Page 39 of Blood
“Yet you’re acting like one. Stop fucking ignoring me.”
“Go fuck yourself,” Sam hisses before the line cuts off.
“I’d rather be fucking you,” I reply with no one to hear.
Shit.
“Do I even wanna know?” Pauline tuts, pushing my door open, a bottle of water in one hand and a packet of painkillers in the other.
The perfect woman.
“Thank you,” I mouth, taking both.
When she sits on the corner of my desk with a raised brow, I shake my head. “Women.” That’s the only explanation I give.
“Tell me about it,” she huffs. “One of the new hires just called out sick again. A woman,” she adds when I give a confused look.
“Which one?”
“Justine.”
“That’s the fourth time this quarter, and we’re only a month in,” I state.
“I know,” she agrees, “hence . . . women.” Pauline stands, pushing off my desk. “I need to find someone to take it. Most are already out on jobs.”
“I’ll take it,” I say without thinking.
“What? No, after everything that happened last night, you should be at home resting.”
True, but I need space more.“It’s fine. My house is trashed, and the cops have not released it yet. I could do with getting out of town for a few days.”
“The contract is for Wilder Furniture in Virginia. There and back will be about six days.”
Perfect.“How about we call it seven?”
“Want me to book you a motel near Charlottesville?” Pauline offers.
“No, thank you. I’ll sleep in my truck.”
Ideas of how to extend my drive pop into my mind, but even now, not knowing where Sam and I stand, the idea of fucking someone else doesn’t appeal. I just want her.
Another kill will just have to do.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Kaleb
The sign “Welcome to Cromwell Town” sets off butterflies in my stomach as I pass.
Home sweet home.
Being within the borders of Cromwell has always settled me. Not today.
The past seven days have been hell. I shouldn’t have taken the job.
Everything I did made me think ofher.Settling down for the night; was she sleeping? Stopping at roadside dives; was she eating? Talking to our parents; was she with them? Even fucking driving made me think of her.
My laughter fills the truck cab. She really is a terrible driver—too aggressive, impatient, and arrogant. Something else that’s my fault since I did teach her.
