Page 19 of Shattered

“Does she? You fucking assaulted her in our living room.”

“Were you even paying attention? I gave her an out. She wanted it.”

“So what, you like her?” Bane asks in disbelief.

“Oh fuck no, she’s a cocky little bitch with a mouth that’s gonna get her in shit, which is precisely what she wants. If she wants to self-destruct, I’m happy to oblige.”

I’m not that guy. I don’t need to force the ladies to fuck me. I get pussy easily enough. But the moment I heard that fucking gasp of hers when I choked her, I knew exactly what she was. A dirty whore, longing for a man to put her in her place. And if that’s what she wants, who am I to object?

Do I like her? Not by an iota. But destroying her is going to be fun.

Our new shop is a lone building, a little rough on the outside, across the street from a doctor’s office. The maroon paint is chipping, andthe roof could use some work, but the first thing I want to do is replace all the windows and that rotten wooden door with the rattly handle.

The inside looks a little better. It’s just a big room with a couple of empty rooms in the back and a bathroom. A simple desk is positioned up front to the right of the door, where we’ll set up the cash. In the back are two stations with chairs, cabinets, and everything we need.

Bane got here an hour before me, despite me getting up a few minutes before he did. It doesn’t take Bane twice as long as it should to climb down some stairs. Imagine my fucking anger when I realized I needed to climb them again just to get a pair of socks I forgot. I waited for Bane to leave. I didn’t need another lecture.

Nothing is simple anymore.

“If you’re good here, I’ll find a hardware store and see about getting a new door and some new locks and windows.”

“Yeah, I’m good,” Bane says.

Why wouldn’t he be? He doesn’t need a cripple to help him paint.

With that settled, I head back out to my car. I mask my leg as much as possible, feeling the pain this morning after my little maneuver with Sunshine. Our encounter took a toll on my leg, but watching her squirm was so worth it. To have her come all over my hand against her will.

There’s a hardware store near the mall, and my leg has time to rest while I drive over. I rub it roughly with my palm as if I could knead the pain like lumpy bread dough.

The femur is supposed to be the strongest bone in the body. It makes me want to yak when I remember the amount of force Roccosunk into my thigh. I can remember the sound of bone cracking and the sickening pain as my kneecap was completely shattered.

I can still remember the shocked look on that ER doc’s face when he looked at my X-ray, and the even more shocked look on Bane’s face, who was right beside him. They could see the films, but I couldn’t from my bed. Even Bane, who’s got a few loose screws, could tell it was bad.

I don’t understand. How can they keep telling me it isn’t going to get better?

“You’ll be safer moving around with a cane or a walker,” the doctor had said.

I could use it to catch myself or use my arm to relieve some pressure on my leg. But how is this my life now?

Once I get to the hardware store, I’m relieved to find parking close to the doors, with only a few cars in the parking lot. I pull up beside a handicap spot, and get out of the car, using my hand on the roof as a brace. I’ve mastered this slow and casual walk that mostly masks my limp. I use it the whole way as I walk through the automatic doors. Thankfully, the store isn’t enormous, so it’s not too much for me. With the pain, every step is a gamble.

There’s a small aisle of doors near the back of the store. While there are no people around, I put all my weight on my good leg, giving my bad leg a rest while I stare at the doors on display, not giving a shit what they look like as long as they keep the shop secure.

After a few minutes, someone enters the aisle. I turn to see a rugged man, probably in his fifties, with short grey hair and a stern expression with downturned brows. His eyes meet mine as he approaches, and he gives me the slightest smile.

“Morning,” the guy says.

“Afternoon, actually.”

The guy nods. He looks tired, as if he just woke up, but it’s nearly noon. His brows pull together as he studies my face. “Are you new around here?”

“Just moved in.”

“Welcome to town. I’m Turner.”

“Asher.” After living in the city all my life, this small town feels weird.

“Where’d you move?”

---