Page 93 of Reclaim (Deadly Hearts 3)

ChapterForty-Three

Ruby

Voicemail.

I clutch the phone in my fist and shake it at nothing in my anger.

Fucking Giselle. She is a first-class bitch, and she is about to find herself six feet under. I call my mom again but still voicemail.

Ignoring the knocking on the door, I go to the window and climb out. Seriously, I need to get a French Door built in for easier escape. Casting my gaze to the path along the back of the house, I see it has been scrubbed clean of Maribel’s blood. Thank fuck.

I shove my phone in the back pocket of my jeans and storm over to the shed at the bottom of the pretty garden.

Yanking open the door, I peer inside the gloom and spotting the shovel, I snatch it up and slam the door shut, shaking the wooden structure perilously.

Turning to the flower bed right next to it, I start to dig. Methodically, angrily, focused and silent.

And also sweating.

Lots and lots of sweating.

Who knew it was such hard work to dig a hole?

“What are you doing?” Ramsey asks, appearing by my side with a creepy looking urn.

I brush my hair and sweat out of my eyes with the back of my arm and grimace. Leaning on the shovel, I give him a filthy look. “Digging a grave, what does it look like?”

“Well, fuck,” he says with a smirk. “Mind if I piggyback on it?”

I pause, eyeing up the urn. “What for?”

“This bitch,” he says, shaking the urn about like he’s Tom Cruise in Cocktail.

I can’t help the snort of amusement that erupts.

“There’s that smile,” he says smugly. “Those clowns in there would have you either in tears or a rage-fueled rant right now.”

“Those clowns don’t know how to handle me like you do.” I give him a seductive smile, but sadly, this grave isn’t going to dig itself.

I turn back to the small hole and start flinging dirt to the side with the shovel.

“Need some help?” he asks after a minute or two.

“Nope.”

“Working off your anger?”

“Yep.”

“Manage to speak to your mom?”

“Fuck off.”

“I’ll take that as a no.”

“Voicemail. Not for lack of trying. She’s probably avoiding me, humiliated and embarrassed.”

“Are you?”

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