Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 70554 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70554 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
It’s impossible not to jab back as I shove the key in the ignition. “Keep smiling, fucker. You’re. Next.”
“Can’t hear you,” he loudly proclaims on a slamming of my door shut. “Too busy making millions and sleeping with supermodels.”
Flashing him my middle finger receives one last round of chortles and him wandering off for his own vehicle.
After turning my truck on, I grab my phone from my pocket to check for possible clients yet discover two more missed calls from Post and one from The Kid.
Shit.
Calls from Post are one thing.
The man calls if one of his plain clothes fucking thinks a bird is flying around too much.
But Kid?
Kid rarely calls.
Text?
All the goddamn time.
But a call?
A call means there’s a real problem.
Alarm swiftly begins spreading along my spine as I hit the green button to reach him.
What if it’s Rabbit?
What if something’s wrong with her?
Or the baby?!
What if that motherfucker got to her while she was shopping?!
Hurt her?!
Our little thing?!
I knew she shouldn’t have been going fucking anywhere on her own!
Relief is briefly offered in the form of hearing Kid’s voice calmly answer, “Woods.”
“Kid,” I forcefully state, to help indicate who’s calling, “what’s going on?”
“We need you,” he retorts without hesitation but pauses prior to reiterating, “I need you.”
“Where?”
“Population sign.” His small sniffle has my heart stopping. “There’s a body.”
My voice turns into almost all air. “Tell me it’s not Rabbit’s.”
“It’s my mom’s.”
Chapter 21
Kipp
H
E
R
E
And because using my mom’s literal remains isn’t fucked up enough of a greeting, this sick, twisted fuck displayed her arms at the ends, wide open, like they’re welcoming him to town right beside the population sign.
Bile burns up the back of my throat prompting me to ball a fist and place it against my lips to keep it down.
“These are most definitely human remains,” Dr. Arlando Raum, the ME from Crystal Waters, decisively concludes from where his rounder, large frame is squatting beside the message. “I see femurs.” He extends his glove covered fingers to point out their location. “Tibias.” His presenting shifts. “Rib pieces that if put together would probably assemble into a short, narrow ribcage, indicating those bones – at least – were likely to have been taken from a female.”
This time there’s no stopping the vomit from spewing out of my mouth and onto the feet of Bunny who doesn’t scream.
Doesn’t shout.
Doesn’t even flinch away as chunks from the burger I had for lunch land on the edges of her scribbled-on shoes.
Using the back of my wrist, I wipe away the left behind droplets in tandem with lifting my head to meet her gaze. “Baby, I’m-”
“Don’t, Kid.” She stretches out the edge of her chunky baby pink sweater and clears away whatever dribbles I’ve missed. “They’re just shoes.”
Her lack of disgust with me or what I’ve done merely encourages the tears that I’m incapable of stopping to break free.
Hit the corners of my eyes.
Make themselves seen on my lids.
Shinier in the sun.
My girlfriend’s slow nodding barely precedes her tightly winding both arms around my torso, wordlessly informing me it’s okay to cry.
To be sad.
Weak.
Except I’m not fucking weak.
I’m heartbroken and pissed and vengeful and making a long list – that I’ll be checking twice like I’m goddamn Santa – of all the fucking things I plan to do to this prick when we find him.
Road hauling him out of town is the first thing that comes to mind.
Tying one end of him to my car and the other to Nolan’s truck and driving in opposites directions is another.
Maybe we’ll have him drink a cocktail of motor oil and power steering fluid first.
Tiny hot breaths hit my torso pushing me to momentarily close my eyes and embrace Bunny in return. I rest my cheek against the top of her head and suck in deep breaths, adoring the scents of peppermint and evergreen and cinnamon that attached themselves to her when she was at Posie’s shop earlier, enjoying her afternoon.
Having a life.
Living. Life.
I swear it’s like this piece of shit lemon knew he hadn’t been getting to us lately and needed to correct that.
“Thinkin’ this is the coccyx,” Dr. Raum states, pulling my attention back to him.
“I didn’t think the cock had bones,” Post rebuts in an amused grunt. “Guess you learn something new every day.”
Dr. Raum shakes his head in disbelief before explaining, “Human males do not have a bone in their penis – unlike other mammals – however, the coccyx is this one right here,” he gestures to part of the R, “which is technically several vertebrae fused together.” His bright blue gaze oscillates between me and Post. “The fact the individual chose something this…small…this…particular to include in their message indicates – in my professional opinion – this was meticulously planned. The coccyx isn’t just a random, easy to reach or manipulate bone. It’s tiny. And hard to locate without training. And not the spur of the moment pick when in a hurry.”