Page 6 of Slay Bells Ring

It was just as I thought: I didn’t get much sleep last night. By the time I was finally able to shut my mind off, it was probably well past midnight. Some sleep is better than no sleep, yes, but I’m a firm believer that a solid seven-to-nine hours can solve a lot of problems.

I’m antsy. How could I not be? The one thing I’ve dreamed of since that fateful night is so close I can taste it.

I changed into jeans and a thick sweater that falls past my ass; it hides the profile of the knife I keep on me. Like hell am I going to walk around this cabin without packing.

Don’t worry, though. I have a few other fun items in my suitcase. Kane and I are going to have some fun before I kill him. I’m going to drag the truth out of him, and then I’m going to kill him. The release I’ll feel once that fucker is dead will put every single emotion I’ve ever felt in my life to shame.

My phone is off to conserve its charge. No signal here, anyway. All that is to say I don’t know what time it is when I finally sit down at the small kitchen table with a protein bar and a newly-thawed bottle of water as my breakfast.

I’m about halfway through my protein bar when the other member of the cabin finally gets up and drags his sorry ass to the bathroom. He’s in there for a few minutes, and then he comes out, shuffling his feet as he draws toward the opposite end of the table. I immediately notice he’s wearing the same clothes as yesterday.

The man’s seen better days. He’s downright scraggly. He doesn’t look like a well-trained assassin. If I never met the man before and I saw him today, I’d think he was some kind of bum or a down on his luck man who just lost everything. The unkempt hair and beard isn’t doing him any favors.

“What’s that?” he asks, pointing to the wrapper of the protein bar. Kane still sounds half asleep.

“Protein bar,” I say. “Mine. Sorry, you can’t have any.”

What does the asshole do? He pushes himself to his feet, stalks toward the counter behind me, and tears into a box to grab himself one. I grind my teeth as I listen to him rip it open before he sits down across from me once more.

“Don’t tell me all you brought was booze,” I say dryly.

All Kane does is harrumph.

“Is that why you’re here? To drink your problems away?” Out of all the scenarios I imagined, I didn’t think I’d come across a drunkard. If all he does is drink, it’ll make this too easy—not that I’m complaining. The man is going to die here, mark my words. I can hear those slay bells now. Ring-a-ding-ding, motherfucker.

The only thing the man does is glare at me with those icy blue eyes as he bites into my bar.

“Look, I’m going to be honest with you: I don’t give a shit what you do, but I’m not leaving. I paid for this, so I’m going to enjoy myself while I’m here.” I lean back in my old, creaky chair and add, “I just want to relax. Since I have no signal out here, maybe we should learn to share the cabin.”

It’s hard to tell with the beard, but I’m pretty sure the man frowns at me. With a full mouth, he says, “How about you do whatever the fuck you want and you leave me alone?” Kane turns his head away before he mutters, “I just want to be left alone.”

“I should warn you, though: I’m not helpless. If you come at me, I know a dozen ways to take someone of your size down.”

That pulls Kane out of his pout, and his blue eyes land on me once again. “I can’t say I ever got threatened by a pint-sized woman before.” He finishes up the protein bar, leans back, and glares at me as he chews. “Your threat’s noted.”

The table falls into uncomfortable silence after that, and eventually Kane huffs, “I’m going to get more wood for the fire. Next round’s on you.”

I don’t say anything to that, but I do watch him grab his jacket, shove on his boots, and leave the cabin.

It seems Kane No-Last-Name is grumpy today. I wonder if I can make him even more miserable. Let’s put it to the test.

Chapter Four – Kane

The only reason I don’t drown myself in alcohol the moment I wake up is because I’m not alone in the cabin anymore. Georgina refuses to leave. The woman wants to share the fucking cabin.

Ugh. Maybe if I’m mean enough she’ll go away.

She can’t be here. I don’t want her here. Georgina being here ruins my plans, and with how badly I want this, I can’t let her fuck it up.

It’s hard to tell time when the sun is hidden behind a thick band of snow-dropping clouds and you don’t have a phone to display it constantly, but I do my best to guess when it’s near lunch. When Georgina goes for some crackers, I crack open a new bottle.

I sit on my recliner in front of the fire. I had to push her sofa bed aside, which she wasn’t too thrilled about. I don’t go for a glass; don’t need one. I sip straight from the bottle, holding back any grimaces that try to surface as the searing liquid burns my taste buds on the way down.

The last thing I want to do is get to know her, but maybe in doing so I can push some of her buttons and get her the fuck out of here, so when she comes to join me near the fire, sitting on the edge of her pull-out bed, I say, “You don’t look like someone who vacations in a cabin like this.”

Her green gaze darts to me, already narrowed. It seems merely existing in her presence pisses her off, so I might be closer to her throwing in the towel than I thought. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

All it takes is a quick glance in her direction to know she’s not the middle-of-nowhere type. Her auburn hair is perfect in the way it falls around her face, styled with a few highlights here and there. Her nails are done. The way she walks, how she holds her nose up a bit when she talks…

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