She doesn’t want me to touch her, even after thirty years of easy friendship, silly games, and sillier laughter. Because of Graham, everything is gone, and the girl I grew up with can’t tolerate even a friendly hand on her shoulder.
“I’ve never been so literal in my life. He’s not gonna fuck anyone again, Bish, I’m making sure of it. Nor will he call and make her cry anymore. I figure you might be able to help. You don’t get to hurt people anymore; your life as a thug is officially over. Maybe you wanna revisit your old skill set and help me.”
His hand flexes around the handle of his gun. Open. Closed. Controlled as the corded muscles roll with the movement.
He watches me for a full minute as he thinks through every single option, every outcome. Then he nods.
“Alright. I can help, because if that was my girl, whether I was with her or not, Iwouldkill for her. Ihavekilled for her, and I’d do it a thousand times over.”
“You’ve killed for Jess?” I swallow nervously. “Legit?”
His thick brow lifts. “Don’t worry about it, but I’ll help you with your problem. You wanna hold the torch or the pliers?”