Page 71 of Massacre
Present Day, Diamond Creek Sheriff’s Station...
“I was there for that part, asshole. I already fucking know what happened!” Reaper snarled at me as he slammed his hand down on the metal table.
“Well, I was setting the scene. You told me to tell you what happened. Well, you needed context.”
“I’m gonna give you context,” he grumbled, when the door swung open and in walked Sheriff O’Rourke, looking around.
“Is everything okay in here?”
“Just fine,” Reaper seethed, balling his fist until I could see the whites of his knuckles.
Smiling, I looked over at the sheriff. “Hey, Dec. Can I get somethin’ to eat? I’m hungry, and it seems my attorney is hangry, too.”
“I’m not a fucking Uber Eats, Massacre.”
“Pretty please? I’ll be good.”
Declan O’Rourke grumbled, muttering under his breath as he slammed the door behind him.
“You think this is a fucking joke, Massacre?” Reaper angrily whispered. “That motherfucker is charging you with first-degree murder.”
I shrugged. “He can’t. It was self-defense. The motherfucker had a knife. I was only protecting myself.”
“What they have is a dead motherfucker with you standing over his body holding the smoking gun!”
“Hmm... maybe it skidded away when I throat-punched him.”
“This isn’t a joke, Dwayne!”
At that, I stopped joking around. Reaper never, and I mean never, called me by my first name. It was always Massacre, or some variation of it, like dumbass, moron or asshole.
Holding up my hands, I sighed. “Fine. No more jokes. I will tell you everything, but first I need to set the scene. You see, everything was coming up daisies when I got back to the Powell Ranch...”
Reaper groaned as he dropped his head onto the table.
Chapter Thirty
Massacre
Powell Ranch, Diamond Creek, three weeks ago...
“Welcome to the Powell Ranch,” King firmly said as Cash, Tank, and Big Ben none too gently deposited me on the bed, in the small cabin in the middle of fucking nowhere. I thought I was gonna be recuperating at the clubhouse, but I guessed wrong. “Now for the rules. You are confined to this cabin. And what I mean by that is your ass is not to step one toe outside. I don’t fucking care if an F-5 super tornado is barreling straight for this cabin. Just bend over and kiss your ass goodbye. There is only one phone in this cabin. A landline that connects directly to the clubhouse. There are security cameras everywhere. If you fucking sneeze funny we will be alerted. There is a television, but it only gets PBS. Ellie and Ryder have graciously provided you with some books, and Charlie is letting you borrow her game ofChutes & Ladders.”
Grunting, I muttered, “What about food?”
“The cabinets are stocked.”
“Beer?”
“No alcohol.”
I huffed. “Just kill me now.”
“Don’t tempt me,” King snarked. “I mean it, Massacre. I’m not fucking around with you this time. Reaper and I have thought of everything. You are locked down until further notice, and to make damn sure your ass stays put, we are giving you an assignment.”
“What? You want me to knit something for you?”
“No, asshole,” King growled as his brothers chuckled. “You are going to protect Amber.”
