Samantha hesitates, not letting me go right away when we pull into the driveway. Her arms are wrapped around my stomach, her hands under my sweatshirt, resting on my stomach. She holds on tight like she might fall off. She’s been like this the whole fucking ride, quiet and careful.
I don’t fuckin’ like it.
“What’s wrong?” I ask her, looking over my shoulder at her. She can be mean and she can be sassy. She can be wild. But I don’t like this shit, like this Samantha.
Lifting a shoulder, she fights a frown. “Nothin’.” I don’t buy that shit for a second.
“I know you’re lyin’ to me, baby.” I tilt her head back to look into her eyes. Sam doesn’t lie. The woman will tell you she doesn’t like you to your face. She lets her feelings be known, always, and right now, I know she’s hiding her feelings from me.
“You’re leavin’, aren’t you?” she whispers, her voice thick. That surprises me. She’s worried I’m leaving? Most of the time, it seems like she’s happy to see me go. Done.
“You don’t want me to leave?” That shit does something to me, something I’m not even going to touch.
She doesn’t answer me right away while she wrestles with her words. The woman’s all over the place. Hating me one minute, and not wanting me go the next. I don’t understand her, but I figure I don’t have to. She’ll tell me what I need to know.
“No.”
I can take the princess mean and I can take her bitchy and hateful, but I can’t have her scared or worried. “I’m not leavin’. Not yet.”
She doesn’t ask me if I’m sure or if I’m lying. She just accepts my words for what they are. I’ll always leave, but I always tell her before I do it.
“Okay.”
Throwing a leg over my bike, I hop off and help her off, taking her hand. She takes it and follows me inside.
Inside Buck’s, the house is empty. No one around.
“Stay in here until I come back, yeah?” I put her on the couch in the living room, flipping on the TV before I hand her the remote.
Shivering, she nods. “Where are the blankets?” I ask her, knowing she’s cold or nervous, or both.
“By the bathroom, in the hall closet.”
I grab her a blanket and unfold it, covering her up. I don’t overthink the shit I do when I’m around her. I just do what I do, knowing goddamn well there’s no other woman on the planet I’d do this shit for. I may not treat her the way she should be treated, but I treat her better than any person in my life.
“Thank you.”
I don’t answer her, I just tell her, “Stay here, baby. I’ll be back.”
She smiles softly and nods. “Okay.”
“Where’d you find him?” I ask Buck, standing outside the door of the small shed out back of his place. Right on the edge of the tree line, tucked back out of view, far enough away no one can hear anything or see shit.
“Waited at the end of the road for about an hour. Didn’t take him long to come back.”
Smart man. “Thanks, brother.”
“You’d do the same if it was Lennon.” No fucking doubt about it.
“He say anything?”
It’s started to rain, the wind picking up, the trees swaying out back of Buck’s place. The motherfucker lives on the side of a mountain, miles away from anything. The asshole in the shed has little chance of making it out of here alive.
Buck shakes his head. “Nah. Left the question askin’ to you, man.”
I chuckle around the anger. “You’re a true friend.”
Pulling open the door, I step in. One single light bulb hangs from the ceiling of the shack. Concrete slab floor and four walls made from scrap wood, the shed is a shithole, but it serves a very important purpose.
Tied to a metal folding chair, sits some fat Mexican fucker in a suit. Sweating and breathing hard, he jerks his head and looks at me when I shut the door behind me. Bloodshot eyes stare at me, confused and scared.
Rock stands in the corner, smirking.
“Who are you?” he asks me, watching as I walk up to the small work bench next to him, tools of the trade laid out and lined up. Plyers, a hammer, duct tape, small hand saw, all kinds of good shit. None of this shit I’ll use. I prefer my hands.
“Could ask you the same fucking thing,” I counter coolly, walking around him. “We’re not gonna play games tonight because I’ve got shit to do later, so I’m gonna assume you’re gonna tell me what I want to know so I don’t have to kill you, yeah?”
He’s shaking. “This about the fucking girl?” he wheezes, out of breath. The fat fuck hasn’t even done anything and he’s already winded. Christ.
“You tell me?” I lean back against the door, arms folded, waiting.
“Fuck you,” he grunts, jerking against the rope like it’ll just come loose.
“Like I told you, I’m a busy man. You can tell me or I can make you tell me. Either way.”
“Not telling you shit about the bitch.”
Calm and cool is my business, but not when it comes to Samantha. I can feel my blood pressure creeping higher and my vision starting to fade to red. I’d rather just kill the fucker and be done with it, but I need to know more.
Biting back a growl, I tell him, “Last chance.”
I already know he’s not going to tell me shit, so I do what I gotta do.
Knocking out a couple teeth with my fist does the job. Could be bone. Could be teeth. Could be cartilage. But something breaks when I put my fist through his fucking mouth. The motherfucker’s head snaps back, blood instantly dripping from his mouth and nose, staining his white shirt.
He makes a noise that sounds something like a dying animal when he starts to choke on blood and teeth.
“Tell me who the fuck you are and why you’re fuckin’ with my girl?” My girl? Fuck, I’ve lost my mind.
He doesn’t answer me, so I hit him again, harder this time. Something else in his face breaks. It’s a sweet sound.
“Fuck you,” he pants, and I lose it.
I hit him again and again.
And when that doesn’t work, I grab a piece of rope from the floor and wrap the fucker around his neck. I watch his face go from blood red to pale pink in a second, then starts to fade to a purple, his hands clawing at his neck, desperate for air. Fuck, it’s satisfying. So fucking satisfying.
He starts to gurgle, the last bit of air squeezing out of him, and Rock stops me. “Might wanna let him live. Figure out who he is and what he’s doing stalkin’ Sammy, right?” Well isn’t he just the motherfucking voice of reason.
I let up, let a little oxygen into his lungs. He’s gasping and choking. I’d rather watch the life drain out of him, but Rocky isn’t wrong.
“I’ll start removin’ your motherfuckin’ digits,” I growl, inches from his face. “Remove limbs. Gut you like a fucking fish and let you bleed out all over this goddamn floor. Tell me what I want to know.”
Rocky chuckles when the guy whines, “My boss wants her!” as I bend a finger back, snapping the knuckle.
“Told ya,” Rocky gloats, slapping my back. “Fingers always do it.”
“Fuck you.”
“Get Samantha in here,” I tell Rock. She needs to see his face. I don’t believe this guy for a fucking second. I want confirmation.
Rocky looks hesitant. “You sure?”
“I’ll get her.” I’m not playing around. I want her in here.