a jail cell. They may not have enough evidence to hold me now, but I’m certain they’ll somehow find something to charge me with.
With one last look over my shoulder, I see Detective Martin pulling away. The sight of her taillights as she creeps through the mostly empty parking lot strengthens my resolve.
Why should she stick around? She doesn’t care about me. No one does.
Chapter 2
TJ
Not thinking things through, or more specifically, not caring what happens is sort of my thing. I’ve been this way for as long as I can remember. If an idea pops in my head, I go with it. Why worry about the what ifs? Fate, karma, whatever people want to call it, always has a way of sneaking in when you’re not looking and destroying your life anyway.
I was six years old when a toy gun caused my mother’s death. I barely remember her face, and I can no longer hear her voice when I squeeze my eyes closed. I think her blood covering me as a little boy is what kicked off my obsession, but I’m no psychologist. I know I’m fucked up. Everyone knows I’m fucked up, but pinpointing the cause isn’t really a concern of mine.
My motto? Have fun while there’s fun to have because life will eventually turn to shit in the blink of an eye. I may need to tweak that a little bit before Hallmark prints it, but at the end of the day, I know it’ll be a bestseller.
Not planning, not thinking, not caring is why I’m not questioning dropping Briar off at the clubhouse, only to turn right back around and head to Andover. After only fifteen minutes back home to scrub all the blood from my skin, I was on the road again.
We’d spent two days following the douchebags that drugged and attempted to rape my little sister Molly, but once we knew they were all at the same place, hosting another party where no doubt they were going to try something with another girl, we knew we had to intervene.
As I drive to the hospital closest to the frat house, I don’t let myself focus on what those pieces of shit may have been up to in the weeks since my sister returned home. The simple truth is, they won’t hurt anyone else.
My SUV idles in the darkness of the almost empty parking lot. The emergency room is the only entrance open this late, but there isn’t a cop car to be seen. After twenty minutes of no activity, I pull away, heading toward the police station. It’s been a couple hours since leaving that pretty girl in the frat house, but I can’t I understand why they haven’t taken her to the hospital.
Arriving at the police station just in time to see her walk to an unmarked car, she tugs the blanket closer to her skin before climbing inside. Only now does the cop car take the route to the hospital in Haverhill.
She has been drugged, has woken to a horrific sight, and yet it takes hours for them to get her medical care. My fingers twitch to open the door and slit the cop’s throat after she drops the girl off. The officer couldn’t even be bothered to go in with her. My hand is on the gear shift, ready to follow her to her demise, but the officer drives her car around the lot, putting it in park in the closest space to the entrance. Parking lights glint off the early morning dew beginning to accumulate on the other cars.
So we both wait. What feels like a lifetime later, the blonde walks back through the door. She’s now wearing a set of scrubs that swallow her tiny frame. Her hair is pulled back in a low ponytail, but even from this distance, I can see the honey-blonde streaks still coated with blood. My cock stirs in my jeans.