Chapter 44
The Sheriff made it sound easy. A quick signature, some paperwork and formality shit.
Custody papers. Then I would finally get what I deserved, what had been mine all along.
Her kids.
And with them, Frankie.
She could fight, cry, scream all she wanted, but once I had the kids in my hands again, she’d come crawling back. She’d have no choice.
The thought lit me up from the inside, that familiar rush, that power burned, and I was jumpy with excitement. I’d been patient, careful, biding my time. Now, it was all falling into place.
I could almost taste the high I’d get when I pushed into her writhing body again for the first time in almost five years.
Five years without my favorite little fuck doll to play with.
My dick hardened even just thinking about it as I stood at the gas pump, filling my truck to make sure I had everything in place to get the fuck out of this hellhole the moment she was back with me.
I wasn’t going to stick around long enough for the dumb and dumber twins to convince her to fight me in the long game for the kids.
I didn’t have the patience for that; I’d snap and shoot them between the eyes.
Which would complicate things, but I wasn’t against the idea altogether.
They’d get what was coming to them eventually, after I got Frankie locked away and secure.
“Did you hear the big news,” A voice said from the other side of the pump as a woman got out of her car, talking on her phone a mile a minute.
Small towns made my skin crawl, and she was a perfect reason why.
“No,” She went on, popping her gum like a teenage cheerleader, and I rolled my eyes as I leaned back against the truck, watching the numbers rolling on the pump roll even slower as she started pumping her own gas.
Cunt.
“The shitshow that Frankie Blake’s life turned out to be!” She hissed.
My ears sharpened at the sound of Frankie’s name.
Now that—that was a story I could get behind gossiping about.
“I know! The whole town’s buzzing about the rink the other night, but get this—the Chief found creepy shit in her house.
Cameras. Like stalker-level stuff! That loser she dated back in high school?
Turns out he’s been messing with her the whole time.
Wanda said her husband, who works as a cleaner down at the station, told her they tricked him into coming in and they’re planning to nail him. ”
My blood ran cold as my heart rate lowered, thumping forcefully in my chest the way it always did right before I snapped and lost control.
“That’s what he gets,” the woman said. “Coming around and screwing with her like that. Shame she wasted her good years on him, but at least she’s finally got herself a real man like Travis now to make up for all that lost time.”
The woman giggled, the noise like nails on a chalkboard as I stared down at the nozzle in my hand. She kept going.
“Well, two men. God, that Elliot—mmh, in that fire gear? I’d set a garbage can on fire just to get him to my place one night.” She chuckled, still running her mouth. “And to think Frankie’s the one underneath both of them each night. Way better than that scrawny skater boy her ex was.”
Scrawny. She was talking about me.
My knuckles whitened around the nozzle, fury and something darker twisting hot in my gut.
This stupid cow was laughing at me like I was some kind of joke.
Frankie was laughing at me.
The cops were laughing at me.
The carpenter and the firefighter were laughing at me.
But they didn’t know me. They didn’t know what I was capable of.
Frankie did.
And now the fat cow running her mouth would too.
“Hey,” I barked, leaning around the pump.
She startled, her gum nearly falling out of her mouth. “What—”
I squeezed the nozzle in my other hand, spraying gasoline all over her stupid fucking face. The reek filled the air instantly, sharp and acidic, biting at my nose. She screamed, stumbling back, swatting at her face.
Her screams cut through the quiet gas station, raw and panicked, and it was beautiful. If I’d had a lighter, she’d be ashes by the time I pulled out thanks to flames licking over her cheap clothes and ugly face.
Instead, she just flailed, gas burning her skin like acid, eyes wide with horror as if she could already feel the fire crawling up her.
Pathetic.
She thought the gas was bad now, she should thank me for not lighting her on fire.
I stepped back, letting the nozzle drip, watching her scramble. The fear in her eyes was pure and raw. And it should have satisfied me.
But it didn’t.
Because it wasn’t Frankie.
No—the one who needed to scream like that, thrash like that, cry out for help until her throat bled—was Frankie.
Frankie, with her new life. Her new men.
Climbing back into my truck, my heart hammered with dark satisfaction. That little show proved it.
I was still in control. Still capable of making anyone crumble when I wanted, and the cops would know that when they showed up.
And Frankie? She was going to feel it too.
I’d make sure the next time she screamed; it would be for me.