Page 575 of Hell Hath No Fury
I pause, tweezers an inch from Dagne’s arm. “He can’t do it alone, Hooch. Jesus, fuck. Not when Digits… when he…” I have to set the instrument down and focus on catching my breath. “Shit.”
Satisfied the fire has taken hold, he turns and returns to our side. “He won’t be alone, Beth.” His lips purse, nose twitching before he adds, “Not with how bad we all want the fucker to pay.”
Panic eased, I blink away the fog and nod toward his chest pocket. “I’ll need the torch on your phone. If you could hold it while I do this.”
He says no more, simply pulling the device free and lighting my work as I carefully and methodically set about removing the foreign reminders of Dagne’s trauma from her flesh. Mt stomach still knots at the thought of Crackers out there hunting down an unhinged bastard like Digits, but I need to remember that he’s big enough to look after himself. It doesn’t matter how I feel about the guy; it’s not my place to be concerned for him.
I’m not his lady.
Hooch and I work in amicable silence for a while, moving on to Dagne’s other arm before I glance at our president again and note how he watches her face, not where I work.
“She’ll be okay, Hooch.” I shift a lock of her hair off her forehead. “She’s a tough one, this girl.”
“It shouldn’t have happened,” he laments. “She told me what she needed and I let her alone. I ignored her pleas, Beth, and I gave her a reason to walk.”
I slide the last splinter from her forearm and set it in the sizeable pile on the spare pillow. “You didn’t let her do squat. She chose her path, believing if you were meant to be, it’d lead her home.” I shake my head and gesture for the washcloth. “I’dnever wish this on anyone, but here she is, with you.Thisis where you prove her worth to you.”
“I’ll warm this up.” He lifts the cold cloth in his hand and then rises.
He might not have said it, but the stiffness in his jaw reveals his resolve. I have no doubt Dagne will wake and find herself with a man hell-bent on making her his queen.
Right after he burns down the fucking world in her name.
“Is she awake?” Meghan whispers, creeping into the room. She glances around, curious given it’s the first time she’s crossed the threshold. “I found some sweats in Heather’s room. I hope that’s okay?”
I zero in on the pale gray pile in her arms, and frown, a wedge lodged in my throat. “Nope. I’m sorry, hon. But no way.” I flick my hand toward the door. “You need to find something else. Check my bottom drawer; I think there might be sweatpants and a T-shirt in there that’ll fit her.”
“Sorry, Beth.”
Hooch re-enters the room, the washcloth accompanied by a small bowl this time. “What for?”
“Wrong size,” I excuse, pointing to the sweats. “Meghan here was flattering our girl with a size too small.”
“Yeah.” She runs with the lie. “I’ll be right back.”
“Thanks, girls.” Hooch settles on the edge of the bed with such care the mattress barely protests under his broad bulk.
Meghan didn’t necessarily do anything wrong, but not only does it feel off using Heather’s possessions so soon after her loss, but there was no way in hell I’d dress a battered and abused woman in the clothes last worn by the woman who set off the chain of events that led us to this.
We’ve all suffered enough these past days. This woman especially.
There ain’t no need to add to that.
CHAPTER TEN
Crackers
His parents kept the fucker’s bike. Digits’ old man seemed satisfied when I told him to sell it for fucking scrap. They may as well get some positive out of this shitty situation, even if it’s only enough cash to pay their next grocery bill.
I was taken aback when his mom opened the door. Even more surprised to find they’d slipped the asshole enough valium in his coffee to have the fucker sleeping it off in a bedroom while they figured out what to do with their sinner son.
I’m sure the poor woman knew it would be the last time she saw her baby when we slapped him awake and prepped him for the road. The despair in her eyes as she turned away indicated enough, even before she left the room to avoid seeing us restrain Digits for the ride.
Hands bound behind his back and anchored to his waist, he rode home two-up with Murphy. If the fucker lost his balance and hit the tarmac, then that would be his problem, not ours. By some miracle, he stayed on, even without a sissy bar to brace his position.
We only had to stop once to shove a bandana in his mouth after he bit Murphy on the neck. I can’t tell if the fucking asshole thought it would be a diversion to get away, or if he did it out of pure hate.
Either way, I enjoyed the sound the back of my hand made when it cracked across his face. An action I itch to repeat now that we’re home
