Total pages in book: 154
Estimated words: 148220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 741(@200wpm)___ 593(@250wpm)___ 494(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 741(@200wpm)___ 593(@250wpm)___ 494(@300wpm)
30
Maxine
I don’t want to get out of bed. But I do.
I don’t want to take a shower. But I do.
I don’t want to start crying again while I’m in there. But I do.
Then I turn the shower knob to full cold and let the icy water cascade over my face. It helps. A little.
I don’t look into the mirror before I leave the bathroom. I don’t know that girl, anyway. Brown hair and red eyes, and a brother who isn’t alive. I don’t ever want that girl to be me.
But I want that girl to be the last thing Papa ever sees.
I pack up my things and head downstairs. My steps falter at the bottom. I need to go left, but to the right is an open door leading to a kitchen—and Stone’s sister, putting a bowl into the fridge, then glancing up and spotting me.
Shit. But I need to ask, “Where should I find him?”
Ah god. My voice sounds like a clogged drain.
“In the garage. But, uh, Maxine…” Sympathy pinches her expression. “I’m so sorry about your brother.”
That doesn’t help the mess in my throat, but I can’t think about Matt now. Only what’s ahead. Or else I’ll start crying again. “Thank you. And, um…I’m sorry that you were attacked. And for my part in luring Stone.”
Gently she says, “Honestly, it doesn’t sound like you had a choice.”
“There was a choice.” The laugh that breaks from me sounds a little like a sob. “Bad options to choose from, maybe. But I still made the choice. So I’m sorry.”
“All right, then. You want any coffee?”
Even if I did, I couldn’t swallow past the lump in my throat. I shake my head.
“Okay.” She points to the door behind me. “Garage is that way.”
I get out as quickly as I can. The frigid air bites into my hot cheeks and stinging eyes. Frozen grass crunches under my boots as I make my way to the detached garage—though now that I’m out here, I don’t need the direction. He’s got music playing, bass thumping hard enough that I’m not surprised he doesn’t hear me open the side door. Inside are two motorcycles, including the one we rode last night, a workbench topped by an array of tools, and an area full of exercise equipment.
And this is so familiar. Yet not familiar at all. Stone’s stripped to the waist, sweat gleaming over his skin as he pounds a heavy bag. But when he used to work out in the barn, he was so methodical about it. Controlled. Now he’s just laying into the bag, each blow hard and vicious and fast, as if he’s picturing Papa at the other end. The way he’s going, though, it’s hard to tell whether he’s beating the bag or if the bag is beating him.
Daisy alerts him to my presence, looking up from where she’s chewing on a rawhide strip and bouncing over when she sees me. Stone pivots away from the swinging bag, every muscle in his torso and arms jacked. His intense gaze is all over me, lingering for a second on my eyes before he strides over to a table, taps the screen of his phone. The music from the speakers falls silent, filling the space with his heaving breaths and Daisy’s pants as I crouch and give her pettings.
“All right?” He’s looking me over again, wiping the sweat from his face with the back of his forearm. “Figured you’d sleep longer.”
“I can’t.”
Oh god, and my throat. That sounded as raw as I feel.
His face softens. “Feeling like you need to get shit done?”
I nod.
“We’ll get started, then.” He picks up a gallon jug of water—already half empty—still eyeing me as he chugs some more. “You got a driver’s license anywhere?”
My chest tightens. “No. Matt tossed my purse into a trash can when he realized we were being taken. So they wouldn’t know my real name—or learn his.”
“Smart.”
“He was.” And shit. Shit. I bury my face in Daisy’s neck, take deep breaths. Finally look up again. Stone’s watching me, that intense gaze dark, his body utterly still. “Do we need ID?”
He nods before dragging a sleeveless T-shirt over his head. “The way I figure it, Creek will put someone on us. Watching everything we do, looking for any excuse to haul us in—and hoping for anything that’ll give him leverage. So driving around without a license or using fake ID is a bad idea right now.”
“Do I need to drive?”
“Shouldn’t.”
“What about a getaway car?”
Abruptly he grins. “If we get to that point, we’ve got bigger problems than no driver’s license.”
That’s probably true. And getting a replacement license might take a couple of weeks—I don’t want to wait weeks.
“Okay, well…I have a passport in storage. And a birth certificate. And some money, but that’s in a bank.”