Page 39 of The Butcher

I jump and spin away from the window as Mona walks in, knocking on the door despite the fact that it’s already open.

“The day for what?” I clutch the collar of the robe she gave me—it’s soft and warm, and it’s baby blue—pulling it toward my throat as I frown. “Are you kicking me out?”

She chuckles and shakes her head before walking over to take my hand. “Sit with me for a minute, I think you’re going to need to when I tell you what’s happening.”

“Okay…”

Mona pulls me toward the bed and sits me on the edge, smiling brightly at me before taking a seat to my right. “You know you’re back to about ninety-nine percent, right?”

“Yes,” I say as I nod. “That’s what you told me, and I can feel it.”

“And you also know, I don’t live here? This isn’t my house?”

“Yes…”

She pats my hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. “Do you know who this house belongs to?”

I frown. “How could I? You’re the only one I’ve met since I’ve been here.”

“Exactly.” Mona sighs as those bright blue eyes shift between my own. “It’s time for you to meet them; it’s time for them to take care of you.”

“No.” I shoot up from the mattress and immediately start to pace. “No, I don’t want to meet anyone else. I don’t need to. You’ve taken wonderful care of me, I’m all healed up because of you. I don’t need to meet anyone else, and you can just take me to come live with you at your house. I won’t be any trouble, I’m good at taking orders and being quiet,” I say but quickly stop myself. As much time as I’ve spent with her, I haven’t told Mona about where I was before the snowy ravine. “Please, don’t leave me with a bunch of strangers. I… I…”

“Indy,” she says softly as she reaches for my hand again. “My dear, it’s been time. I’m not going anywhere but a couple miles away, and I’ll still be by several times a week to see you. I’d miss you too much if I wasn’t.” Mona winks then pats the mattress next to her. “You’re healed up, and you’re ready. Even if it doesn’t feel like it. And frankly, Indigo Rae, if I don’t leave this cabin soon, one of two things is going to happen. If not both.”

“Those things being?”

“I’m going to strangle my grandson.” She giggles at that and I can’t help but smile. “Or Pap is going to knock down another wall in our house, and when I finally go back, there won’t be anything but the shitter left.”

I snort into the back of my hand over her choice of words, giggling with this woman who’s become very dear to me. “That sounds terrible.”

“It is. I quit using outhouses years ago when indoor plumbing finally came to Obsidian, I’m not about to go back to it because my mate is going batshit crazy in his old age.”

“I still need to meet him, Maurice sounds like a trip.” I grin and shake my head, still holding her hand because it seems to be calming me down. “And a handful.”

Mona nods. “He’s both, always has been, and I love him as much today as I did when we met, but I won’t think twice about smacking him around for demolishing our house.” She squeezes my hand one more time then lets go and gets to her feet. “Are you ready, dear?”

My eyes go wide and my heart starts racing. “You want me to meet them now? Right this minute?”

“No time like the present.”

She doesn’t wait for my response, doesn’t wait at all, the little old lady just pushes up off the bed and hobbles to the door, opening it enough to poke her head outside of it and exchange words with someone.

With a stranger.

I think I’m going to be sick.

My ears start to ring as she pulls it wider, taking a few steps back to make room for… Oh, dear lord.

There are two men standing there, two very big men, and I can see a third pacing behind them, his posture the most imposing even from a distance.

She can’t seriously expect me to meet three strange men right now, can she? Not after the things she discovered during my many exams?

Mona isn’t stupid by any means, she’s one of the most intelligent people I’ve met—not that there have been a lot, but still—and I know she understands the permanent marks on my body despite not saying so. She can’t really expect me to be comfortable with this.

“Like we talked about,” Mona says to the two at the door, her tone firm but full of understanding. “Just Clayton.”

With a beaming, almost shit-eating smile on his face, the man in front—Clayton—picks up three large bags and takes a few steps into the room before he turns and salutes the men in the hallway as Mona closes the door.

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