Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 53361 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 267(@200wpm)___ 213(@250wpm)___ 178(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 53361 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 267(@200wpm)___ 213(@250wpm)___ 178(@300wpm)
I took the envelope. Clutched it against my chest like a shield. “Thank you.” My voice came out breathless. Stupid. “For the tip. I mean… thanks. And from last time, too. I can’t remember if I thanked you guys or not.” I shifted my gaze from Rancor back to Hannah. “Stop talking, Cora,” I muttered to myself. “Stop talking right now.”
Rancor’s expression shifted. Not quite a smile. Just a slight relaxation of the tension in his jaw. “You came back.” A pause. Long enough that I almost jumped in to fill it. “When others wouldn’t.”
“It’s just groceries.” I shrugged, tried to seem casual. “Not a big deal.”
“It is.” Another pause. His eyes never left mine. “To us.”
This wasn’t just about the groceries. This was about respect. I understood that more than I wanted to admit. Being rejected. Being seen as not worth the trouble had been something I’d struggled with all my life. Still did.
“Well.” I cleared my throat. “If you order again, I’ll probably take it.”
Probably. Like I didn’t know I absolutely would. Like the generous tip was the only reason. Like I wasn’t already hoping to see that address come through my app again. Besides, I kept thinking about what Hannah had said about judging people on the surface. I’d spent more than my fair share of time in homeless shelters and on the streets. I knew full well decent people did things they wouldn’t do under normal circumstances.
“We will.” Rancor’s quiet certainty made it sound like a promise.
Hannah stepped back, creating space. “Drive safe, Cora.”
“Thanks.” I moved toward my car door, hand fumbling for the handle. The envelope crinkled in my other hand. When Hannah gave me another of her open, friendly smiles, the band around my chest eased.
She was genuine. I’d been on the street long enough to know when someone played me. The only vibe I caught from Hannah was an open friendliness I found refreshing. She lacked artifice, though I could tell she had a spine of steel. I admitted I knew Hannah was the real thing within the first minute after I met her. I guess I’d just feared trusting my gut when something seemed too good to be true.
I opened my door, and the hinges squeaked their protest. I slid behind the wheel and the seat wrapped around me with familiar comfort. Strangely, I found I didn’t really want to leave. The realization hit me as I pulled the door closed. I didn’t want to go. I wanted to stay here in this compound. Maybe I was simply building a fantasy around a sexy man. Wouldn’t be the first time I’d done something equally stupid.
Stupid. Dangerous. Reckless. Story of my life.
I started the engine. It turned over with a rough cough that sounded more than a little judgmental. Through the windshield I could see Hannah and Rancor standing together. Hannah said something I couldn’t hear and Rancor’s attention shifted to her. Just for a moment. Then his gaze came back to me, tracking me through the glass.
I put the car in reverse. My hands felt steadier now on the wheel. I should have been relieved to leave. Should have felt that weight lift as I backed away from the compound. The envelope sat on the passenger seat where I’d tossed it. The small packet felt like a promise. Or maybe an excuse to come back.
I adjusted my grip on the wheel as I drove through those imposing gates. They looked less threatening from this side. Kind of like they kept out all the bad things in the outside world. Funny, because I think I felt more dread passing through them leaving than I did going in.
Behind me, the compound disappeared in my rearview mirror. Hannah and Rancor disappeared. That pull in my chest remained. I drove away with a heavy sigh, already hoping they’d forgotten something and needed me to come back.
And maybe I liked flirting with danger. Just a little bit.
Chapter Two
Rancor
The soil slid between my fingers, dark and moist against my scarred knuckles. Morning light filtered through the compound’s camo netting, casting dappled shadows across Sarah’s garden. My garden now. Six years since I’d buried her, and I still thought of these neat rows of herbs and flowers as hers. The mint had grown wild again, encroaching on the rosemary’s territory. Sarah would have laughed at that.
Just like you. Always trying to take up more space than you’re given.
I reached for the pruning shears. This morning ritual represented a kind of penance I performed to always remember. If it hadn’t been for Knuckles, Oktober, and Ranger, I’m not certain I’d have kept my sanity.
I knelt on the worn rubber mat I’d placed between the rows, careful not to compress the soil. The burn scar on my right forearm caught the light, puckered flesh a shade paler than the surrounding skin. A memento from my construction days, from before everything changed. Before the night they broke into our home. Before Sarah’s blood on our bedroom floor. Before I beat a man to death with my bare hands.