Correction, she mighttry.I wasn't letting her go that easily.
I wasn't letting her go at all.
I tried her phone again. Then Woody's.
Voicemail. Fucking voicemail. I stabbed the screen with my finger, ending one call after the other.
"Some people don't answer phone calls," Leif pointed out.
"Yeah." I shot off a quick text to asking if she was okay. Then another to Woody to tell him to call me immediately.
I watched them both for a few minutes, but neither were read.
The uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach grew. If he was doing anything to her right now, I was going to rip his head off with my bare hands. That would leave enough skin for Leif to make a boot, maybe a nice pair of shoes. I could wear Woody around wherever I went. Step on him on a daily basis. Scuff him up and wear him out until he was good for nothing but being thrown in the trash.
Yeah, I held a grudge. If he hurt her, I'd hold one against him for the rest of my life.
"Shame they don't make pucks out of leather," Leif observed.
"They might make an exception," I said darkly.
Honestly, if anyone was going to be hit around the ice with a stick, there were better candidates than Woody. Many of them. People like Wolfgang Taylor-Francis, who got pleasure from hurting others. My only regret was they wouldn't feel any pain. I'd know who and what they were, though. That would have to be enough.
"I might start a new line of decorative leather pucks," Leif said thoughtfully. "They could have the name of the team etched on them and sit on a shelf, looking pretty."
"You'd make a fortune," I remarked.
Unless people found out what they were really made from.
Did I approve of that side of Leif's personality; the need to recycle predators into footwear and home decor? Not necessarily, but he was going to do it with or without my approval. The fact he'd never do it to anyone innocent worked in his favor.
If he tried,he'dend up a decorative puck on someone's shelf.
"I would, wouldn't I?" he said thoughtfully, a smile on the corners of his lips. "I might end up richer than you."
I didn't care if he did. Money was a tool to help you get through life. I had more of it than I'd ever need. I used to have a lot more, but I’d spent the last few years carefully donating to deserving people. Paying for things like school lunches, food for the disadvantaged, shelters for the homeless, medical bills for people who couldn't afford to pay them.
I kept enough to keep me comfortable. That was sufficient. I didn't need to be filthy rich. They didn't call it filthy for nothing.
"We're almost there," I said, nodding out the window.
Would we be in time?
CHAPTER 17
SABLE
"What is this place?" I asked. The small house was derelict, probably unsafe. Wallpaper was peeling off the walls. The corner of the floor was sloped downward, like the foundation was collapsing. Rotting away, if I had to guess. The only thing that lived here were the termites. If they lived with what I'd bet was asbestos and lead based paint.
"You don't like it?" Woody said sarcastically. "I thought it was a fucking palace."
"That's an interesting perspective," I said. Rats might have found it palatial.
He sneered at me and shoved me deeper into the house. He hadn’t had much to say since he'd pinned me to the wall back in the city, his hand around my throat. He'd growled at me, literallygrowled, before grabbing my phone from my hand and shoving me into a car.
Every time we stopped at a traffic light, I'd tried the door, but it remained firmly locked.
My phone rang a bunch of times, but he'd shoved it into his pocket, ignoring it. Was Leif trying to contact me? Forrest? Were they worried?
