Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 75193 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75193 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
When I was sure he understood that I would not hesitate to shoot, I dropped my arms and started to back away.
The man, though, proved himself to be a dumbass when he revved his engine, rocking the old, restored Pontiac sideways with the force of the motor’s revolutions.
That’s when I smiled.
There are a few things you should know about me.
I’m a cop.
I’m always armed.
And I have a hell of a temper once it gets going.
It takes a lot for me to get pissed off, but threatening a woman is on the top of the list of things that’ll get me right out of that zone of understanding.
The zone of understanding where I was in control, being diplomatic and respectful.
Now? I was way out of the zone of understanding. Now I was in what I called the ‘red zone.’
My sister called it my asshole territory zone, but whatever.
I was pissed off enough to shoot the motherfucker, but I instead did the diplomatic thing and shot the man’s car.
One shot went to the radiator. The next went to his left front tire. The third to his front right tire.
The car started to smoke as liquid started to pour out of his radiator, hitting the ground in splashes of green slime.
Then the little bastard, and by little, I mean really little, jumped out of his car, swinging his fists and screaming.
“I called the cops!” he screamed.
I laughed, which obviously wasn’t the smart thing to do.
Freya’s soft hands touched my unbandaged arm, and I looked down at her out of my peripheral vision, keeping most of my attention on the short, fiery bastard in front of me.
I stored my firearm in my jeans waistband where I knew I could get to it easily if the bastard tried to do anything shady, and Freya’s grip loosened.
Her soft sigh got me in the heart, though, and I worried that I’d scared her.
The next comment out of her mouth, however, disproved that theory.
“You stupid mother humper!” she screamed at the man. “You were going to run over my dog!”
Mother. Humper.
Yep, I heard that right.
“Bitch,” the stupid guy hissed. “I was going to take care of your infestation problem which keeps leaking to my properties.”
“I don’t have an infestation problem, Mr. Craddock,” she informed him viciously. “You, however, have a rat problem that is affecting my property. I’ve done all that I can to prevent them from coming on to my properties, but the pest control company I hired said that there isn’t much more we can do on our end, other than pray that you get your problem under control.” I looked back and forth between the two of them, listening to each of them hurling accusation after accusation at the other until the cops pulled up.
By then, there was a crowd outside, and I hooked my arm around Freya’s hips and pulled her, with the dog wedged in between us, in the direction of the cops.
There were lights everywhere, so it wasn’t surprising that the men knew me even before I got within fifteen feet.
“What the fuck, Walker. I thought you were long gone,” Luke, the chief of KPD, called to me once he realized who I was.
I offered him my bad hand, only letting my eyes hood slightly at the pain I felt from his grip as he shook it.
He took my hand, shook it, and then dropped it before turning his eyes to the little shithead who followed us.
“Craddock,” Luke drawled. “Why the hell am I not surprised to find you in the middle of this?”
I ground my teeth as Craddock started to hurl even more accusations, which caused Freya to curl into herself further.
She was like a beaten dog, only moving out of sheer reflex.
It seemed that the more people talked down to her, the less likely it was that she’d stand up straight ever again.
An hour later, with a warning from Luke not to discharge my weapon inside the city limits ‘accidentally’ again, I was standing with Freya on her front walk, looking down at the big box of lights at our feet.
“Christmas was really important to me and my brother,” she murmured softly. “My mom died when I was three, and my dad raised us until he died when I was fifteen. He had cancer.”
Those were the first words she’d spoken since I’d shot the prick’s car up two hours ago, so I didn’t say anything, knowing she had more to get off her chest.
She pulled on a strand of lights, tugging it to the front stoop where she started to clip them onto the pre-set hooks that must’ve been there from the year before.
My hope was if I continued to hang the lights with her, that she would continue to talk and get the things off her chest that she needed to, leaving me with the ability to sleep tonight rather than sit and worry about her.