Page 21 of Small Town Beast 2: Saverin's Duet

Or two.

“I need to get home tomorrow, Abi. I have work,” she reminded him sharply.

“Yeah, alright,” came the unpromising reply.

Lorrie’s eyes adjusted to the dim lighting. The cabin was furnished with a twin-sized bed with an iron frame, a kitchenette and a tiny table for eating and sitting. The only decor was a brass rabbit in the center of the table. Fancy.

It was clearly a hunter’s shack meant for short stays, or somewhere to have an affair in perfect privacy.

They were alone.

Really alone, this time. Absalom rubbed his jaw and stared at the floor, seemingly working up something to say. Lorrie had nothing to say. The only thing she wanted to tell Absalom Green Tree was what road to take to hell.

In the new light the blood on Absalom’s clothes showed up in vivid patterns. There was so much it even changed the color of his boots. And it stank like hot metal. Lorrie’s stomach turned. “I’m tired. I’m going to bed. You can sleep on the floor.”

“Suit yourself,” Absalom said with irritating calm. “I ain’t sleeping here though, darlin’. I need to head back out.”

Of course; he was probably going home to his wife. Lorrie set down her bag on the table. If she was going to stay the night she should text Francine, the salon owner. And her clients. That was money gone, and Francine would be pissed. But what choice did she have? Anyway, she could only blame herself for coming up here like an idiot thinking she could turn around a sinking boat.

Abi took her blood-soaked Bible from inside her jacket and set it down on the table. “You forgot this, honey.”

“I don’t want somebody’s blood on my Bible.”

Was he really serious right now?

“Lorraine, I never did anything to you that wasn't for your own good.”

“Is that supposed to be an apology?” Her stomach made another revolution. “You killed somebody in front of me.”

“He deserved worse than what he got.”

“That didn’t give you the right—”

“Yeah, how would that be for your first time, getting raped by some Back Hills mutant while I watch?” Absalom flushed red to his ash-blond roots, his temper reaching its limit. “Damned no matter what I do, eh?”

“You married someone else and got her pregnant!” Lorrie screamed, throwing the nearest object she could find at his head.

The window shattered. The brass rabbit. She’d thrown a hunk of brass at Absalom’s head. Oh God, she could have killed him.

But he barely reacted to his near-braining. He just said coldly, “You were damned lucky you didn’t get caught out with that lie, by the way. They would have shot me and took turns on you all night.”

Too furious to speak, Lorrie sat down on the bed and turned her head.

From the corner of her eye she saw him strip out of his bloodstained clothes. First went the Carhartt jacket she had mended for him many times. Then the longsleeve Henley shirt. Replacements came from a box under the bed he politely asked her to retrieve. She did so in stony silence.

Don’t look at him.

Can’t help it.

Every inch of Absalom’s body was toned and hard from a rigid diet and physical discipline. Lorrie’s head barely came up to his shoulders. But despite his size, he hadn’t always been the toughest cat around. Dozens of scars laced across his back, some criss-crossing each other, a map of painful memories. Each one marked a battle he had not necessarily won, but survived. Theworst was the shiny crescent on his neck where someone had tried to cut his throat.

Lorrie didn’t know the whole story of Abi’s life, and she probably never would, understanding it was something he preferred to just forget. He never slept more than a few hours a night, hated blankets, pillows, and scented candles. Scented candles made him physically sick. And then there was his temper. She’d seen it before, tonight being the worst demonstration of what Absalom was truly capable of. But although he had a dark side, for Lorrie he saved all his tenderness, and what remained after life had dealt him those blows was deep and true.

“I wish you had stayed down in Rowanville,” Absalom spoke suddenly, with anger still in his voice. “I didn’t want you up here if anything happened tomorrow. There’s no way I can protect you.”

“What’s happening tomorrow, Absalom?”Something with the clans. Something about the weed Harvest. He’s leading some kind of rebellion. I wish he would just stay out of that mess.

To her question Absalom gave only silence.

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