Garrett Fucker’s body crumples to the ground, and I feel immediate satisfaction. I swear, I wasn’t going to hurt him…not yet. But he called her a bitch then topped it off by calling me a bastard. Yeah, fuck that and fuck him.
It’s almost comical, really. This skinny little shit thinking he’s badass. But he isn’t. He has no idea who he’s dealing with, and I don’t give a fuck what world we’re in, he’ll fucking learn a lesson or two on manners.
“Open your trunk.”
“What?” Willow asks, breathless.
“Open it, Willow. Now.”
She breathes unevenly, rushing to the trunk and popping it open. I drag his body to the trunk and toss him inside, not caring that his head hits a corner.
“Caz, what are you doing?” she hisses.
I slam the trunk closed. “Let’s go.”
“Caz, we can’t take him! Are you crazy?”
“Do you want me to drive?”
“Caz!”
I ignore her, heading to the driver’s side. “Just show me the way back to your apartment. I’ll set him free there.”
“No, you won’t,” she says matter-of-factly when she’s in the passenger seat, buckling her seatbelt. “His car is still out here. Someone will wonder whose it is since it’s crashed. They’ll ID it.”
I don’t say anything to that. Instead, I say, “Which way to your apartment?”
She tells me where to go, but not without ranting about how this is wrong and how we should let him go before reaching her apartment.
I’ve lost my temper, and I know it. All I want to do right now is wake his ass up out of whatever fainting spell he’s under just to knock his fucking lights out again.
And I’m not lying to Willow. I will let him go…just not so soon.
When we reach her place, she climbs out of the car and says, “Open the trunk. We have to let him go, Caz. We seriously don’t have time for this.”
She slams her door closed and hurries toward the trunk, but as she reaches to open it, I press on the gas and drive off, taking the fucker with me.
