Page 574 of Hell Hath No Fury
“Back in,” I instruct Murphy, “and then I’ll approach the door. You stay at the gate, eyes on the front and back. Make sure you can see the edge of his handlebars, see if they move.”
He nods.
“I’m bettin’ he’ll send his old man to the door—if anyone. Here’s prayin’ we can appeal to the man’s sense of morality.”
“Providin’ he’s not the one Digits got his arrogance from,” Murphy mutters.
My thoughts exactly. If momma is the one involved with the church, chances are Digits learned his ways from his father. “We ready for this?”
Timmy runs a hand through his mop of curly black hair, tight-lipped as he nods. Murphy answers with a roar when he turns Hooch’s engine over. If he’d hoped to sneak up on theplace, he would have had to walk in from fucking Fort Worth with the exhaust system on that goddamn thing.
“Let’s go get our boy, then.”
CHAPTER NINE
Beth
Hooch carries Dagne into the house wrapped in a blanket, her messed-up hair strewn across her face, mud staining the single arm I can see amongst the bundle. She doesn’t make a sound when he passes by, heading for the stairs—no whimpers, no cries.
My heart seizes at the implications.
“Meghan, I need clean clothes,” I instruct. “Something loose.”
She nods, black-lined cat eyes narrowed with her fierce determination as she turns to complete the task.
“Delilah. Fix up a pitcher of juice. Something with sugars for her. And put electrolytes in it.”
Our short, curvy redhead nods once. “On it. Any food?”
“Something plain. Graham crackers, if we have any.”
“Sure.” She darts from the foyer as the crash of Hooch kicking open his bedroom door echoes down to where I stand.
I love our girls. Our little family. We might bicker and bitch or get jealous over the men from time to time, but when one of us is in need, we rally together without question.
My hips ache as I leap the stairs two at a time following after Hooch, but the pain is worth the urgency to find out how badly Dagne is hurt—what we deal with. I snatch the first aid I’d left on the side table at the landing, and march down to where I can hear Hooch stride around the master suite. He paces across the room, gathering a warm washcloth, and more blankets, kickinga box of matches toward the open fireplace that sits center in his room.
“Has she been properly looked at yet?” I ask, lifting the blanket from his arms.
He meets me with reddened eyes and takes a moment to breathe before answering. “Not enough light there, or in the truck.” Unlike times before where his gaze would be bloodshot from one too many rounds on the coke, I get the distinct feeling it’s raw emotion that wearies him.
“You wash her off.” I ditch the kit on the bed beside her, noting Dagne’s closed eyes and even breaths. “I’ll look her over.” If only to save him further heartache, not just to settle my concerns for her.
I arrange the blanket over her legs, creating a mountain on the bed, and start at the top of her head. She might be filthy from dirt and dust, but as Hooch carefully cleans her face and neck, I’m relieved not to find any bruising around her eyes or mouth. She has superficial cuts and abrasions, but nothing serious until I uncover her arms.
“Are these…?”
“Splinters,” Hooch confirms. He pauses washing her down, setting the cloth aside on the nightstand. “She was fuckin’ tied to a post like a goddamn stray dog.” He jerks to his feet, crossing quickly to the fireplace. “Naked as the day she was born.” His voice wavers, and he stacks logs into the firebox.
I draw a deep breath, glancing between Dagne and Hooch while he scrunches newsprint and shoves it into the gaps. He hurts for her, and I imagine it’s torture having her blacked out and unresponsive; unable to speak her piece.
“They have him?” I ask softly, reaching into the kit for the tweezers.
He strikes a match and lights the bundles in turn as he answers. “They’re lookin’ for him.”
Damn.If Digits wasn’t around when they got to her, there’s no telling how far he’s gone. “Who’s looking?”
“Crackers rode out. Not sure who he has with him.”
