Page 107 of Peaches & Pistols

“So he’s just been sitting here like a bitch in only a wrist binding?” I ask dumbfounded.

“Don’t forget the gag.” Reid points out from across the small cabin. “He wouldn’t shut the fuck up and I was tired of his snively entitled voice. Had to shove something in his mouth.”

Connor pulls up one pant leg with the brightest smile. “It’s my sock.”

I want to laugh so goddamn bad but now isn’t the time to fuck around. I tip my head signaling Connor to get out of his chair and standby elsewhere.

Taking his seat, I scoot the chair even closer to this sub-human waste of air. He’s fuming, veins bulging out of his forehead, his perfectly coiffed hair a mess.

“Alright Carter, sweetheart. I know who you’re here for and it ain’t happening. They don’t belong to you. I also know you were hand-served with the divorce paperwork over a month ago and we’re well within our rights to file for default judgment. And I’m close friends with the judge, so I’d wager it’d end pretty poorly for you.”

Snot bubbles from his nose as he huffs and puffs as if he could blow this house down.

“Don’t worry, you’re going to get your opportunity to sign the paperwork, but I felt it was important to have some alone time with you first.” My intention is menacingly clear.

“Clear out. This won’t take long,” I order the guys out of the cabin.

“Seriously? We deliver this whiny bitch and put up with him, and we have to go stand in the cold and don’t even get to watch?” James whines, but Reid yanks him by a fistful of his dress shirt out the front door.

I think it’s time to hear what Carter Spencer Whitaker has to say for himself. I rip Connor’s rank sock from his mouth and toss it to the ground.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” he spits out at me, saliva and all. “Do you know who I am? Who my family is? We’ll bury you and this disgrace of a ranch.”

Jerking forward, he flinches back like a pussy before I kick his chair backwards several feet—it barely staying upright.

“I’m your worst nightmare, sweetheart. You laid hands on the wrong woman and you’re going to pay for it in flesh. I don’t give a fuck who your family thinks they are, because I’m the bogeyman they check under the bed for every night.”

“Who’s Mia to you? She’s my wife. She belongs to me. The kid belongs to me.” This fool has no idea how deep he’s digging his own grave.

“How wrong you are. Mia”—I emphasize, knowing only people who disrespected her refused to call her by her preferred name—“Is my future wife, she’s the mother of our children.”

“That bitch. I always knew she was a cheap whore. Jumping beds for her next meal.”

My fist crashes into his cheekbone as the last drop of poison comes from his mouth.

“Don’t you EVER talk about my woman like that unless you want to be six feet under.”

The prick has the audacity to laugh.

“All this effort over a stupid, useless cunt who can’t keep her legs closed?”

Aaaaand that’s when I decide this fucker’s going to die tonight.

Still seated, I stomp the heel of my cowboy boot down between his legs. Not sure if I ruptured a testicle or broke his limp dick, but either way, he deserved it. He has no right touching a woman ever again, let alone intimately.

He wails and moans like a rat stuck in a trap. The sound is music to my ears. Retribution.

I pull him out of his chair one handed, gripping the front of his shirt. He’s taller than me, so I force him to bow down to meet my wrath.

I hold him so close I could spit into his vile mouth if I wanted and let the darkness inside me out to play.

“You like hurting women? That it? You get off feeling bigger and badder than a kind, innocent woman who bent over backwards for your approval? How ‘bout I show you what it feels like to be hurt by someone stronger than you? I’m going to make you feel as helpless as you made Mia feel every time you insulted, threatened, berated, and abused her.”

I don’t bother to hear to his response. I might as well have put in earbuds and listened to classical music for as calm as I am paying Carter back for the pain, suffering, and trauma he inflicted on Mia.

A few well-placed hits are all it takes to subdue the worthless bastard, so I kick him over to lay on the sawdust-covered cabin floor. At least the shavings will absorb some of the blood.

“Are you right or left-handed, Carter?” I ask.