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"Get out of here, Megan."
"What are you doing? You can't shoot him. You've got handcuffs on him. That's not right."
"Get out, Megan."
"No." She stepped closer. "Waylon, tell me what's going on here."
"Make him put the gun away."
She stopped forward progress and crossed her arms over her chest. "You tell me right now what you've been doing here."
Waylon dropped his head to the floor. "Goddammit, you are the most stubborn piece of ass ever in the fucking world."
Her eyes narrowed. "Did you set my house on fire?" She bent slightly toward him. "Were you storing drugs in my basement?"
"Gooooooood, I'm so sick of you and your pious bullshit. We could have had a great life. But nooooo, you were too good for me. Fucking cunt."
Megan walked closer to Waylon and kicked him so hard, he howled. "You piece of shit," she spat.
She looked up at him then, her eyes that bright green he'd fallen in love with. "Shoot him, Ford."
His head spun. Must be the left-over fumes in the house. He was in love with her? Aww, shit.
"I'll take care of that." Marcus stepped into the kitchen, gun drawn. "This is my problem right now. I'll take care of Waylon."
"Don't shoot him. I need to know where Bobby Ray is." He glanced down at Waylon. "Where is he? Where are you two staying?"
"Fuck you."
Bang! A shot rang out. Megan screamed and jumped back, and Waylon howled. A red circlet formed on his thigh where Marcus had shot him. "I've got another one for you."
"No. No. Don't shoot. I'll tell."
Ford signaled to Megan to come closer, the look on her face sheer terror now. Her legs looked wobbly as if she'd collapse at any moment, so he inched closer to her and pulled her into his arms. Edging back toward the wall, her shaking body against his was both a balm and a wound. She never took her eyes from Waylon, her arms circling her waist. He held her close with one arm, the other still holding his gun.
"He's at The Bullseye." He dropped his head. "Fuck."
Chapter35
Never in her life had she seen someone shot. Not that it was a mortal wound, but still, she was staring at her ex-husband laying on the dirty floor, hands tied behind his back and a bloodied leg where he'd just been shot. She didn't have feelings for him anymore, but she wanted answers. For some damned reason, over the past few years, there had been times when she worried that she hadn't tried hard enough to make their marriage work. Hearing once again how he'd been screwing her over would seal that thought behind a brick wall and keep it there.
"Speak up, Waylon, tell me what you've been doing here."
He twisted his head back to stare at her, his lips curled back in a snarl. "Fuck, Megan. The fire was an accident. I got ahold of a rock of meth, and I was trying it out here. I heard you come home after I lit the pipe. I froze trying not to make a sound, and when you went into the bedroom, I was going to leave. The fucking pipe caught on fire then, and you walked out of the bedroom. I dropped the fucking pipe, and it started that stupid ugly rug you had in front of the stove on fire. I took off running. I didn't know there would be an explosion."
She kicked at his leg, just below his wound, with the toe of her tennis shoe. "Why were you here, Waylon?" She was trying to keep her voice neutral. Yelling at him never did a damned thing.
"Fuck, isn't it obvious? Geez, you're stupid."
"I want to hear you say it." She nudged him in the leg again.
"Ouch. Stop that." He tried scooting away, but Marcus stepped on his back to halt his progress. "Shit. All right. Fuck. Bobby Ray needed money. I figured I could take some drugs and we could sell them quickly and get out of town. We needed more money than I thought to bribe that fucking transport asshole. Then everyone was looking for us, so we had to hide out."
Marcus put pressure on his back, and Waylon groaned as his face was pressed to the floor.
"Those my drugs, asshole?"
"Yes," Waylon cried out as Marcus put his foot on his shot leg. "Ow!" he cried.
