Page 84 of The Woman with the Target on her Back (Grassi Family)

So I cleaned up after my mom’s cooking. I unpacked my shit from the trip, setting up the new suits to go to the dry cleaner’s.

Smush would handle that.

I paid bills and checked in on some jobs I’d been working on before I left town.

I did some laundry.

I did anything in my fucking power to keep myself busy, to not think about the way Traveler left with her father like it was no big deal.

Was that an act?

Or was it actually no big deal to her?

And why the ever-loving fuck did it seem to be a big one to me?

“Fuck,” I hissed, shaking my head at myself as I laced up my sneakers to run to the gym, where I planned to kick my own ass for an hour or two, then run back home again.

Hopefully then, I would be too fucking tired to do anything other than take a shower, fall into bed, and crash.

So that was what I did, getting home around eight that night, and taking a long, cold shower to ease the aching in my muscles, before sticking the lasagne in the oven.

One hour at three-fifty. Maybe a little extra, depending on your stove.

That was the note my ma had left on the top.

I was standing there in the kitchen drinking a scotch when I heard it.

Frantic slamming on my door.

“The fuck?” I hissed, putting my glass down with a clink, then moving through the house, pausing only to grab a gun out of my closet, then making my way toward the door.

“August! Open up!” a borderline hysterical voice called.

But a very familiar voice.

Traveler.

My fucking hands fumbled with the locks before I finally started to slide it. But I barely got it fully open before Traveler was launching herself at me, catching me off-guard enough to stumble back a foot or two as my arm went around her instinctively.

“Trav, what’s,” I said, putting down my gun.

She didn’t answer though.

She couldn’t.

Not with her entire fucking body trembling.

Not with how a sob caught, then broke free as the tears started to wet my shirt.

“Okay. It’s alright,” I said, kicking the door closed, and wrapping her up tighter, knowing there was no getting anything out of her until she calmed down a bit. Even if my mind was racing with all the possibilities of what happened. “Everything’s gonna be alright,” I said, rubbing my hand up and down her spine as she let herself fall apart for a moment.

But this was Traveler.

It was just a moment.

Before she was trying to pull the pieces back together, sniffling hard, removing her hands from around me, and scrubbing at her eyes and cheeks.

“Okay,” I said, hands going to her upper arms, pushing her back slightly, then reaching for her hands that were hiding her face, and pulling them down. “Why don’t you tell me what—what thefuck?” I snapped, not meaning for the words to come out as loud and angry as they did. But when I saw the bruises across her throat, there seemed to be no other way to react.

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