Page 327 of Bad for Me

“You remember my wife?”

I raise an eyebrow at him, and he continues. “Well, she’s my ex-wife, and she’s going to take me to court for abuse.”

My hackles rise, and I realize now that my brother’s anger has finally gotten the best of him.

“Wasn’t this the woman you fell in love with because she was some kind of miracle worker or something?”

“Yes. But she fucking made my kids goddamn wusses. I had career paths set and locked. And, of course, the bitch decided that the kids should have free way of thinking. She divorced my ass, and I went after her, but she survived. Our kids are out of the house. They’ll never miss her. I need you to teach my wife a lesson about humility and that her place is under my thumb. Call it my Christmas present.” He fidgets, which makes me realize he may not be telling the whole truth, but this is my brother.

What. The. Fuck?

He can’t be serious. The woman literally helped him pass through college and everything. “You can’t be serious.”

I’m a lot of fucking things, but I’m not a kidnapper or abuser. Hell, I’d rather be back in prison. “Do you want a life outside of prison or not, little brother?”

Ah, there it is. The threat of my life for what he wants to be done. He knows I don’t want to go back there. It’s hell. “You know I do.”

He nods like it’s a done deal. “Perfect. You will get a shower, shave your face, and head out to Hill County. There’s a cabin in the mountains up there where she’s staying. Confirm you’ve beaten her into submission, and you can have the cabin. Live your life in the wild like the animal you are.”

I want to tell him to fuck off, but if this means freedom, then I guess I’m going hunting.

* * *

Twenty-six hoursafter getting out of prison, I’m hiking in a fucking blizzard up a mountain to kill someone.

What a fucking joke.

Then again, the five million in my duffle bag and the pardon signed by my brother make it worth it.

Except there’s something in my consciousness telling me that I need to think about what I’m doing. Ignoring it, I see the snow thinning out a little and the smoke of a fireplace blowing into the air.

Peeking at the picture one last time, I memorize the woman. She has the curliest black hair with a few strands of gray at the temple. Rosie is only forty-one, but she had a heart condition when she was younger, and it caused one temple to turn gray.

I think it makes her look unique and sexy. Her face is round, and she has cherry lips. I wonder if I could coax her into having sex before I killed her. An evil thought passes through me, and I shake it off. I will not fuck a dead person. Goddamn, this time in prison has changed me. And not for the better.

As I get closer, I notice that there’s only one way in and one way out of here. Why is she locked up here? It’s interesting to me that a woman would come out here to such a remote location. Call me a pig or whatnot, but Rosie looks like the girl who lives at a spa.

Stashing my duffle bag behind the pile of wood that’s on the porch, I slip around to the side of the cabin to see how many windows there are. I find one in the kitchen, but it’s too high. That’s a surefire sign that it’s used simply for light and not an escape route.

The back of the cabin is butted up against the woods, and there’s one window in the left-hand corner. I peek in and see that my target is sleeping. There are bars on the window, and I smirk.

Perfect.

There truly is only one escape route, then.

4

ROSIE

Fire going?Check.

Hot chocolate? Check.

Kindle fully charged? Check.

I laugh at myself as I run through my mental list. It’s how I stay organized and together. Running around amuck just doesn’t cut it for me. Even if it’s for sitting down and reading a book.

The wind picks up outside as I curl into the couch and start reading a book about a professor trying not to fall for her student. I’ve always loved the taboo nature of teacher and student.

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