Page 172 of Unexpected Heroine

“Oh shit,” he warbles, fear choking his airway.

A wicked grin tugs at the corners of my mouth. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“I didn’t want to hurt her. We had no choice.” Evidently, he knows I’ve come for payback.

“Don’t care. You touched her. And now you’ll die.”

Without another word, I knock him out, sailing the butt of my gun into his skull.

The thud might as well be a Zen-like chant for how it soothes my psyche.

Unfortunately, I can’t take a moment to soak it in since I need to exfil before someone notices we didn’t hit the bathroom.

When I’m sure we aren’t being followed, I pull off the road in a dark spot. It should be mostly camera-free. Quickly returning to the trunk, I empty his pockets and hog-tie him in case he wakes up on the drive. After gagging him and tossing a bag over his head for fun, I power down his phone and slide it into my back pocket.

Before shutting the trunk, I cut out the emergency release lever so he can’t escape.

Shout out to Sammy Mason for ensuring I didn’t make that fucking mistake. This asshole won’t be going anywhere.

Except to Hell as soon as I’m done with him.

Chapter 31

Bathtub Musings

LETTIE

I’d make a terrible lesbian.

Sleeping with another woman feels wrong on so many levels.

To be clear, I’m not saying it’s immoral to share a bed with a woman. I adore lesbians. In fact, I love the idea of women getting all cozy in bed. It’s a bit sexy, truth be told. Boobs everywhere. Soft skin aplenty. Matching pajamas. No dicks to unexpectedly poke your ass when you make the unforgivable mistake of scooting too close.

It isn’t an ethical issue for me. The problem I’m having is regarding physical comfort.

The last few nights, I was so emotionally wrecked I didn’t notice how uncomfortable it felt to sleep with Stella. I was crying off and on, lost in a sea of sorrow. Therefore, any comfort was welcome. The simple fact that she was here was enough for me.

Tonight, however, I’m noticing. Big time.

The bottom line is this. No matter how deeply I adore her, Stella Jean, bless her heart, is not meant for sharing a bed with Lettie Holt.

She’s too small. Her feet are too cold. Hell, even her breathing isn’t the right cadence. Plus, I’m forever choking on her hair. It’s everywhere except on her legs. Those are too smooth.

Speaking of which, there’s another hair-in-the-throat tickle.

Good Lord.

How did people survive oral sex back in the day when shaving and waxing weren’t commonplace? Or even now for those who like to go au naturel?

Was life just one big attempt to clear the hairs from the back of your throat?

Hey, Doris. How are you today?

Arrrcchh. I’m good, Tom. Haaarch. And you?

Hiiirrrch. Doing good. Haaarch. Thanks for arrrsking.

Fucking hairy pillows.

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