Chapter 13
THIRTEEN
BECCA
I wake up with a start, my whole body tensing as my brain realizes I’m not where I was when I fell asleep. Likely a good thing since I think I fell asleep in the front seat of the SUV. Surprising considering I had just accidentally killed a guy with the business end of a claw hammer.
I thought maybe adrenaline and regret would have kept me up all night.
But I can’t find the tiniest bit of regret for killing that guy.
At the very least, he was going to hurt Butch.
At worst, he was planning to kill him. He was also part of the group responsible for my sister’s abduction, and taking him out made me feel like I’m finally doing something about it.
Like I was making them suffer just a little for what they’ve done.
And that’s probably why I slept better last night than I have in weeks.
That and the big, solid, warm body curled tight against me.
The air mattress certainly isn’t the most comfortable bed I’ve ever slept in, but I’m cozy and safe and—
“Is that your cock poking me in the butt?”
Butch sucks in a deep breath, letting it out on a groan as he stretches. “Good morning to you too.” He rolls away, and my eyes follow his movement, finding the solid jut of his erection poking at the fabric of his boxers. Reaching down, he adjusts the hard line, but it just pokes right back out.
I understand most men wake up like this, but I’ve never actually witnessed it, and I find it interesting. “Does it hurt?”
Butch chuckles. “No. It doesn’t hurt.”
“Does it feel good?” It looks exactly the same as the one that happened two nights ago when he showed me how he makes himself come. But there wasn’t anything sexual leading up to this, so maybe it’s different.
“It feels like I have to pee.” Butch yawns, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I’ll be right back. Then we can decide what we’re doing today.”
As he leaves the room, I get up, noticing it’s not as dark in here as I expected.
A surprising amount of morning sunlight filters through the boarded up windows, reaching the room where we slept.
I still flip on the light, not wanting to risk straining my eyes while I scour the Internet for clues about where my sister might be.
My computer is open and I’m plugging my flash drive into it when Butch returns. He pauses in the doorway, watching as I get set up. I haven’t coexisted with anyone since right after college when I had a roommate, and I’ve gotten really used to having my own space. Spending my time how I want.
But I don’t mind having Butch here. His presence is calm and controlled and quiet.
The total opposite of the woman I lived with a decade ago. Shelly was loud and brash and a little crazy. She’d been my only friend in high school, and we stayed close into our early twenties. Like Butch, she didn’t judge me or treat me differently for my quirks.
But then I bought my house and the gap between us grew and spread at an alarmingly fast rate. She met a man, fell in love, and moved on with her life. She moved here. To this street. Became friends with everyone else on the block and outgrew me.
I understand why and how it happened. I don’t blame her for the turn her life took. I wish Shelly the best. But as someone who already struggled to make friends, losing the most significant one I’d ever had was difficult to navigate.
And now—like Butch—Shelly’s life has collided with mine again.
But unlike with Butch, I don’t know where she and I stand.
I don’t know how—or if—we can pick back up where we left off.
A big part of me thinks it’s not possible.
She’s a wife and mom, and I’m an avenging murderer wielding the hammer of justice.
“What do you have there?” Butch comes to stand beside me, looking over the screen of my inexpensive laptop as I open the files from my drive. “Looks like you’ve collected an awful lot of information.”
“I have, but I don’t know if any of it’s useful.” I’ve been over everything here countless times, and haven’t managed to connect any dots that would point me in the right direction. Hell, I would take the wrong direction at this point. At least I’d be moving.
“Have you cross-referenced it with the address we went to last night?” Butch crouches down, reaching for the small coffee maker still in its packaging.
“And the name of the guy whose brain you splattered all over the basement last night? I know it’s not his actual name, but maybe he used it somewhere trackable. ”
I nod along, fingers working over the keyboard. “Good idea.” My attention narrows, focus zeroing in on the task before me. I vaguely recognize the scent of coffee and almost taste the cup Butch pours me as I continue scouring all my documents.
Unfortunately, many of them are court records and scanned documents, so I can’t simply type the name into a search bar. I have to look for it manually. Page by page. Line by line.
I don’t even know how long it’s been when Butch enters my periphery, his hand gripping the laptop to tug it away from me. “I think you need to take a break.”
I reach for the computer. “I’m fine.”
