Page 29 of Untamed
No thanks.
Trevor
Who in the hell do you have at your house and is she there against her will
Tobias
Again, where the fuck are the question marks?
Tucker
have you ever known a woman to be in my house against her will
Tobias
I’m done talking to you dicks until you learn how to structure a sentence. It’s driving me fucking nuts.
Titus
I guess I’ll just call mom and ask her.
Tucker
ill kill you and make it look like an accident
9
Tucker
Ipace across my house for the tenth time, peering out the front window to frown at my empty driveway. Ruth and Birdie were supposed to be here twenty minutes ago, and I’m starting to get worried she’s changed her mind. I didn’t think Mariah showing up yesterday was a big deal, but maybe she got spooked. Saw the reality of what we would be doing and decided it wasn’t worth the hassle.
It’s the most logical assumption, but it doesn’t sit right. I don’t know Ruth well, but she doesn’t seem like the kind of person to bail without at least telling me to go fuck myself. Maybe not in those words, but I still think she would let me know. If for no other reason, so I would make good on my promise to pay her regardless of her participation.
And I would. Because she’s a good mom and deserves to have a good life.
Turning away from the window, I cut another path down the main hall, passing the formal living room, office, and dining room before reaching the kitchen and breakfast room. I pause, thinkingmaybe I heard the sound of an engine outside. My hopes start to rise, until I realize it’s only the hum of my refrigerator.
So I start walking again, moving into the great room where I straighten Birdie’s toys—also for the tenth time. Tipping over and testing the new bubble machine I bought, to make doubly sure she won’t end up covered in slippery liquid again, I finally head back the way I came.
When I reach the front, Ruth’s SUV still isn’t in my driveway.
She’s twenty-two minutes late. Is that late enough for me to call? Text, maybe? I know what we're doing is fake, but I feel like we have some semblance of a friendship started. And I would definitely call to check on my friends after twenty-two minutes.
I’m digging my phone from the pocket of my jeans when it starts to ring in my hand. I flip the screen toward my face, and my stomach drops as I quickly swipe to connect the call. Pressing the speaker against my ear, I try to keep the panic out of my voice as I ask, “Ruth? Is everything okay?”
Chances are good she’s calling to tell me our little charade is over, but that nagging feeling that something’s wrong won’t leave me alone. My feet are moving toward the garage before she even replies.
When she does answer me, they move faster.
“I didn’t know who else to call.” Her words are barely a whisper, and shaky in a way I’ve never heard them.
“What’s wrong?” I’m already in my truck, punching the button to open the overhead door as I start the engine. “Where are you at?”
Her SUV isn’t new—it’s also not extremely old—but even the best cars break down. I’m mentally going over the tools I have in the back, trying to decide if I should grab anything from Toby on my way out.
But then Ruth’s tone fully registers. The hushed way she spoke. The wavering of her words. She doesn’t just sound upset.
She also sounds scared.
