Page 32 of His Big Bad Stick

Plus, I have cleaning people coming tomorrow anyway. I’ll throw them some extra cash for a deeper cleaning of the place.

I wrapped up Abrielle’s arm in an old t-shirt.

It’s the best I have to offer.

I hand her a glass of scotch. “Drink up.”

Her eyes look up at me. “Do you still hate me?”

Fuck…

“One of the trainers is coming over. He’s sort of a friend of mine.”

“You don’t really have friends, do you?”

“No. But he’s willing to help us out. In the meantime you’re going to tell me what the fuck is going on. I haven’t seen you in almost a decade, Abrielle. Now you jump in front of my truck. You’re covered in blood. You’re a fucking mess.”

“I know I’m a mess,” she says. “Do you think I wanted to come here? Do you think I wanted to ask for your help?”

“Then why did you?” I growl.

“Because you’re the only person who ever really helped me!” Abrielle yells.

She stands up and takes one step.

I grab her right arm and spin her around to face me.

Fuck, it’s got the same vibe as before.

The messy hair. The eyes. The nose. Her medium lips with the hairpin curves.

This natural beauty she has now and had back then.

My mind goes right into overdrive.

It’s different now, Colver.

There are no boundaries. No questions.

Nobody in the way.

“Someone hurt you, Abrielle,” I say.

“It’s not what it really seems though.”

“Right. That’s who you are? You make excuses for someone?”

“Fuck you, Colver.”

“You’re in my apartment. I didn’t ask for you to show up. You can get the fuck out right now. Take yourself to the hospital.”

Her eyes fill with tears.

She’s angry, but not at me.

I know what she wants from me.

All that meanness. All that aura of violence.

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