“No. You’re not fucking fine.” Butch closes the screen, picking the computer up. “You’ve been staring at this thing for hours. It’s time to give your eyes and your brain a break.”
A weird sound rasps along my throat. Something that’s almost like a growl as I jump to my feet, trying to snatch the computer back from him. “I don’t need a brain break.”
This is the first opportunity I’ve had to work like this in days, and I finally have new information to go on. I don’t want to waste any more time.
Butch lifts the computer above his head, arms stretched high. “You turn into a feral little gremlin when you get interrupted, don’t you?” His lips curl into a smirk. “I like it.”
I halt mid jump, feet slamming back to the floor as I stare up at him. “You do?”
“I do.” Butch grins down at me. “It’s cute.”
It’s been pointed out to me on numerous occasions that I can at times have a one-track mind. That when I mentally latch onto a task, and someone tries to stop me before I’m finished, I become a little less than… Civil.
No one has ever liked it, and they’ve certainly never called it cute.
“Oh.” I drop the hand that was scrambling to steal the computer back. “Well…”
Am I really going to be calmed down by a man calling me cute?
No.
I’m going to be calmed down by a ridiculously attractive man who let me watch him masturbate and then made me orgasm for the first time, calling me cute.
“Fine.” I blow out a breath then purse my lips, trying to figure out something I can do that’s not staring at a computer, but also won’t be sitting on my hands. “I guess I’ll go talk to Myra then.”
Butch angles a brow at me. “You want to go talk to Myra?”
“No. I want to keep working here, but you won’t let me. So I might as well go tell her I’m sorry I hit her boyfriend in the face with a shoe.”
“Are you sorry?” Butch asks.
“Is that a requirement for apologizing?” I’ve paid attention to a lot of people, and very rarely do they genuinely mean what they say when they apologize.
“Most people would tell you yes,” Butch hedges.
I’m not interested in most people. I honestly don’t care what most people think. It’s a stance I was forced to take to prevent spending my life upset over being constantly judged and misunderstood.
But I do care what Butch thinks. “What would you tell me?”
“I’d tell you I personally don’t give a shit if you mean it or not. And as long as you sound like you mean it, everyone else will be happy.”
“Got it.” I don’t normally have anyone to help guide me through the double-speak and conditional rules society loves so much. Knowing he won’t judge me for anything I ask eases a little of the anxiety I normally feel at times like this. “Thanks.”
“Any time.” He looks me over. “Get dressed and I’ll take you across the street.”
My eyes drift to where he still holds the laptop. “Are you sure I can’t work just a little longer?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Ugh. Fine.” I stand up, pulling on my clothes. “But I can walk across the street myself.”
“Absolutely not.”
I scoff. “But I saved your ass last night.” I tug a hoodie over my head. “And you said this street is the safest place I can be.” Shoving my feet into sneakers, I continue pleading my case. “I think I can handle myself.”
“Probably.” He rests a hand on my back. “Still not letting you go alone.”
I stomp a little as we walk across the street and up the steps to Myra’s house, my aggravation with Butch growing a little more with each step. I’m grown. I killed a whole man. I don’t need a bodyguard to cross the street.
Myra’s door opens and I lift one hand, giving her an awkward wave. “Hi.”
Her eyes widen when she sees it’s me standing on her porch. “Hey.” Her gaze drifts from me to Butch, lingering on him a second before she steps back, clearing the path into her home. “You guys want to come in?”
“Just me.” I try to smile in a way that looks friendly and normal. “I’m the one who wants to come in.” Shooting Butch a dirty look, I explain why I’m not alone. “But someone didn’t think I was capable of crossing the street on my own.”
Butch lets out a long sigh, obviously still frustrated by our difference of opinions on my ability to walk a few yards unaccompanied. “I’m trying to make sure you stay safe.”
“I thought I was here because this place is safe.” I lift my brows, looking at him pointedly, because I’m starting to think maybe there’s something he’s not telling me.
And that would really freaking piss me off.
“I bet Shelly and Felicity will just love to hear you’re worried someone’s going to come abduct me off the street where their kids play. ”
Myra seems hesitant. Like she’s about to tell me something I’m not going to like hearing. “It’s happened before.”
What in the hell? Someone’s been abducted from this place before?
I snap my head toward Butch. “So why am I here?”