“I gotta go,” I said, already backing toward the door.
“Everything okay?” she asked, and for just a second I heard genuine worry in her voice. Like she still cared what happened to me.
“One of the girls that works for me is in trouble.” I ran a hand through my hair, torn between staying here with her and keeping my word to Sosha. “We need to talk, Hattie. About?—”
Instantly the shutters came slamming down. “There’s nothing to talk about,” she said, icing me out. “Go. Do what you need to do.”
“Hattie—”
“I’m going home anyway. It’s late.”
Without sparing me another glance, she turned away from me, effectively dismissing me.
Goddamn it.
“GATOR! BAX!” I hollered across the room. Both men looked up from their conversations. “Time to ride!”
No questions asked, they set down their beers and headed for the exit.
When we pulled up to the run-down trailer park, I could hear Dale’s drunken bellowing the second I cut the engine.
“SOSHA! GET YOUR ASS OUT HERE, YOU STUPID CUNT!”
The fucking psycho was standing outside her door, waving a pistol around like some kind of cowboy. He was so goddamn drunk, he hadn’t even noticed we pulled up.
“HEY, ASSHOLE!” I swung my leg over the seat.
Dale spun around, his bloodshot eyes trying to focus on me. The gun in his hand wavered as he pointed it in my general direction.
“I already told you. You can’t keep her from me,” he slurred. “That’s my woman in there.”
This was where I fucked up.
See, if I hadn't been so in my own head about seeing Hattie again, I would have thought twice before I opened my mouth. However, that wasn’t the case. So, when I shouted across the lawn, “She deserves better than you, motherfucker!” the asshole pointed his gun at me and pulled the trigger.
My eyes dropped to my shoulder as white hot pain exploded across it. “What the fuck?” I bellowed, gritting my teeth.
That motherfucker just shot me. It was more of graze along the side of my bicep, but that wasn’t the point. He fucking shot me. And judging by the surprised look on his face, he was thinking the same goddamn thing.
“You motherfucker!” Taking off across the lawn, I charged him like a bull seeing red, tackling him to the ground. His gun went flying as we hit the dirt, and I got my hands on his throat.
“You stupid motherfucker,” I snarled, pulling back my fist and connecting with his nose. Blood spurted like a geyser as he dropped like a sack of shit.
“Call the sheriff, Gator,” I said, climbing to my feet and pressing a hand to my bleeding shoulder. “Him showing up here with a gun needs to go on record.”
What I really wanted to do was kill the motherfucker, but there were already too many nosy neighbors peeking out their windows. Not a goddamn one of them came to help Sosha while the cocksucker was on her porch. But now, everyone was stepping outside to chit chat like they were the best of friends. I guess it’s true what they say. Everyone in the neighborhood is best friends when the cops show up.
“What about your shoulder?” Gator asked, pulling out his phone.
I looked down at the blood seeping between my fingers. It hurt like a bitch, but I’d live. “I’ll swing by Pete’s and have him stitch me up.”
Twenty minutes later, after giving our statements to the deputies and watching them haul Dale’s semiconscious ass to jail, I was back on my bike heading toward the farm.
Blood was still trickling down my arm, but all I could think about was getting back to Hattie.
Chapter Seven
Hattie Lynn
