Page 85 of Hunted: Season Two
The announcement is followed by her body darting back towards the garage leaving the two of us reeling in consternation.
“Where the fuck are you going?!” I immediately investigate.
“To fucking tell him that,” she unexpectedly answers.
Shit.
Can inhaling pepper spray get you high?
Cause our woman sounds high.
And Iknowthat shit isn’t good for the baby.
Our clamber after her is filled with questions and comments and expressed confusion; however, when she bends down to rifle through the dead chick’s pockets, I understandexactlywhat she means yet don’t stop her.
She needs this.
In a way…I think we all do.
The unlocking of the retrieved phone is done via thumbprint of the rotting corpse, and the second she has access to the content, she gets to work.
Locates what she believes to McAdam’s number.
Crosses over to us and dials.
Puts it on speaker.
Waits.
Patiently listens to the ringing and ringing and ringing until it stops indicating someone has answered.
Silence slowly stretches between both ends so savagely that I have to plant my palm on Kid’s shoulder to keep him from speaking.
From letting our woman find the footing this asshole keeps trying to steal.
“Delivery in transit?” McAdams finally inquires, voice almost robotically cold.
“Problem at pickup,” Rabbit villainously responds.
“Bunny…” he sighs like she’s successfully been returned to his possession. “Oh…how…I’ve…missed you.”
Clamping down tighter on my boyfriend is done for my benefit as much as his.
Fuck, I can’t wait to end this bastard.
Break all his goddamn bones.
Turn his eyes into a dangling accessory for my tailgate.
“Tell me, my little sweet pea…” The glee in his tone is spinechilling. “Have you missed me?” He lightly moans into the phone. “Have you been thinking about me?” His breathing gets uncomfortably paced pushing my stare to study our woman’s body. Demeanor. “Coming home where you belong?”
“I amexactlywhere I belong, Brad,” she states without an ounce of vacillation. “And if you want me?Really want me…You’re gonna have to stop sending errand bitches to do your dirty work.” Her grip on the device harshens. “You’re gonna have to come get me yourself. You’re gonna have to stop tucking your sac back and leave the starting line.” Bright brown eyes I’d die for any day of the week oscillate between me and The Kid. “You’re gonna have to actually step foot into this town…our town…and when that happens? You’ll be leaving it in pieces.”
One click ending the call precedes her dropping the device to the ground and violently stomping on it, cathartic screams attached to the repeated destructive action.
This is thegoodkind of crazy.
Don’t know that I’d call ithealthy,but definitely the type I’m happy to see.