Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 72154 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 361(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72154 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 361(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
It’d been a very long time since I’d seen him, but it was obvious that he’d aged well.
As had I.
I lifted myself out of the bed, and he pulled a gun out from his pants before I could get my feet fully on the floor.
“I don’t think so.”
I snarled at him. “Fuck you.”
“What makes you think you can live a good life?” he asked, leaning forward. “What gives you the right? You took everything from me. My woman. My son. You made me do what I did. I don’t ever bluff, and you forced my hand with your sister. My kid has absolutely nothing to do with me, do you know how that feels? And now I get to watch on the news how you and your little girlfriend found a fucking serial killer? Fucking seriously?”
I didn’t know what to say to that.
I was happy. Deliriously so.
I was also pissed.
How the hell had I not found out that he’d gotten out? I wouldn’t say I was in good with the cops, but I wouldn’t say I wasn’t in with them, either. They knew—not just suspected—what this man had done to my sister and mother. They knew, yet their hands were tied. There were only so many ways they could fix it, and they had punished him with what they could punish him with—which apparently was only twenty years instead of the promised thirty.
I was supposed to have ten more years before I had to worry about him.
Then my stomach sank.
Kayla was gone, but she was supposed to be back within the hour.
I swallowed, wishing I had my gun on me.
But, again, my concealed carry weapon was taken after I’d shot the serial killer—who was surprisingly down the hall just two doors down.
They’d bagged it up in an evidence bag and promised to return it once the investigation was over—which was likely going to be for a while since this man had hit so many fucking states. There was a possibility that I’d never see it again.
And I’d never wished so hard for an inanimate object in my life.
“I saw my son was on a professional baseball team now. Maybe I should go hit him up.”
My hand that was free of an IV clenched in the sheets.
“Nothing to say to that, motherfucker?”
“Gunner will never give you the time of day. Not after what you did to his mother. I don’t think that needs to be said, though. I’m sorry if you’re more stupid than you look,” I replied, my tone even, but my heart pounding inside of my chest so hard that it felt like it was rocking my body.
Raglan leaned forward, and I just barely checked the urge to lift my leg and try to kick him.
I could’ve probably done it, but he wasn’t close enough to get a solid shot on him.
That, and I could barely pick up my leg.
Everything on me felt like it was attached to a ton of bricks. Even my thoughts were sluggish.
Stupid fucking pneumonia.
“Saw you saved a kid’s life, too. Boy, have you been busy trying to redeem yourself,” Raglan continued as if I hadn’t just insulted him. “Saw that pretty girl that you were banging, as well. You think she wants to take a ride on the Raglan Train?”
I did kick him, then.
He fell back and hit my IV pole, which immediately ripped the IV from my arm.
I didn’t notice the pain, though.
Nor did I notice the door to my room being pushed open.
I might very well not be able to get up from this, but I was about to fuck him up, even if I had to die doing it. If there was one person on this planet who wasn’t going to be harmed—it was Kayla. Not now, not ever.
I’d do everything in my power to make sure that it never happened, even make a deal with the devil himself.
Raglan laughed as he got back up. “You have the power of a kitten right now, and you think you can best me? Bitch, I’ve been in prison for twenty years just waiting for this day.”
Then he got up and started to stalk over to the bed.
I had the call light in my hand and raised it.
Raglan laughed.
Then fell to the ground when a chair came swinging at his forehead.
I opened my mouth, closed it, then opened it again as I stared at the man that had been standing at Raglan’s back.
Bryce ‘Loki’ Rector was standing there, chair in hand, chest heaving.
His eyes were on Raglan, and they were not friendly.
The scar on his neck was vivid and clearly on display—not that I was sure he cared what people thought of his scar.
We stared at each other for a few long seconds before Raglan moaned and started to get up.
That was when Loki brought the chair down on him again, this time something inside of him clearly snapping with the move.