Page 132 of Pretty Broken Wings
I know your feelings may have changed, but mine haven’t, and you haven’t given me a chance to explain.
I just wanted love. You got so distant. You wouldn’t hug me, kiss me, or hold my hand. I know you told me not to do it, but that was just my way to feel intimacy. I fucked you because I cared, and I wasn’t going to let anything ruin us.
I miss you. Please. We can still fix this. A rebound is not the option. It means nothing.
Come home. I love you,
Max
I crumple the letter in my fist. The first time I read it, I could barely focus through the rage. Rich would come get me when he felt lonely. After, he would stroke my hair and tell me what a good son I was. About how he loved me. Then, he’d leave again until he needed his next fix.
But I felt lonely, too. And I was the most lonely when he was there.
And Max did that to Raven.
I’m standing outside his house. The idiot left a return address on it. So I called Dave up, offered him a promotion, and asked him to drive me to Raven’s old town. I had him drop me off a few blocks away, then told him to go.
Kill, kill, kill.
The hatred is boiling over in my chest. I don’t think I’ve felt more angry and helpless and fucking reckless. But someone elsemade Raven feel like this, too, and I absolutely won’t let that slide.
I drop the bag I brought in the front yard, lift the pink aluminum bat over my shoulder, and stride to the front door.
Knock knock, motherfucker.
CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT
“Who the fuck are you?” Max scrambles back into his living room, which is lit by the glow of the TV. The dim light makes it harder for me to see. That’s good. Every kill is a ten out of ten if you can’t see it exactly.
“You’re shorter than I thought you’d be.” I stalk after Max. Short and bald. Jesus, Raven. Swinging way below your caliber.
“Get the fuck out of my house!” He shuffles in his pocket for his phone, I presume.
“Hmm,” I muse. “How about no? Is that a word you understand?” I yank down my mask, a black piece that goes over my nose and mouth.
“What the–back off!” Max backs into the kitchen, hiding behind the island.
He’s a coward, but I didn’t expect anything less.
“Do I need to spell it out for you? N - O. Nope. Hell nah.” I tap the bat in my palm, enjoying the thrill of power that Max’s cowering gives me. He’s a lot like Rich—brave until there’s someone bigger in the room. And I am bigger. A hell of a lot bigger. I almost feel bad.
“It’s your turn, Max.”
To his credit, he grabs something off the island and hurls it at me. It hits my chest with a thud that pounds through my chest cavity. I glance down. An apple.
Slowly, a grin traces across my face. Damn. If I weren’t damn near blind, I could have hit that sucker right back at him with the bat.
I shrug, flipping the bat, praying I catch it and make it look cool.
I do.
Laughing, I stalk around the island.
“Fire!” Max yells, trying to dart to the living room where the open front door stands. “Someone help, fire!”
Oh, hell no. I spring after him, catching up right before he gets outside. Yanking him back by the collar, I slam the door shut.
Max scrambles to run the other way, but I’ve had enough. I slam the bat down into his moving form and make contact, the shock vibrating all the way up my hand and into my bones.
