“Shut the fuck up,” Torin says with zero of the irritation or malice I’m used to when he’s challenged or argued with. He turns his head a bit, and I notice a white bandage at the back. I heard he was shot but not in the fuckin’ head. “I’ve come to bail her out.”
“No,” Muncy and I both say at the same time, to which dickhead tacks on, “She’s not going anywhere. She’s here on murder charges.”
“I agree,” I state a bit more softly than I’d like because he was shot in thehead. No one told me that. “And you heard what the man said. Visiting hours are?—”
“The same answer applies to you, too,” Torin states, steering his focus back to me. “Get her out, Muncy. Daddy’s orders.”
Emilio.
Motherfuck. That means a visit, a thank you, and some more fake-ass bullshit is in order.
“I haven’t heard anything,” Muncy argues, the wheels on his chair alluding that he’s standing up. “And this isn’t some fuckin’ party either. You don’t waltz back here and talk to the prisoners.”
“Then lock the damn doors to this shithole. Call him.” Torin is too good at standing his ground and applying his lineage to any situation that suits him. “I’ll wait.”
“Leave,” I order. “I’m not going anywhere with you, anyway. You’re wasting your time.”
“We both know what I want is what I’m going to get when it comes to you, Wildfire. I’ll drag you out of here, kicking and screaming. I don’t give a fuck.”
I nod toward the German Shepherds. “Go walk your dogs.”
“Having a bit of a hard time,” he admits with a weak shrug. “But I’ll keep it in mind when I’m not limping around and taking a few shells for your boy.”
I’m not sure if anyone told him.
I’m sure they have.
However, Torin acts as though Levi’s death doesn’t mean a thing, and it pisses me off.
“You shouldn’t have,” I blurt out, even though I obviously don’t mean it. “That doesn’t mean we’re good.”
Defiantly, I walk over and plop my ass along one of the two steel benches against the wall and cross my legs.
Like I said, I’m not going anywhere.
“Don’t get too comfortable,” Torin says simply. “I’d hate to disturb your me-time.”
“You already have.”
“As much as I’d love to watch, we need to handle some shit.”
“Save it,” I sneer, a bit of spit leaving my lips from how harshly the words escape them. “If you thought you were going to receive a warm welcome from me, you’ve got me fucked up.”
Torin’s countenance doesn’t flinch a bit. In fact, I need to remember who I’m working with here. We both might be piddling assholes who love having the last word, but we know how to play our cards right. We’re aware of what buttons to press, too, that would get the best reaction.
“And here I was, expecting you to come over and kiss my wounds better,” he coos evenly. “But I’ll admit, just seeing you again is enough.”
Near-death experiences.
They fuck you up.
The thoughts running through your head and the people barreling through are overwhelming and peaceful all in one go. I can remember them all while I was sinking deeper into the ocean. The fear was there, but there was an intense rush of love for the family I would leave behind that began to outweigh the rest.
“Sorry to disappoint.” I avert my gaze off him and to the chipped ivory paint on the wall. “You’re thelastperson I’d want to see here.”
“And I love that, Wildfire.”
His declaration stupefies me, prompting me to mindlessly glance over at him again and find he’s still wearing that chill demeanor of his.
