Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 75547 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75547 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
In front of me the man I’ve known is gone and in it’s place is a dragon full of fire and breathing smoke like his tattoo.
“Kellum.” I’m at the bottom of the steps now, one foot on the plank, hands up like I’m approaching a wounded animal. “Kellum, stop. Baby, look at me.”
The word lands. His head jerks like a compass needle finding north. He keeps his fist wrapped in Brian’s shirt for one more breath. He turns his face toward me.
He sees me.
I see him see me.
And then the most terrifying thing happens, his eyes change. Not the color. The temperature. Fury drains just enough for fear to flood in.
Not fear of Brian.
Fear of me. Fear of what I’m seeing and what it will do to the picture I’ve been holding of him.
He lets go of Brian like the man burned him. Brian slides down the doorjamb and sits, ugly and human on his expensive porch, sucking air like he invented it. Kellum takes a step back, then another, still looking at me like he walked in on himself and didn’t like what he found.
“Kristen,” he whispers, like my name is the only thing he believes in.
I climb one more step and stop there. My heart is pounding so hard the world has a rhythm. My hands are steady, which surprises me. I look at Brian long enough to see that he’s breathing, that he needs medical attention but will probably be okay. I also know that he will weaponize this in whatever rooms he thinks will listen. Especially for the reconstructive surgery it’s going to take to put his nose back together. But I don’t care about any of that. I stop looking at him because he’s not my problem.
Kellum is.
I take a breath that smells like copper and lawn chemicals. “You told him once,” I state, voice low. “You kept your promise. Lesson has been taught. Now we leave.”
Behind me, a thunderous sound rolls in. I sense them without looking, the Hellions.
Kellum’s shoulders rise and fall like ocean. He nods once, slow, like he’s testing whether his neck still works. He looks down at his hands and winces at something that isn’t pain. Then he looks back at me and I watch him try to measure the distance between the man who installed a porch camera to keep me safe and the man who just did this.
“I scared you,” he whispers..
Honesty is how he functions.
Brash, brutal, and real.
I won’t give him less than what he gives me. “Yes,” I mutter, equally quiet, closing the space between us. “I’m still here. I’m gonna stay right here.”
Something in his face fractures and reorganizes—pain, relief, shame, all of it passing through like a hurricane filled with wind, thunder, lightning, rain, and tornadoes. He nods again, like that hurts more than his knuckles, and steps away from Brian without offering a last word. That might be the meanest thing he’s ever done—denying the man any more attention.
We walk to the SUV together. By then his brothers have come to a stop and climbed off their bikes.
Behind us, Brian finds his voice enough to spit, “Animal.”
Neither of us turns.
It’s Crunch who approaches us first as Red takes off landing his own licks in on Brian for calling his brother an animal.
“Paper trail,” I direct to Kellum, and it’s partly to remind myself who I am, partly to remind Kellum who we are. “We go home. We write everything down. We save the voicemails. We file a report first thing. We let Tripp and the brothers handle him now in case there’s blowback in the dumb places.”
Kellum swallows. “Yeah.”
“You got this, Kristen?” Crunch asks letting me guide the situation.
“Yes, I have him.” I look to Kellum. “I always have him.”
“Baby brother, take your ass home, clean up. We’ll handle this shit head. No blow back for you or Kristen. But clean up before mom gets wind of this shit. You know you’re the favorite.” Crunch shoves him playfully.
This makes me smile in the chaos.
I pause with my hand on the SUV door, then lean in and use the hem of my shirt to wipe Kellum’s cheekbone where Brian’s open palm left a bloody smear on him. “He doesn’t get to mark you or me, baby,” I whisper.
The cold air kisses the damp spot and he flinches just a little. His eyes close. He breathes out a sound that isn’t a laugh and isn’t pain. When he opens them again, he looks like my man—wrecked, wired, sorry, present, and intense.
A Hellion top to toe.
“Ride with me?” he requests, hoarse. “I don’t want to be alone.”
“Yes,” I nod, no pause. I shut the SUV door, toss the keys to Tommy Boy, and climb on behind him like my legs know what to do better than my brain does. My hands find his waist. He leans back into them for a second like a man leaning into a dock to feel if it will hold. Neither of us have a helmet but right now if this is how we die, we die together and I can say I would be dying happier than I’ve been in my entire life.