Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 24601 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 123(@200wpm)___ 98(@250wpm)___ 82(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24601 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 123(@200wpm)___ 98(@250wpm)___ 82(@300wpm)
"Too bad." He hauls himself to his feet. "She doesn't need you to kill him. The truth dies if he does. She needs you to nail his ass to the wall and clear her name. Convince her to talk to Dillon. He can help."
Goddammit, I hate when he's right. It's a lot more fun for me when he isn't.
"Fine. But if he tries to arrest her, I might shoot the sheriff."
Flint just chuckles, slapping me on the back. "Everyone wants to shoot the sheriff, Blaze. We're all just smart enough to realize that we need him more than we need the momentary satisfaction of watching him howl in pain."
"When have you ever wanted to shoot the sheriff?"
He shoots me an amused look. "When haven't I wanted to shoot him, motherfucker? We're talking about Dillon here."
He's got a point there, too. Dillon Armstrong is a damn good sheriff. He's also the biggest pain in the ass in this town. He spends more time with his nose in everyone else's business than he does his own. And for some damn reason, we keep re-electing him.
It's a mystery to me, too.
"I'll talk to her," I sigh, scrubbing a hand through my hair. She isn't going to like it. I think that might actually be an understatement, but unfortunately, Flint is right. We need Dillon's help nailing Roger's ass to the wall.
"Saoirse and Letty are going shopping this afternoon. I'll ask Saoirse to pick up some things for Morgan," Flint murmurs, striding toward the door. "I assume she'll be staying here."
I hesitate, not sure Bishop will be thrilled with that since we bunk together, and then I remember that look in her eye in the bedroom—the one that said she was thinking of running.
"Yeah, she's staying here," I decide. "But she doesn't want new stuff. She wants her stuff. I'll go retrieve it from Burkett's."
"Good luck," Flint says, his laughter floating back to me as he ducks out the door.
I flip him off…but hell. I think I need more than luck. If I'm going to convince her to stay, not just until this is resolved, but permanently, I'm going to need a damn miracle. Because that girl has chaos written all over her. And I've never—not once in my damn life—been able to resist a little chaos.
Idon't need a miracle, I decide not even an hour later. I need rope and handcuffs. Maybe a dungeon to hold her wild ass.
"You should go wrangle something," she says as soon as she finishes eating, her eyes already on the door like she's plotting her escape. "Or ride something. Or whatever it is you do when you aren't kidnapping women."
"I didn't kidnap you, Calamity. I saved you."
"From Jon Bon Pony and his donkey sidekick?" She scoffs at me. "I was saving myself just fine, Blaze."
"Yeah?" I grin, placing myself between her and the door. "Is that why you decided to escape the stall by climbing over it?"
"There was another option?" she asks, completely serious.
I pinch the bridge of my nose, breathing steadily. If I don't, I may lose it. She spent two nights in a stall she didn't even know how to escape from. Jesus, take the motherfucking wheel. Please.
"The door was an option, Morgan."
"Couldn't reach the handle," she says with a shrug, her gaze climbing up and down my body like she wasn't just sizing up the window to see if she could make it. "Unlike you, I wasn't built to fight Godzilla."
Would she murder me if I fucked my kid into her right now? I want to do it, so badly my dick is screaming.
"Not even from whatever the fuck you stood on to climb over the door?"
"I…" Her face falls into a mask of pure chagrin. "I didn't think of that, actually."
I tip my head back, laughing up at the ceiling. Of course she didn't think of that.
Jesus Christ.
I've always been a pain in the ass. I know it. My friends know it. The whole goddamn universe knows it. I cause trouble just to make life interesting. And I've always figured that somehow, some way, I'd pay for it someday.
This is that day.
She has to be the world's way of paying me back for every prank I've ever pulled, every smart ass thing I've ever said, and every goddamn problem I've ever caused. She has to be.
Because it's not even eight in the morning, and I've never been this stressed in my life. I've also never wanted to keep being this stressed about someone else in my life.
"If I go to Burkett's to get your shit, are you going to behave?" I ask her.
She blinks at me, her mouth in a little O. "What?"
I prowl toward her, eager just to be close to her. "You heard me, baby. If I go get all of your stuff, are you going to be here when I get back?"