Page 577 of Hell Hath No Fury
“Let him know we’re back when he gets up, yeah?” I nod toward Hooch’s door and take a step back. “I’ll be… somewhere.”
“Sure thing, honey.”
Where that is, I won’t know until I find her.
My girl.
Beth.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Beth
The hot tap drips a soothing rhythm, the tiny vibrations tickling my knee where it pokes through the water. I can’t remember the last time I took long enough for myself to have a bath, but it’s a habit I need to instill if this is how fucking great my muscles feel.
Eyes closed, I sink a little lower and focus inward. On the soothing heat, the weightlessness of the water, and the stillness that is taking time to give a little self-care. The tension in my hips eases, although the pain remains a dull ache, unreachable in the very center of the joint. I rest my palms against my upper thighs, water swishing with my movements, and gently press the pads of my fingers into the taut tendons.
A groan slips free of my lips, and I press a little harder.
I can’t pinpoint when the pain started—it’s always been a part of my daily life. The dull ache reminding me that I do too much and I’m too many things. But the intensity has grown the past few months, noticeably since Heather died. At first, I put it down to too long in bed, sleeping. But the thought’s been on my mind this afternoon that maybe it’s something else.
The same thing that’s given me a dull headache the past few hours.
I open my eyes at the reminder and reach over the side of the old claw-foot tub for the capsule I left on my towel. The Advil slides down my throat easily, chased by a handful of fresh water from the cold tap. I’ve seen men crippled by addiction and ruined by the grip it has on them, which is why it seemsso ridiculous that I feel guilty taking these teal-colored fuckers daily.
I chuckle to myself and shake my head, sliding back into the water to enjoy what remains of the warmth.
“You a prune, yet?”
A wave crashes over the side of the tub thanks to my jerky movement, bringing my arms to cover my breasts and twisting my legs to cover my exposed mound.
Crackers pushes the door open with a thick finger, waiting until it creaks almost back to the stopper before he saunters into the bathroom. “You know it ain’t anything I haven’t seen before.”
I roll my eyes and rest my head against the tub again. “It’s different, though.”
“How?” The cocky fucker kicks the door shut again with the heel of his boot and then drags the little wooden footstool across the floorboards to sit beside the tub.
I cringe at the screech of wood on wood, ruing my lost silence already. “Because we’re not in the heat of the moment,” I explain, staring up at the ornately plastered ceiling. “I’m in here to relax, not be treated like a piece of meat.”
His face sours, brow diving. “That’s not how you think I treat you, is it?”
I roll my head toward him and pin him with a stare, lifting one eyebrow. “We fuck, and then I leave before you wake. It’s hardly anything else.”
He goes quiet—unusual for him—and stares down at his hands that hang loosely between his knees.
“Did you find him?” I figure a change of subject is warranted.
“Yeah.” He runs a ring-laden hand over the back of his head, ruffling his dark blond lengths. “He’s in the cottage.”
I draw my knees higher and sink a little lower into the tub. “He’s here, then?”
“He needs justice,” Crackers explains, lifting his head. “Hooch was clear he wanted the fucker alive.”
“Why?” Bullets have met brains over less. Heather is proof.
“I guess because he wants Dagne to have her say.” He shrugs. “How is she?”
My eyes glaze over as I stare pointlessly at the far lip of the tub. “In pain, physically and emotionally. As you’d expect.”
