Page 135 of They Are Mine

She stiffens. “You’re insane,” she says, and then, bless her heart, she tries to run for the phone.

Me? I’m insane?

I swing.

The bat smashes into her cheap-ass phone, sending it flying.

Tammy gasps, clutching her now-empty hand like I just amputated it.

I roll my shoulders. “I was trying to be nice about this. Little notes on your mirror.” I pop the bat against my palm. “But apparently, you’re too dimwitted to read.”

She stares, and then she screams. “HELP! HELP!”

Oh.

Well, fuck.

That’s not good.

My brain stalls.

Because what now?

Breaking and entering? Fine.

Mild intimidation? Sure.

But getting arrested?

Absolutely not.

I can’t go to prison.

They don’t let you wear pink in prison.

I swing.

The bat connects with her head.

Hard.

It’s blessedly quiet for a second.

And then?

Another scream.

Fucking hell.

I swing again.

And again.

And again.

Until the screaming stops.

Until she stops.

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