Page 46 of Saddles

“Seven of them,” I choke. “Behind a fucking dumpster.”

The tears fall.

I’ve given up on trying to stop them.

Holding up my hand, I flash her the orange tattoo that sits as a constant reminder. “Halloween night. So most of them were dressed up. It wasn’t until they did an autopsy were they able to catch a couple of them with the DNA. Also found out she had been pregnant.”

April rocks herself until she jumps up and flings her arms around my neck. Her damp cheek presses against mine as she hugs me tightly.

I feel so damn exhausted reliving it, I just let her hold me.

“Thank you for sharing,” she whispers, then lets me go.

Using the heel of her palm, she wipes her eyes before picking up the bottle of whiskey. Steadying herself with the wall, she turns. “Can we put this thing away? We’ll save it for the next time we need to talk.”

I lift the mattress so she can tuck the liquor back underneath.

After it drops in place, she stops me from stepping away with a hand on my wrist.

“Ford, you aren’t the bad guy. Those fucking assholes are.” Her lower lip quivers before she pulls it between the whites of her teeth. “There’s too many of them.”

“Well—” I put my palm over hers. “—at least I can say there’s four less of them. And Sean’s gone too.”

I wish I could take the credit for that one, but I did get to witness it.

Her jaw tightens and a resolute smile pulls up the corner of her mouth. “Good. I hope they rot in hell.”

Chapter 14

April

My head pounding wakes me up before my bladder does.

But I’m surprised to find myself lying on my stomach with my palm on Ford’s shoulder.

God, he’s still on the damn floor.

After everything he told me yesterday, I feel even worse that he’s sleeping with his dog.

It makes me think, though.

I don’t want to be treated any differently after what I went through. I bet he doesn’t either.

Sliding out of bed, I try to step over his legs as carefully as possible so I don’t wake him.

Fuck the toilet seat is cold. It makes my hind end pucker so I can’t pee.

By the time it warms up and I relax, I can hear him stirring.

Dammit. When I flush, nothing happens. That holding tank up above must be empty.

Tiptoeing across the chilly wood, I grab one of the jugs of water to fill the gravity system that feeds the toilet and the tub.

I can barely reach to pour it in, the lip of the bottle hangs precariously close to the edge.

“You can just dump it in the bowl if it’s easier.” Ford’s deep mumble startles me, making me spill the frigid water down my chest and forcing a gasp out of me from the shock.

His chuckle draws nearer. “Want some help?”

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