Page 110 of Violent Little Thing

She looked at me dreamily. “Are we going to get married?”

Skye made a choked sound.

Tom outright laughed.

I looked directly into her eyes and said, “Sure, how’s next week sound? That way we know you can make it up the steps of the courthouse.”

She smiled. “That’s perfect.”

Thirty-Three

Blood type: fucking boiling.

—Charleigh’s secret thoughts

Charleigh

Nine weeks later

It was weird.

My leg was broken, but you wouldn’t be able to tell from the outside. Other than the small six-inch cut in the middle of my thigh.

Oh, and the fact that my left thigh was twice the size of my right thigh.

It held me up just fine, but it was a weak little bitch.

Stairs sucked.

Walking sucked.

And don’t even get me started on running.

Peter, the asshole, had gotten out two days ago and I’d had to run after him before he’d gotten out from under the porch awning. I’d caught him, but my thigh had let me know really quick that running wasn’t a possibility for the time being.

Speaking of Peter, he started to trill.

That meant one of two things.

My mom was here, or Court was home.

Court walked through the door moments later, quickly inputting the alarm code and rearming it in the next breath.

He’d been a stickler for security since what I was now calling “the incident.”

Chris was still on the run.

He’d plunged into a glacier stream and hadn’t come out for miles after.

The dogs had, apparently, walked miles down the stream to see if they could catch his scent and hadn’t found a thing.

At this point, there were two theories.

One, he hadn’t made it out of the stream and had died there. Or two, he’d made it out miles and miles away.

Personally, I was hoping that he’d died in that water.

Court didn’t think we were that lucky, hence the added security.