Total pages in book: 166
Estimated words: 160042 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 800(@200wpm)___ 640(@250wpm)___ 533(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 160042 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 800(@200wpm)___ 640(@250wpm)___ 533(@300wpm)
Just like that.
No warning; no fanfare.
And then he muffles the sheriff’s howl with the same hand that held the knife and says, “You’re right. If this comes back to you, you’ll lose more than your badge. So you’re gonna follow the plan, yeah? You’ll make a copy of this and give one to me. Then you’ll go file the original and tell County to hurry the fuck up and put the certificate in the mail to me. You understand that, right?” Sheriff Cooper jerks out a nod, and Arsen continues, “Good. That’s very good. But we forgot the most important part, didn’t we?”
The sheriff’s eyes bug out even more than before, and he looks confused, so Arsen sighs and says, “You’ll keep your mouth shut about all this.” He pauses to whip the knife out of the man’s arm, and this time, the sheriff puts his own hand over his mouth to muffle his scream. “Because if I find out you’ve talked, I will”—he wipes the blood on the sheriff’s uniform—“slit your throat while you’re sleepin’ beside your wife and she won’t know anything about it until she wakes up the next morning with your blood soaking the sheets and your dead eyes staring up at the ceiling. Am I clear?”
Sheriff Cooper’s eyes are terrified as he jerks out a nod.
Then, Arsenal pockets the freshly cleaned knife as he finishes, “And the next time you put your hands on my wife will be the last time you put your hands on anything. I’ll cut them off your body and shove them down your throat.”
To: Peyton Turner
From: Bo Porter
Peyton,
I read the book.
I hated every minute of it and thought it was crap.
But more than that, I didn’t get from it what you wanted me to get, and I remain as angry and rude as ever. In any case, reading your favorite book even though I hate reading in general was the only thing I could come up with to show you that I acknowledge being an asshole to you in my last letter.
As for your offer of friendship, I’m not sure it’s very smart. For a smart college girl, you should know better than to be friends with a convicted criminal. Or maybe it’s pity.
Is it?
Bo
To: Bo Porter
From: Peyton Turner
Dear Bo,
I think I taught you well.
It was the perfect apology: reading my favorite book and being tortured through it. I don’t think anyone has ever done that before. But come on, don’t keep me in suspense. What did you get from it?
And for a criminal asshole cowboy, you should know better than to accuse me of pity. My offer of friendship was genuine. Although, it’s not on the table anymore. Because believe it or not, we’re there already.
We are friends.
Until next time,
Peyton
To: Peyton Turner
From: Bo Porter
Peyton,
It wasn’t revenge that destroyed Heathcliff’s life but love.
If he hadn’t fallen for Catherine, he wouldn’t have suffered and made others suffer. Whether for his pain or amusement. Revenge gave him a purpose; love destroyed his life.
So I’m not the kind of a friend you want in your life but I guess that ship’s sailed.
Bo
EIGHT YEARS AGO, I wanted to kill Hank Turner but failed.
They dragged me away before I could see the light go out of his eyes and charged me with attempted murder.
They were wrong.
I am a murderer.
I couldn’t kill him, but I did kill that night. And spending eight years behind bars isn’t enough for that. No amount of punishment is enough or is ever going to be enough for breaking the promise I made. But maybe if I avenge that night, I can begin to atone for it.
Although what I’m doing right now isn’t atoning.
Drinking cheap whiskey at a titty bar while getting a lap dance. I’d been to a few titty bars before I got put away, and strippers have never really been my thing. Something about their asses in every drunk asshole’s face seems to put me off.
I don’t like to share.
If my woman’s ass was anywhere near another man, he’d be going home without a face.
But I’m a man, and a man has certain needs. After being locked up for eight years with only my fist for company, those needs have, shall we say, grown. I’ve been trying to avoid them ever since I got out almost a week ago, but I can’t.
Not tonight.
Especially not tonight.
So I had to look up the nearest strip club on the GPS and drive down here. Even though I don’t think it’s working. The girl on my lap is pretty good. She knows when to bear down and just when to pull back. Plus, she smells great. A little cloying for my taste, but overall it looks like she puts effort into keeping things classy. If anyone could give me what I need tonight, it’d be her.