Page 55 of Ruining Her (McKinley Ranch Duet 1)

Josh

I’ve been looking into finding out everything I possibly can about Trent Owens—the name Emily was looking up on my laptop. Her search didn’t bring any results. So far, I’ve managed to discover he’s a dirty fucking cop who lives in Adelaide. What the fuck is his connection to Emily?

She also searched her own name, which again, brought up no results. Just like Sam said, it’s as if Emily never existed. I know that she’s been abused. I can see the signs. I can still see the slight yellow bruises. If it was this Trent asshole who caused them, I at least now have a target to unleash my demons on.

Then I remember that there is someone else deserving of my wrath. Someone here on this farm who I’ve yet to deal with.

I make my way to the shed where that fucking stable hand is being kept on ice. The stale stench assaults me as soon as I walk through the doors. The smell of faeces and piss (as well as the stench of the fucker’s fear) hangs in the air.

Pulling my shirt over my head, I hand it to one of the guys standing at the door. In return, he gives me a questioning look. “It’s one of my favourites. I don’t want to get blood on it.” I shrug.

“What’s your name?” I ask the fucker who’s hanging limply from the chains.

One of his eyes is already swollen shut. He stares at me through the other, as he contemplates how to answer the simple question.

“It really doesn’t matter either way, but I do prefer to know the names of stupid cunts. I’d hate to one day call my children the name of some dead fucker who should have known better.”

I walk slowly over to the table, which is currently housing a lineup of knives. I pick up a big, heavy, serrated blade and weigh it around in my hands. Putting it down again, I choose a lighter one.

Just for dramatics, I pick up the whetstone and start polishing the blade, even though it’s already razor sharp.

“You still haven’t given me a name,” I say as I stop in front of the fucker.

“Glen. The name’s Glen.” He shakes as he speaks.

“Glen, how long have you worked here?” I ask him.

“Three years, sir,” he says proudly. I’m not sure what the fuck he’s proud about.

“Three years. I’m sure within those years, you’ve heard of how I can sometimes be a little… unstable. So why the fuck would you think it’s a good idea to corner my girlfriend in a fucking stable in her own home?” I scream.

The word girlfriend does not sit well with me. Emily is so much more than a girlfriend, although I’m not sure there is a word to describe what she is to me. I might settle for wife. I wonder if I can get away with a quick wedding like my brother somehow managed. He married Ella over a fucking dinner with her family. Papers signed, sealed and delivered within hours.

“I-I-I didn’t know she was your girlfriend, sir.”

“So that makes it all right? You didn’t know she belonged to me, so you have the right to scare her and trap her in a stable?” I ask.

“No.”

“That’s right. Unfortunately for you, she does belong to me, which means I plan on making an example out of you. I can’t exactly have people thinking they can mess with what’s mine. Especially her.”

I walk around him, debating what I’m going to do first. All of my pent-up anger, resentment and frustrations are about to be unleashed on this fucker.

* * *

Three hours,that’s how long I dragged out Glen’s death, keeping him conscious enough to know what was happening and that the end was near, but not giving him the out he so desperately begged for. It was gruesome—probably some of my best work yet.

I had three men in that room run for a trash can to empty their stomachs. I’m debating whether or not I need fuckers that weak on my security detail. If they can’t handle a little blood and guts, then what good are they?

Finally showered, in clean clothes and sitting back at my desk, I’m about to start digging into this Trent fucker when Paul enters the office.

“Ah, boss?” he asks pensively, stepping inside with a look I don’t ever like to see on the face of my head of security.

“What happened?” I ask, getting up and walking around the desk.

“Nothing, yet. But Mrs. McKinley and Emily are about to head into town. They're planning on going to Hughes Pub,” he says.

“Ella and Emily are going to Hughes? Follow them, but not close enough that they know. I want at least five men placed around the pub before they even enter.” Picking up my wallet, phone and keys, I’m out the door.

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