“I don’t give a fuck.”
“Well you’re no good to any of us dead.”
I toss him back against the couch. He groans but whatever drug he did must have some type of upper because he sits up and his pupils are so wide that they cover his icy blue irises.
“I don’t care…”
“You have to care.”
Ruger shakes his head. “She’s pregnant with another man’s kid. The Nazi guy? He was the guard at her prison. Can you fucking believe it?”
“Does it matter?”
“No,” he says. “And I don’t need a fucking babysitter.”
He wipes the blood away from his nose and onto his pants. He might not need a babysitter, but he definitely needs some goddamn rehab. Or some other way out of his misery.
“I’m not here to babysit you. I’m here to make sure we don’t go to prison because of Darlene.”
“She’s my fucking wife. I can put her in the ground if I want to.”
He wipes his nose again and I try to remind myself that he’s high before I lose my shit and punch him. Gideon would have tried to maim him just for that line he just hit. Darlene… What Ruger ever saw in that skank, I’ll never understand.
“You can put her in the ground once we have what we need.”
Ruger grimaces. “I got her to tell me last week.”
He leans over the table and starts cutting up another line. I don’t know what part to react to first. I let him work on the line, just because he seems more likely to answer my questions if I don’t stand between him and his drug.
“Why is she alive then?”
“Because. I want that bitch’s baby. I’m gonna get the baby before I kill her.”
So it’s exactly like Oske said. Worse. How long does he expect to keep this woman captive and torturing her while pregnant? I didn’t see myself as the type to care but… it’s like a bit of Quin Nash weaseled its way into my head. And my heart.
“If you torture her, the baby could come out fucked up.”
Ruger wrinkles his hose. “How?”
“Brain development.”
“That’s a load of liberal bullshit,” he says. Then he does another line. I sigh. Oske’s demands for $1,400 sound more reasonable after a few minutes around Ruger.
I agree, liberals in this country are responsible for a lot of bullshit. Couldn’t tell you what exactly, but they cause a lot of problems. Doesn’t mean you can run around fucking with pregnant women.
“How far along is she?”
“Seven months.”
Damn.
Ruger gets up and whirls around towards the bedrooms.
“I should go talk to her again. Get the fucking truth…”
I grab Ruger’s shoulder. “You have the truth. And before I let you go in there and lose your head… I need you to tell me.”
Thirty-Six