Page 65 of Ready Or Not

I tuck the gun into the back of my pants as I rip the two girls apart. I swear it almost sounds like velcro, and I yank Rachel back into my body. I have the impulse to kill her again. But no. I can’t shoot someone in front of a building of people who have nothing better to do than get in other people’s business.

“My house,” I growl.

Riley just tosses me a flippant look. “Is your bed still bloody? If I’m going to fuck in blood, I prefer it to be fresh.”

“That can be arranged.” I toss Riley a look that’s meant to be threatening, but she just licks her lips.

“Let me go.” Rachel struggles.

“Not a scratch, Manson, or your wife will file for divorce in the morning.”

I snort. As if I’d let anyone dissolve our marriage. Once I have Riley back at my place, I can keep her safe…and if that means keeping her there for the rest of her life, so be it.

“Put the goddamned helmet on,” I snap at Riley and yank Rachel to my bike.

35

IF IT DOESN’T HURT - NOTHING MORE

I race Manson back to his place. The ease of riding without another person sends a thrill through me, and I lean into my bike, feeling one with it and the wind. I drive recklessly, loving the power that hums between my legs.

I beat Manson and Rachel to his house, which makes me smirk. I drive right up Manson’s front yard, bumping along the grass, and park in front of his front door.

Manson arrives shortly after with Rachel, glaring at my bike haphazardly in front of his door. I grin now, moving into his kitchen and flipping on the lights. As much as I love giving him shit, I’m shocked he’s still here. I’ve pushed him to the edge over and over again. Why won’t he just give up?

I ignore the teeniest, tiniest part of me that says I don’t want him to give up. Because that tiny part of me also gets all panty when he’s around. And that is an absolutely dangerous response around Manson.

I shove around in his kitchen. I’m exhausted, and yet, I don’t think I’ll sleep for another three days. As I open his fridge, Manson shoves Rachel past me.

“Where you going?” I glance at him.

He ignores me and just shoves her to the basement door.

I straighten. “Don’t–”

“I heard you the first time.” Manson shoots me a glare and puts on a pitiful voice. “Don’t hurt her.”

I snort. “Remember. I’ll never speak to you again.”

The look he gives me is worth every bit of annoyance keeping her around. I grin, yanking food out of the fridge. Everything is meticulously organized. Hell, Manson has prepared meals stacked up for the next week. I glance in the freezer. Yep, even more.

Jesus. This guy couldn’t live by the seat of his pants if he tried. It’s boring.

I grab a meal and stick it in the microwave. Except for the hum of that, the house is silent. I find my fingers tapping against my arm. Manson being down there with Rachel alone makes this odd feeling run through my body. It’s like there’s vibrating in my legs, and I can’t keep my hands still.

I blink. Oh fuck. Am I feeling something? I haven’t felt something since Pup died. Well, since Manson killed him. Swallowing, I stalk to the top of the stairs and glance down.

Rachel and Manson are at the bottom of the steps, and he’s chaining her there. There’s a blanket, a bucket, and water.

I turn and stalk back to the microwave. I really shouldn’t care. Inevercare. Rachel is loyal. I know it. She’s scared and impulsive right now, but the way she looks at me when she thinks I’m not paying attention is…everything. Also, Rachel needed this. She needs a push into the big wild world where she can live a little.

That’s it. That’s all I’m doing. Pushing her to live. Plus, I won’t let Manson kill another one of my pets.

That’s it.

I pull my food from the microwave and open the lid. It’s a steamy mess of beef, mashed potatoes, and veggies. I take a sniff. Okay, maybe that’s not beef. Is that…I frown. Is he stealing my venison?

Manson appears at the top of the stairs, and I wipe all traces of anything off my face.